Day Five

The key players of the superteam are being contacted and assembled, a base of operations is being sought and priced from the rental guide, and we almost have a wicked sweet name to instill fear and awe into our foes. All the pieces of the plan are coming together, actually quite ahead of schedule. Which is bad. Because I carefully planned all of this shit using psychohistorical methodology and a slide ruler. This either means that I need to take a few days off and catch up on some other neglected projects, waste the time of some of the key players involved on busy work in order to get back on quantum quota, or send everyone but myself back in time about a week. But then there would be two of everybody and nobody around me. And I won’t get invited to anybody’s bangin’ dopplegänger parties…

Actually, I think I’ll just do what I always do in these situations. Get drunk and expect that everything will work out.

I found two lucky pennies today!

You may be asking yourself, (or me if you had any balls, which you don’t), “hey, why write all of this on your myspace page, if Mr. Mind is going to be able to see it? Fools! You don’t understand how radio works! Mr. Mind can (durdurdur) read minds, and since I have valuable knowledge involving the intricate and delicate timestream leading to his fiery hell-ish dominion, then I WANT to explain every one of my actions in painstaking detail. You may now be asking yourself, “B-whu?” Allow me to elucidate for some of the Tommy Turkeys in the room: Mr. Mind knows I wouldn’t be stupid enough to reveal my plans to such extent, but he also underestimates my every move. Therefore, if, he doesn’t expect me to do something that only I could be capable of doing knowing there’s no other way I wouldn’t do it, then it stands to reason that I have to do it. Understand now? If I’m revealing my plan on the internets, then they must be false informations. And if I’m willingly admitting that part of my plan is to plant such false informations on the internets in plain view, then it must really be the actual plan! Obviously, if its so clearly the actual plan, it can’t possibly be it, and should be disregarded.

Confused? Don’t worry. For all of you depending on me, be assured that everything I say on here is 100% true. Except for that. Or… was it? But seriously, it was. You can’t obviously believe that! How stupid are you? Where do you get off?

And my profile pic, (which the motaba seems to have rendered freakin’ impossible to remove), is actually growing on me. It brings me all sorts of joy and wonderment, just like videos of monkeys in tubes. It may be a subtle form of sick neurolinguistic programming designed to indoctrinate me into the Monster Society of Evil’s New World Obliteration (catchy, huh?), but my hatred for Mr. Mind hasn’t subdued at all. Even if I do like the new gif, and even if the motaba has doomed all attempted contact from SPAM profiles to horrendous unspeakable destruction, I still want to grind the pissant little insect under my size-eleven steel-toeds. When I think of all of the horrific ways in which I had to watch my friends and colleagues perish in the future nightmare world of– OOH! Lookit! A fox with his guts all splayed out on the road! That was a good one! Hahahahahahaha! I dint see that one afore! Hooee. Ah. aheh. What was I talking about?

I forgot to end-quotes somewhere a ways back. Well, better late than never.”

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One response to “Day Five

  1. Speaking of spam profiles: would you like to meat more sex girlz?

    (The bun is in your mind)

    “Yet I shalle guarde thine life’e withe mine owne, be it mine soule ore mine veryeth beinge, it shalleth beith doneth.”
    – Medieval Dr Tasty in space

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