Mr. Artistic guy
Better Off This Way
For from the reading of the sands of time, this day was foretold. A gargantuan granite statue of the future, a place inhabited by clowns, jesters, guttersnipes, poltroons, the most feared and respected cage rats, grammarthirsty and unyielding. Those who had read the sands knew only too well.
If you believe in a Wrestlezone where cake is readily available*, where on the last Sunday of the month, the inhabitants of the spam sections are allowed to communicate only through questions, if you believe the time has come for lethargy and inadequacies to administer the forefront of this great forum then you may well have a home in the cozy thatched cottage of complacency that I forged with my supple and yet brutish hands not but two minutes ago.
You see my friends, I have a dream.... a re-occurring dream actually. In it, I am chased by a snake with the face of Barbara Streisand. I'm only able to run at half my normal speed. The snake never catches me nor loses ground. Then suddenly I am paragliding over Europe and landing in the snowy Alps of Southern Germany where I have to fight Polar bears with an Uzi. Then it becomes a weird sex scene involving people from films I'd forgotten about long before, many of the 80s, Grace Jones was in one I think. Then I wake up during the good bit. You see, I think I know what this dream is trying to tell me my brethren, and that is such.
It is that
At a singular point in the future we'll look back upon this and know then that it was perhaps even... destiny! And on that day, brothers and sisters, we can all sample the delicious flesh of the Thurmask plant from the aeolian-drowned Mount Taranaris and drink until our hearts are filled and goblets empty, rich with the ambrosia of Grandma Nora's Candlebury Ale. Then, my friends, we'll know why this day came to pass and we will rejoice to the future and to the past, and to all those that made it possible. A-thank you.
*Might be a lie.
WHO IS WITH ME!!
If you believe in a Wrestlezone where cake is readily available*, where on the last Sunday of the month, the inhabitants of the spam sections are allowed to communicate only through questions, if you believe the time has come for lethargy and inadequacies to administer the forefront of this great forum then you may well have a home in the cozy thatched cottage of complacency that I forged with my supple and yet brutish hands not but two minutes ago.
You see my friends, I have a dream.... a re-occurring dream actually. In it, I am chased by a snake with the face of Barbara Streisand. I'm only able to run at half my normal speed. The snake never catches me nor loses ground. Then suddenly I am paragliding over Europe and landing in the snowy Alps of Southern Germany where I have to fight Polar bears with an Uzi. Then it becomes a weird sex scene involving people from films I'd forgotten about long before, many of the 80s, Grace Jones was in one I think. Then I wake up during the good bit. You see, I think I know what this dream is trying to tell me my brethren, and that is such.
It is that
THIS DAY WILL LIVE IN INFAMY
At a singular point in the future we'll look back upon this and know then that it was perhaps even... destiny! And on that day, brothers and sisters, we can all sample the delicious flesh of the Thurmask plant from the aeolian-drowned Mount Taranaris and drink until our hearts are filled and goblets empty, rich with the ambrosia of Grandma Nora's Candlebury Ale. Then, my friends, we'll know why this day came to pass and we will rejoice to the future and to the past, and to all those that made it possible. A-thank you.
*Might be a lie.
WHO IS WITH ME!!
