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[Oct. 19th, 2008|03:04 am] |
So, trick or treating this year. I think it should happen. People say to me, "Gar, you're twenty-some, why are you going out?" The answer is simple, my friends. I look young. And I love candy. In no particular order.
I'm going as the Jolly Green Giant. It's very skimpy, so there's fanservice. Service for my fans. And my girlfriend.
Hey, Rosie-doll.
So yeah. Anyone else? |
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[Oct. 19th, 2008|12:54 pm] |
...Perhaps porn... There's never enough of it, and I've got the body. |
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[Oct. 19th, 2008|01:12 pm] |
edward has lots of homework and edward does not want to do it.
edward does not want to go back to school. |
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[Oct. 19th, 2008|01:22 pm] |
...Y'know, I kind of thought the "there is no death, only the Force" thing was less literal. |
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[Oct. 19th, 2008|10:29 pm] |
Hey Quentin? Do you want to go trick or treating with us? We're taking baby Esme and Gar. |
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[Oct. 19th, 2008|10:36 pm] |
( Mister Turner )
( Rurik )
( Gojyo )
All of the technology available to this day and age, and still you can find nothing better to show on television late at night, than pornography. I dare say, this renews my faith in the world. |
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[Oct. 19th, 2008|11:10 pm] |
Oh, you crazy Liberals. You're not content merely to suck world-class journalists out of their element using top-secret metereological phenomena explainable only in terms a basement-dwelling Trekkie would understand. You guys? You take it that little extra step further. You pay cracked-out Oompa Loompahs to code garish websites to explain your Agenda, with the full intent of traumatizing the viewer into incoherency, probably with the goal of making them want to pick up their nearest, shiny, glorious Emmy award and poke out their eyeballs. It's like the Sixties all over again.
But I digress.
Oh no. You aren't done yet. But this is where you guys' little plan falls apart. I bet you thought putting my photo on Bill O'Reilly's ID was the coup de grace. The final element, designed to make me lose what's left of my rapier wit, sending me gibbering into the arms of your compatriots. YOU'RE WRONG. Bill, you're like unto a God to me. I live to emulate you, I always wanted to be you. But I gotta break it to you, Bill-O: I have, and will always have, more hair than you.
And a better tie selection.
Also, less wrinkles.
And way more Emmys.
Since I ended up here, I've encouraged two underage kids to marry, got ordained on the Internet, talked to some guy who seems to believe he's a car, a groupie for some weird Death Metal band who probably looks at morgue contents like a fat guy looks at a McDonalds Value Menu, and been propositioned by God.
You read that right, folks. God wants to fuck with me.
I'm not one to turn down the Almighty, but I know what happens to people who fuck with God. Just ask Sodom and Gomorrah.
Oh, wait. You can't, because God wiped them off the face of the earth.
Even Mary got the short end of the stick. All of you people waiting on Christ's second coming? That's why it's taking so long. Nobody wants to sleep with a guy whose track record involves knocking up someone else's fiancée and kipping in a barn full of animals (but they'll pay $10 a month to watch the full video online).
I'm a serial monogamist, Ma'am, just like You told me to be. And right now, my bed only has room for one Holy Trinity: Me, Lady Liberty and Lady Justice. (Justice is big on the blindfold kink, but those scales can give a guy a hell of a concussion.)
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find some old guy sitting guard over an old boot while picking his nose by the Thames so I can get the hell away from here and get my portrait to the Smithsonian. |
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