Grant me a chicken, you murderous fat. Now, don't be
offended, but I am literally screaming at your goldfish right now, and
that's nothing to be afraid of. Except sometimes the happy French people
come and slither through the air ducts of bigwig mansions, but only
because they fancy a sandwich. The fancy kind. And not to jump to
conclusions, but this is a paragraph made of sentences made of words
made of letters made of pixels made of corn.
I know I've said it before, but it bears repeating: monkeys are evil. Not only do they have razor sharp teeth all the better to eat you with my dear, but, like most chemists, they have a tendency to hurl fecal matter at small children. That is unacceptable and kind of disgusting. Furthermore, if monkeys really could evolve, I'm pretty sure they would turn into supervillains who try to take over the world. Or at least the sewers.
Fortunately, if that ever were to happen, I am a superhero. They call me Captain Obvious. My outfit resembles Superman's, except that instead of just an "S" on the front, it has the word "SUPERHERO" written across it. Also, on my back are the words, "I am not Batman." My shoes are labeled "This is where feet go," and my catchphrase is "I like justice!" When supervillains throw kryptonite at my face, I yell, "NO! I am not Superman!" Later, when I have tied up all of the supervillains with steel girders, I say, "Rope would have been much more practical." That's when the news reporters arrive. They ask a bunch of questions, and I tell them, "Heehee, my underwear is on the outside..." Later, when I am in a pickle, I declare, "I am literally in a pickle!" because supervillains like to make puns. That's when the narrator asks, "Could this be the end of Captain Obvious?" And that's when I interject, "No it could not." That's when the credits start rolling. The role of Captain Obvious is played by Captain Obvious. And that's why you will never have to worry about monkeys taking over the world, despite the demonic black holes that fester within their tainted souls. Nevermind. I have decided that monkeys do not have souls.
A great source of confusion is me. I would like to point out that I attend a college of education; not a high school of soap. I would also like to point out that Mr. Tubs-in-pants is still doing a rain dance in some stranger's yard, and I am now in someone else's laundry chute. The last guy, whose house I mentioned in my last post, came home after a long day at work, so I burst from the pantry and crashed through his window and scampered down the street, flailing my arms wildly. And that is the story of how I lost my socks in a stranger's pantry.
Now listen closely because I am only going to say this...Nuclear boomerangs suck the future. They're like time-mosquitoes. Also, if you stick an EMP bomb in somebody's house, their milk will go rotten, which is bad because it will obviously lead to a zombie invasion. But that's okay because zombies move really slow. They are pretty much the worst monsters ever. And that's a fact. But believe it or not, I have to put plastic things on my eyeballs every morning or else I get hit by parked cars. I also like to hitch rides with unwilling drivers by secretly clinging to the roof of their vehicle. I love the look on their faces when they stop at gas stations, and I roll down the hood and onto the pavement. I then crawl away backwards and hide in a nearby trash can or a distant dumpster. Speaking of which, I found Narnia. Anyway, hair salons don't appreciate it when you bring a bottle of mustard into the room and start shooting people in the eye with it. I don't see the problem here, though; there's an optometrist next door, plus a congressman beneath the floor boards but I digress. I like to set up camp at Walmart and suddenly emerge from my tent wearing a toga and Pikachu slippers. This is MY house! And it has lice. Flick that little pumpernickel tapeworm off your salted nose and get some real ointment, you wimple-tickling guppy. I'm sorry, I got ahead of myself; you're really not all that bad, homie.
You are eating Randy.
I know I've said it before, but it bears repeating: monkeys are evil. Not only do they have razor sharp teeth all the better to eat you with my dear, but, like most chemists, they have a tendency to hurl fecal matter at small children. That is unacceptable and kind of disgusting. Furthermore, if monkeys really could evolve, I'm pretty sure they would turn into supervillains who try to take over the world. Or at least the sewers.
Fortunately, if that ever were to happen, I am a superhero. They call me Captain Obvious. My outfit resembles Superman's, except that instead of just an "S" on the front, it has the word "SUPERHERO" written across it. Also, on my back are the words, "I am not Batman." My shoes are labeled "This is where feet go," and my catchphrase is "I like justice!" When supervillains throw kryptonite at my face, I yell, "NO! I am not Superman!" Later, when I have tied up all of the supervillains with steel girders, I say, "Rope would have been much more practical." That's when the news reporters arrive. They ask a bunch of questions, and I tell them, "Heehee, my underwear is on the outside..." Later, when I am in a pickle, I declare, "I am literally in a pickle!" because supervillains like to make puns. That's when the narrator asks, "Could this be the end of Captain Obvious?" And that's when I interject, "No it could not." That's when the credits start rolling. The role of Captain Obvious is played by Captain Obvious. And that's why you will never have to worry about monkeys taking over the world, despite the demonic black holes that fester within their tainted souls. Nevermind. I have decided that monkeys do not have souls.
A great source of confusion is me. I would like to point out that I attend a college of education; not a high school of soap. I would also like to point out that Mr. Tubs-in-pants is still doing a rain dance in some stranger's yard, and I am now in someone else's laundry chute. The last guy, whose house I mentioned in my last post, came home after a long day at work, so I burst from the pantry and crashed through his window and scampered down the street, flailing my arms wildly. And that is the story of how I lost my socks in a stranger's pantry.
Now listen closely because I am only going to say this...Nuclear boomerangs suck the future. They're like time-mosquitoes. Also, if you stick an EMP bomb in somebody's house, their milk will go rotten, which is bad because it will obviously lead to a zombie invasion. But that's okay because zombies move really slow. They are pretty much the worst monsters ever. And that's a fact. But believe it or not, I have to put plastic things on my eyeballs every morning or else I get hit by parked cars. I also like to hitch rides with unwilling drivers by secretly clinging to the roof of their vehicle. I love the look on their faces when they stop at gas stations, and I roll down the hood and onto the pavement. I then crawl away backwards and hide in a nearby trash can or a distant dumpster. Speaking of which, I found Narnia. Anyway, hair salons don't appreciate it when you bring a bottle of mustard into the room and start shooting people in the eye with it. I don't see the problem here, though; there's an optometrist next door, plus a congressman beneath the floor boards but I digress. I like to set up camp at Walmart and suddenly emerge from my tent wearing a toga and Pikachu slippers. This is MY house! And it has lice. Flick that little pumpernickel tapeworm off your salted nose and get some real ointment, you wimple-tickling guppy. I'm sorry, I got ahead of myself; you're really not all that bad, homie.
You are eating Randy.
i caught a little red riding hood reference, love the piece of plastic on my eyes thing!!!!! Narnia really skip? ok maybe it was awesome!!!! by far my favorite is the pumpernickel tapework homie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11 it's good you should keep doing it! oh by the way i need a new pancreas!!! just sayin'
ReplyDelete