8.31.2004

A letter to my Ethiopian penpal

Dear Gedeyo,

What’s going on buddy? How’s life in the village?

I just saw the movie "The Village" by the same guy who directed "Sixth Sense." Was it ever good. Can you leave your village? Or do you get eaten by some sort of monster? Your body savagely ripped apart, blood and intestines spilling everywhere. Yuck! That’d be gross.

You better hope no monsters chase you because I doubt your little twig legs could carry you very far. You’d be gobbled up in no time. Survival of the fittest I guess.

What did I do this week? You ask. Well....

Last Tuesday, I had a tasty Big Mac. Two all beef patties, lettuce, onions, pickles, cheese, special sauce (thousand island dressing) all wrapped up in a sesame seed bun. It was great I had sauce dripping down my chin. Yummy. The whole meal only cost $4.27. Sure that could feed you for a week, but really it’s nothing over here.

I sent you one along with this letter. I hope it doesn’t go moldy on the trip over. Oh well, you’d probably eat anything to fill that pot belly of yours. I would have just sent you the $4, but I didn’t think your village had a McDonald’s.

I hung out with my buddy Joel. You wouldn’t like him. He keeps making jokes about skinny people. For some reason, he laughs whenever he sees those sponsor a child shows on Sunday.

What a bastard. He’s definitely not as nice as I am.

Keep living the good life Gedeyo,
Dane

PS: Can you even read? I know the education system isn’t that great over there. Write me back if you can.

8.30.2004

Humor Tank

Alas it seems that my humor tank is running a little low. It's hard for me to fathom what the cause of this is. Maybe its the fact I spent most of the last week drunk, or that I am faced with a return to the domain of "higher" education.

I think it's mainly because I've been up watching Seasons 1-5 of M*A*S*H, followed by all of Band of Brothers and lastly the whole 72 Series on DVD...No wonder I'm poor. It could also be the fact that the cat post was the biggest piece of brilliance I have seen in a while and I'm trying to top it.

8.28.2004

Love was in the air or Everybody was Kung Fu fighting

I wasn't sure if I should go with a facetious title or one that I've wanted to use since the beginning of time.

Anyway, here's three interesting happenings that occurred when I partied it up in Rocky like it was 1999 last night.

1) Someone should have told the Fisher girls that you can't put more than one Japanese fighting fish in the same Fish Bowl.

Last night at the newest hottest bar in Rocky, mayhem broke out. Fights galore. Cops had to make three separate appearances. At one time, there were three cop cars and an SUV parked at the door. I'm surprised they didn't have riot gear on. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck the Police.

I don't know who was fighting or why. Yes, I'm a terrible reporter. I did, however, see Jason Collins with a bloodied up face. It was nice; I never did like the guy. I also saw Eric Wymenga. He was trying to separate two combatants.

My guess on the whole situation is that alcohol was a factor. I also believe Joel lent out some of his testosterone for the evening. Damn you Joel and your manliness, keep it to yourself.

2) Once again at the Fish Bowl. My girlfriend and I were on our way out the door.

"You are really beautiful," three guys drunkenly slur in our direction.

"Thank you," I respond. I know they were talking to my amazingly good-looking significant other, but I thought I'd be a dick. You know for fun. They stare at me all baffled for a while.

We keep heading towards the door.

"You fagot," yell the table of drunken idiots. Now, I think this is the worst insult they could have came up with. I'm not a gay rights activist or anything, this was just stupid. A) I'm leaving with a girl. B) They were three guys with no girls. C) There was enough alcohol in their system for them to get a little curious and try some crap when they got home.

My girlfriend likes a little confrontation, so she turned around, gave them a giant middle finger and yelled "kiss my ass." I laughed it was funny.

They shouted a few more things, but I couldn't make them out.

I'm really amazed that people in Rocky are even smart enough to fight. The throwing of punches seems a little too difficult for these people. I guess if they can bring the beer bottle to their lips; they can swing their arms.

3) Phat Jacks was full of scum. I'll keep this short. I had a drunk guy heckle my pool playing, which pissed me off. He wouldn't stop. He didn't even know the rules for valley 8-ball. He kept calling me a cheater when I was awarded ball-in-hand. Damn ugly old guys.

Also, I was offered to purchase some "doobies." I've made it a habit not to by drugs from people I don't know. It's common sense. Drug dealers who have to sell at a bar are stupid. It' s easy to find a better clientele. You don't want to be the dealer for every alocoholic in Rocky.

