Oh my god. None of you will ever believe this. Seriously, you will never ever believe this. You will never believe how strongly you won't believe this. Every time you see those pixies in your coffee cup, Jesus in your gas tank, and Captain Crunch on your Crunch cereal box, are all 0.99239428u39422343294832943289438493284932849348 times more believable then this fantastically rich, creamy, and soiled tale of lustful forgiveness in a world of toxic peanut butter wine.
It will blow your mind to the moon. Then to Pizza-Hut. Then to Cowboy Sushi Fest. And then your mind will be somewhere on the other side. The other side where buffalo only roam when they really want too. The other side where there are no reindeer, only deerrein. The other side where rabid killer vaginas are so innocent, pure, and scrambled. The other side where the cow's no longer produce milk, but only Listerine. And that Listerine is so omnipotent, that it's feared above all else. Even the half-emu, half-chimera, half-tricycle boxer shorts bow down to it's adulterous grace.
Warning if you continue to read this story, you will be in a joyous semi-funk, ankle halo, quarter-crown sense of logical bewilderment. Your eyes will deafen, your ears will blur, your tongue's taste sensitive scabies will self-soil, and your nose will simply ejaculate. Ejaculate into pure, wrought-plastic frequency modulated magazines. Yes you have been warned. Do not be mistaken you have been warned! Dear heathens, you have had the lightest, most sweetest, virgin throttling, knee-cap growing warning of your entire lives!
And don't be mistaken, your lives are so meaningless, they have the utmost importance in the natural order of shrunken wombats. Yes the holy order of post-prepubescent, lactating, god adoring atheist cheese-roaches. That dear reader, is where you truly belong. It is where your heart will plant a single root, not a seed, as your penis is broken, but instead, you will tear off your penis with the bark of a young air snake, and drive it .02mm into the ground. And it will become the most wonderous non-teleportation beam you could ever hope to imagine.
Do not take my warnings lightly, or you may only find true happy joy joy.
So on to the story. Today was Saturday. Yes that beloved day skanky female vermin dance in the air to clean out the stench of dry semen. Semen that they dream about since the day of the first great Sumerian laser-cassette. But that is just a normal Saturday. While today was NOT. This was the Saturday where all 7 days of the week align in perfect order. Yes! it was actually Sunday, followed by Monday, then Tuesday, then Wednesday, and after came Thursday, then amazingly Friday showed it's disheveled canadian come-over, and lastly Saturday actually came. Yes all 7 days occured in that most holy order. This has not happened in at least 7 days. This thought alone should make the reader be wary, as this simply CAN NOT BE!
So there it was a simply Intelligent Controller, named the Cyberstick. It was made of gold, gold from Tatsujicus! Such a more common metal can not be found in this equilibrium. Sitting roughly 10.32304302402940329049238429384 micro lightyears away, was a SuperGrafx. Yes that totally non-orgasmic piece of charcoal doped tang. Such a volcanic juice glass of a placement. I was scared, so scared that my very sock would run away into ash. But I did it, I connected the two, with all the grace of the one true purple people eater.
Finally I looked at Battle Ace. And it looked straight back at me. We matched each other up, both highly aroused by a total lack of any passion. We were like true French lovers, meaning we didn't even know each other's name nor age, nor species. We just had to f*ck, like peppermint grapefruits. So with steady drunken pinky rings. We became one. Yes we did that which must not be even thought of. The rapture was more boring then any non living thing could ever hope to partially imagine. And you know what? It still totally does not work.