My girlfriend was also offered some coke in the bathroom, which she declined. She then led me out the front door.

Good times at Phat Jacks. I guess the atmosphere just isn't enough for some people.


Well that was some of the interesting happenings last night. They were mixed in with a lot of fun stuff, like playing pool and dancing. It was a good evening. It's too bad Joel would rather sit behind a cash register at Rolf's than come have a good time.


Another Offensive Post

Hot blooded, check it and see; we've got a fever of one hundred and three...

Oh yeah, Sports-O! Good tunes and good times!

You know it, D to the Izzane! Throw me a beer!

Okay!

Uh, maybe you better toss me another one, seeing as that one went through the window...

Oops.

No biggie; I've got garbage bags and duct tape.

Man, this blog rocks! This is awesome! Ever since that asshole Joel left, things've been going through the roof!

I, uh, thought he was your friend.

Where'd you ever get that idea?

Um... hey guys.

Joel?! What the fuck are you doing here?

Yeah man, I thought you were gone for good!

Well, I think I wanna come back. Is that okay with you?

Let me see...

[ten minutes pass]

Uh... Dane?

You're still here?

C'mon guys! I can talk about sports too! Remember when the Bengals whooped the Oilers back in '83?

Ahem. And what sport was that in, pray tell?

Lacrosse?

Okay, where's that crowbar?

Guys, this is not the way to settle a fight. There's only one way to get out of a situation like this.

Diplomacy?

Christian love?

No, you assholes; I'm talking about BOXING!



Dude, these shorts are riding up my ass.

And that creepy mustachioed guy tried to touch my special place.

Get over it, you fairies! Go do it!

ROUND 1



Errr... I think Joel's dead.

Oh well. Where were we?

We built this city!

Yeah, we built this fuckin' cit-ay!

We built this city on ROCK AND ROLL...

8.25.2004

Do or do not there is no try

It was a good two days. I killed a convenient store clerk, stole 3,000 creds, got smashed in a strip club, saw the most beautiful female and regained my bounty hunter license.

I’ve returned to my cozy cave. I’ve called it home for the past year, since I was banished from Jinengu. Rats, small lizards have become my meals of choice. It’s been a hellish lifestyle this past year, but times were about to get better.

A fire roars in front of me, while I practice some lightsaber thrusting techniques. A rat runs by. I stab. The aroma of burnt flesh mixes with the smell of singed hair. A smile crosses my lips. Killing is what I like to do. It’s what I’m best at.

Who am I? You ask.

My Jawinian name is Utitidiii. People call me Snag.

I’m a 28-year-old jawa jedi knight. I have a black heart and therefore gain my powers from the dark side of the force. I carry a red double-bladed lightsaber, a blaster pistol and an array of knives.

How did I get this way?

I grew up on a nomad caravan selling droids, but couldn’t stand it. I ran away at the age of nine. I was a thief in Jinengu. My jedi master stumbled upon me when I tried to steal his lightsaber. He said he could feel the force flowing through my young fragile body.

He took me under his wing and taught me all he knew. I pretended to me good, but deep down I was all evil. I waited for the perfect time to strike and did.

I murdered my jedi master three years ago. The gullible old fool. I stabbed him in the back. His death face was one of utter shock. I laughed, and burned his body. I took all his belongings and began my life as a bounty hunter.

Since I became a bounty hunter, I’ve claimed 37 bounties, all dead. I lost my license for one year because I killed a bounty that was supposed to be brought in alive. Ooops. The kunt deserved to die.

Now I’m about to head to the guild’s headquarters and pick up an assignment. It’s time to kill again. I crave the feeling of another beings blood all over my hands. It’s been too long.

8.24.2004

A letter from Away

Dear Kiddies, Dane,

As I embarked upon this journey to the mystical land that the frenchie in my party calls "Lan of da Hanuck" I though it would be an easy trek into the wilds of a land where snow shovels are endangered. Instead its bee sheer hell. Everyone seems to speak a tongue that neither I nor my party can decipher and their writing is a riddle locked in an enigma thrown under the bed. The only saving grace is the pictures that provide some idea of what is what. Also this land seems to be in love with acroynms...PST and GST? How can I loose?

But alas our supplies are running short and they have no trustworthy source for resupply. One man drank this "Molson" they have here and promptly stayed sober...the rest of us have not approached it since. I fear we may perish here because all of the communist supply depots are open from 9-2 and closed on god's day...making it impossible for us to celebrate his day in drunken glory. We are also lacking adequate ponchos, sandals and an adequate supply of news.....though we could use a USA Today if we become desperate.

So my friends this may be the last you here of me. Make sure you come well supplied if you come looking for me. And bring oil and money to trade with the natives...they are friendly and always eager to get some oil and sit down to share a peace pipe....

Yours in Permadrunkeness,

Sports Ross


8.20.2004

Have a good night's sleep crime

One handed, I lifted the punk to the sky. My hand grasped his shirt collar. Blood trickled out of his nose, ears and mouth. Little droplets fell onto my Dung Beetle Guy ensemble. Good thing I had some colour guard cheer at home.

"You gonna try that again punk?" I asked the mugger.

His eyes yelled fear at me, but his mouth couldn't speak. He only shook his head from side to side.

"You better not, or I'll have to kick your ass again. Punk!" Punk was my new favourite word. Joel had grown sick of incognito, so it was time for a change.

Just as I was about to toss the low-life scum into the dumpster, my spine shivered. I slowly turned my head to the side. Twelve ninjas were about to descend upon me. I gave an mischievous smirk, dropped the guy to the ground, and said "bring it punks."

I took a step back and prepared for battle. I crouched into my dung beetle kung fu stance. It was the fifth deadliest form of martial arts. I'd been training for some time now. My technique was near flawless.

Three ninjas pounced at my spleen. I did a cartwheel, and passed in between all three. I knocked the trio unconscious with a crescent kick, beetle chop, palm heel strike combination. I hadn't even broken a sweat. I couldn't wait for the others.

I leapt three metres straight into the air, and came down with a ferocious drop kick to someone's chest. He didn't even have time to scream in agony. All I heard was the snapping of his ribcage. I'm surprised I didn't rip a hole through his entire torso.

The other eight charged. They knew their only chance was to attack all at once. It didn't work. Each of my opponents learned a valuable lesson. You can't defeat Dung Beetle Guy.

I was a little disappointed. I was looking for a challenge, but at least I got a bit of a workout. My huge muscles were clearly accentuated by my tight costume; blood pumped through my veins which crawled around my entire body. Man did I look good.

I turned around and left that dark alley, only to find myself lying in my bed with my arms wrapped around a pillow, and drool dripping down my cheek. I'd only been dreaming.

8.19.2004

I want my own bureau....or at least a Burrito

Hmm it seems that my addition to this here spot of the internet has made this blog a pan-Albertan one. Though I don't get any cool title like "Sports Correspondent", "UofA Correspondent" or "Capital Correspondent"...hell even at this point I would settle for "Despondent".


Good Riddance

I'm sitting in front of my computer. I was just singing and dancing. Joel is gone. Joel is gone. Yippy. Yippy.

That's right I'll never be a song writer like Joel or Sports.

I no longer have to carry the blog on my shoulders all by myself. You the hell creates posts with talking cats. I'm not a cat. I'd be a dung beetle.

Screw you Joel and all your Dane hating ways.

Another one

Here's another terrorist attack by the deadly animal army. They plan to take over the world. We have to do something about it.

I found this article on BBC's website.

Locusts ravage northern Nigeria

The locusts swarming across West Africa have reached parts of northern Nigeria, devastating fields of crops.

"The destruction done by the locusts is enormous, as a lot of farmland has been eaten up," said Zamfara state spokesman Ibrahim Birnin-Magaji.

The swarms reached Nigeria as the UN made an urgent appeal for $100m to help contain them.

The Food and Agricultural Organisation (FAO) has also said that the situation could worsen, with new swarms forming.

We have to act soon, or we're all going to die.

In a galaxy far far away

A wind storm was fast approaching, with the wind came the dust, and the dust brought all the low-life deserters back into town, so trouble was a brewin’.

I sat on my perch on the north-west corner of Jinengu’s three metre tall wall. I liked watching the wall of red sand fly my way. The slight breeze ruffled my medium-length, dirty blond hair.

For curious readers, Jinengu is a town of 5,000 people on the two-sunned planet Tantoonie. I once heard a great Jedi lived on this god-forsaken pile, but that was 300 years ago, before the resurgence of the force and a balance between good and evil was restored.

In only moments the blanket of dust would cover the town and I could get to work. My double bladed lightsaber hung from my belt right beside my 5100-CRR blaster pistol. I was about to reek havoc on the convenient store before I headed to the stripclub down the street.

Two years ago, I was banished from the town after illegally claiming a bounty. My license had expired, and the guild kicked me out. I needed 500 credits to purchase an independent license, so I could once again kill for a living.

Five, four, three, two, one. I jumped to the ground just before the torrent of dirt. The streets were quiet, except for a few startled cries. I pulled my hood over my head and opened the door to Grolf’s, and there he was. It was the same clerk who had been there for the past three years.

I pulled out my lightsaber. Bzzzzzzzt, bzzzzzt. The red blades shot to life. I was about to have some fun. I did a double flip to the counter, but the clerk was quick. He pulled out a blaster rifle and depressed the trigger twice. The energy bolts headed straight for my chest, but the force took over and my death was prevented. The bolts deflected off to the side.

“Give me all your cash,” I demanded of the clerk, who was shaking. He dropped his gun and did what I said. “I want the stash in the safe too.” I hoped he had a couple grand in there. I really wanted to get loaded.

The teller complied with everything I said, and I knew exactly what to give him for his reward. I turned around and took a couple steps. I could hear a small sigh of relief. The robbery was over.

But then I spun, my cloak swirled around my body, and with a quick slice of my blades, the clerk’s head went flying. I held a pose for the overhead camera. Blood sprayed straight into the air before his body crumpled to the floor. I put him out of his misery. My good deed for the day was done. I left Grolf’s.

Now it’s time to go see some naked ladies.

I walked down the stairs to the basement entrance. It was a dirty, grimy place. I loved it. After walking through the door and checking my weapons at the counter, I took a seat in the corner of the room. I wanted to see if any action was going on around me.

The stage had a decent looking Rodian dancing around, but what really caught my attention was the human female playing pool. She had brown hair, a gorgeous body, and wasn’t that bad with a stick either. A silver sword pendant hung around her neck, and it sparkled in the light.

“What can I get you?” The waitress inquired. She had startled me.

“I’ll have the strongest stuff you got,” I replied, and flipped her some 200 credits. “This should cover my night. I want to leave pissed.”

My drink came. I took a sip and it burned all the way down my throat. Damn was it good. I dumped my loot onto the table. There was just over 3,000 creds. It was more than I had hoped for.

It was an excellent day. Exactly what I needed.

8.17.2004

Ah Deadmonton....

Hmm it seems that my cohort believes that i am from deadmonton, i think i would rather have Don Cherry as a wife then be from that town. You see... *cue music*

I hate the Oilers and the Eskimos too,
The Trappers stink worse then the Valley Zoo!
The fans all smell! The beer is weak!
The Girls have mullets and the Soccer team has peaked!
They say they are the "City of Champions"
But compared to Calgary they are just bums!
If only the University was further Sud
I could Live some where good!

Cuse Deadmonton Sucks! Deadmonton sucks!





Welcome comrade

I'm finally rid of Joel. Yes a couple posts ago I made it clear I couldn't live without him, but times change. People grow and mature. I'm now a self-confident man. The life changing event happened two nights ago when I watched Kill Bill 2. If she can survive being buried alive, I can manage to wipe my own ass.

So to hell with Joel and all his negative criticism. This blog doesn't need him. This blog won't miss him. And this blog is better off without him. Go back to your Our Names on a Marquee blog. Go shit the bed over there. By the way Joel, our new band name is the Bed Shitters. It's in honour of you.

I'd like to extend my hand to Sports Ross. Anyone with the first name Sports is a friend of mine. Although I think all Edmontonians are dumb, there is always an exception to every rule.

Like Joel, he's an exception. He looks cool. He acts cool. He tastes cool, but he ain't cool.

Anyway, I have to get back to my crime fighting and television watching.





8.16.2004

Welcome to My Nightmare!

Welcome Joel, Dane, Little People:

For a few had weeks i have weaseled and sucked up, hoping beyond hope to conquer...err join another blog. And here I stand on the cusp of victory, for now that i have taken one...only a hundred million left to take. I can feel my power grow as I have growen infinitisemally closer to my goal of Virtual Domination!

Now I will not promise to be nice, kind or witty along the lines of Joel. Nor will I be a perpetually infuriated poster. Instead I will bring a civilized; well, as civilized as one can be living in the hellhole that is Edmonton. I'll bring a sport-centric look to this blog and join in any good times that can be had. However I will not don any gay apparel not partake in any carolling.

So welcome minions, the first corner of an empire and the last blog of your life!

I Quit!

Well, seeing that Dane doesn't think I'm important enough to include in his damn superhero adventures now, I think I'm going to quit. What an asshole. But don't worry, somebody's waiting in the wings to take over my position. Sports Ross, step forward and take a bow.

8.15.2004

Dung Beetle Guy Returns

It's one of those days. You know the type. It's hot, sunny and everyone is in a pleasant mood. It's the kind of days bored superheroes loathe. I'd much rather be pounding justice into the face of some evildoer, but there's no villains out today.

I'm in my Dane Lutz, journalist, costume. I'm wearing a pair of tan Dickie pants, a white golf shirt and a Fedora on my head. By my side is my trusty camera bag, which actually contains my Dung Beetle disguise.

I'm on patrol. I head up one side of main street and down the other. If someone notices my odd behavior, I tell them I'm sniffing out stories. But really, I'm protecting the decent people of Rocky Mountain House.

I've been wandering the streets for three hours, when finally a hear a huge crash. It's actually whatever sound two cars make when they collide.

I look up the street and to my delight two cars had collided. I don't have super-hearing, but I get my ears flushed on a regular basis so my hearing is extra good.

I run into the alley behind the CIBC to change into my DUNG BEETLE GUY outfit. I rip open my camera bag and pull out my suit. I slip off my shirt and start to remove my pants.

"Ahhhhhhhh!!!! What the hell are you doing?" A 22-year-old female had just caught me in the middle of my transformation. My pants are down around my ankles and I'm only wearing my lucky blue boxer-briefs. I turn beat red.

I pretend to be intoxicated. "Come here baby, and give papa's belly a tickle." I don't want her finding out my secret identity. If I had more time, I'd try and charm the foxy brown-haired girl. She reminds me of the hot checkout girl at IGA, but I hadn't seen her there lately. If Spiderman can get a hot girl, why the fuck can't I?

She quickly scuffles away. I continue changing. I cover my head with a mask. My ensemble is complete. I run to the scene of the accident only to find the two drivers getting back into their vehicles. I guess they had already exchanged insurance information.

I raise my left up, up into the air and shout: "Another job well done by Dung Beetle Guy!"

A slurpee hits the back of my head.

"What the fuck did you do?" asked a curious bystander.

My jaw drops to the ground. I'm stunned. "What did I do? What did I do? You ungrateful little twerp. I ought to...." I push him up against the wall, and show him my teeth. I let loose a little growl. He's scared. I wonder if he's pissing his pants.

Anyway, I put him down and return to the alley.

"Who the hell would steal my clothes?" I hell. What a crappy day, I think to myself. I walk back to my secret hideout and eat a Kit Kat.

Make the most of your break. Have a Kit Kat.


8.14.2004

Question Period

If you've been paying attention to our "Complaints" section, you probably know that Sports Ross has expressed interest in joining our little site here. At first, I thought "Na..." but after thinking it through for a bit it seemed like it might be a good idea. I asked Dane about it, but he gurgled then passed out on the floor, so that wasn't much help. So, gentle readers, I'm putting it to you. Should The Dazzling Sports Ross join our team? Or do you prefer that we stay a duo? Leave a complaint and let us know!

8.12.2004

Man Do I

It’s a hot day. I’m sitting on my leather sofa in a wife-beater and some Umbro soccer shorts. Sweat drips deep into every crevice of my body. It’s irritating. I pick up a nice, cool Pepsi-cola and take a drink. The flavoured water tantalizes my taste buds and tickles my esophagus before it splashes and intermingles with my stomach acids.

Ahhhhhhhhh. I release a sigh of delight. My body temperature decreases to a tolerable level.

Man do I love Pepsi-Cola.

My eyes focus on the television set in front of me. It’s a 36-inch Sony. I won it at a cock fight in dark recesses of the old Mountainview Hotel.

Charlie, a scrawny year-old pecker, was pitted against Samson, who was undefeated in 22 matches. The odds were 50-1, and I didn’t believe Charlie even had that good of a chance.

But, what the hell? I gave a loonie to the crazy, Mexican, one-thumbed bookie. Mike was his name. I wasn’t totally convinced he was Mexican. He could have been Spanish, or even some messed-up hybrid.

Anyway, I went over to Charlie. I gave him a quick stroke on the back and the fucker took a chunk out of my hand. Blood spew all over my lucky plaid shirt. I almost stomped on the bird’s head, but didn’t. I realized the chicken-legged rooster had heart and therefore a chance. I placed nine more dollars on the small feathered animal. I felt lucky.

The bell rang and Rigo, Charlie’s owner, dropped his competitor in the pit. Samson charged Charlie, but the underdog jived to the right. He quickly pounced on the behemoth’s back and ripped at his jugular. Blood sprayed straight up into the air. Two bystanders were drenched in red. Samson didn’t last 20 seconds in his 23rd fight and first defeat.

It took two trainers to pull the psycho chicken off the lifeless mass. I swear I saw Charlie spit on the carcass as he left the ring. I won $500, but instead of cash I took the Sony. I wanted to watch some Blue Jays baseball that weekend and the 13-inch set just wouldn’t do.
Man do I love Sony television sets.

A chime sounds. I look over from my spot on the leather sofa. It’s the cat clock. The tail swings every second and the clock face is where its body should be. I remember when I first hung that clock on my wall.

It was a dark night, and I was loitering outside the bingo hall. Some old people came out, one had an oxygen bottle. They started taunting me and my gang, the stick breakers. My gang got the name because we’d break really thick sticks to intimidate our enemies. We challenged the seniors to some fist-a-cuffs in the alley. They obliged.

I took out my stick. SNAP! Their old eyes bugged out. I could read the fear on their faces. My posse backed me up. We charged. Punches were thrown and received. Blood splattered, and dentures flew.

Then the lights went out. I guess my crew took off when their leader went uncoscious.
I awoke in a pile of trash. My head throbbed and I had a small mountain on the back of my head. I had no doubt it was a cheap shot from an oxygen battle. I stood up, dusted myself off and started walking home. But before I left, I picked up a cat clock that just happened to be in the same trash pile I was in. And some people don’t believe in fate. I nailed the clock to the wall the instant I got home.

I wanted to get revenge on those old people and restore my honour, but they all died before I could. I had the sweet satisfaction knowing two suffered slow painful cancerous deaths.

Man do I love cat clocks.

With a can of Pepsi-cola by my side, the sound of the Jays game on my Sony and the ticking of the tail on my cat clock, I take an afternoon nap.

Man do I love afternoon naps.

8.11.2004

I'm lost

Without Joel, I have no one to tell me what to do. For the past four days, I've been sitting on the couch, wearing pajama pants, eating chips and cursing the television set. I haven't been to work since last Friday, and the damn phone calls are starting to piss me off. I have crumbs scattered throughout the hair on my chest and I need someone to wipe my ass.

Where the fuck is Joel?

Jooooooooooeeeeeeeeeeeeeelllllllll!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm starting to go insane. The animals are talking to me. They're inviting me to an all-night kegger in Leslieville.

Damn it. There's some scratching at the door. I'll be right back.

............

Sorry guys, Dane is one of us now. Drink your beer Dane. Use the funnel Dane. Say goodbye Dane.

bye.

8.05.2004

A Meaningful Discussion

Hey everybody, this is Dane. I decided to invite Joel back over to my house so we could write another post together. Say hey, Joel.

Hey guys! How's it going? It's great to back here, even though the last time we tried this it ended up with Dane swinging a crowbar while chasing me down a country lane. But you know, that's why pencils have erasers. It's all water under the bridge. We got over it, and let bygones be by-

Quit it.

Oops, sorry. Why don't you lead off the discussion, Dane? We've got some good topics to talk about today! Like how to make a decent egg salad, or what the best Winnie the Pooh cartoon short is, or even what the price of r-

Why the fuck were you writing about my girlfriend?

Oh! Um, I see that Dane has, um, chosen a meaningful issue to er, debate.

Can it, shithead! Give me one good reason not kick your ass!

Dane, I merely wrote that to help clear up some misconceptions we had about each other.

What, her "misconception" that you're a douchebag? That did fat fuck-all!

Hey, we can act like two grown men and not resort to names... oh, who am I kidding, YOU FUCKING FRUIT! That's it! It's go time!



Huh... wheeze...

Wheeze... pant...

So are we cool?

I know I am. You sure as hell aren't!

WHAT?!



Heeeey, eveeereeebodeee! I'm drunk on punch!

Um... where's my ear?