Room With A Muffin

I said we'd be back.

I told you.

I fucking told you.

And we brought the fucking robot dinosaur viking king.
Why?
To kick your ass if you ask too many questions.
That's 'Why'.

And I would also like to appologize to you, and to start this new season (you didn't know we had SEASONS on this bitch now did you?) off on a classy foot- a SINGULAR classy foot because the other foot is too busy being pants-on-head-retarded and yelling about how it's toes are Daniel Craig's grand kids or some shit.  So, now, on to the appology:

First off.  I appologize for never spelling 'appology' correctly.  Ever.  It's not going to happen, so sit down, shut up, eat some glue sticks and enjoy the nice squiggly red lines that are all over my fucking screen.
And that brings me to point number two:

The less I know about what goes on with these
fuckers, the better.  

I would also like to appologize for all of the motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking website, I assure you that I.T. is looking into it, or eating burritos on company time, or, maybe the snakes are eating those burritos now, but in any case, the burritos are not your problem.  And for the future I just wanted to assure you that I have a dream, a dream where white people, and black people, and even all them chinease people, can visit a blog site, and read utter nonsense, and not have snakes fuck their mums.

So.  There.  I appologized, for everything, or at least everything I could think of at the time; NOW ENJOY THE APPOLOGY.

Cuz it's the last fucking one you're going to get this season, and I assure you, some fucked up shit will be said, and if it offends you- too damn bad, you shouldn't have read it.  It's not my fault that future you isn't successful enough or smart enough to have built a time machine to come back and warn you not to read my shit.  That's not my fault, so stop blaming me for your inadequacies, man up, and maybe please your girlfriend for once so that maybe she won't notice how unfortunate future you will be.

So, if you're the type of person who enjoys this kind of fucked up shit, then by all means, RETURN, READ, and feel SUPERIOR to your fellow man or ameoba.  I make no guarantees; this will not make you uncomfortably energetic, you will not gain electrolytes, this has no nutritious value, you will not run like Kenyans, or, knowing our likely reader-base, you likely will not even run like blind triple amputees with third degree burns covering 50% of their body, but it is....

...MADE WITH REAL LIGHTNING!!

This is what I found when I searched for 'Real Lightning'
Does it make sense?
No.
Do I care?
Even more no.
Do I give a shit that that didn't make sense?
I assure you:  I have precisely 0.00 shits to give.

 

Pokemuffins: Part II

Tonight on Pokemuffins, pull up a chair, get yourself a nice cup of tea, and listen to me swear like a sailor whilst playing a video game. I promise I won't reference dogfights.

Oh no, wait, I was busy getting my ass kicked in Dig Dug. Hang on.

Yeeeeeah. Mount Moon. Gonna find myself some space rocks.

Man, they must really hate this ZUBAT guy. Maybe this girl can tell me what the fuck is up with this cave.

OH MAN NO WAY, SHE WOULD RATHER FIGHT THAN TALK. Shit just got reeeeal.

BECAUSE YOU SUCK.

And by "fossils", you must mean methamphetamine. Because everyone here is fucking tweaked.

But whatever. I have no time to waste on you, Iris. Go smoke your fossils behind a portable toilet and talk to someone who gives a crap. Rarg told me to find myself a Geodude so I can smash some shit up, so it's off on a kidnapping hunt we go. I keep imagining that once I find one it'll be wearing sunglasses and talk about geology and be smoking a joint, asking if I want to drive around in a Jeep Wrangler and listen to Phish. We can start a jam band and go to Ohio and -

OH SHIT. Someone has stolen his Jeep.

Time to fight my battles and help me repay that gambling debt.

Smells like... victory.

I don't know who the fuck throws rocks with giant fists at each other and still has friends after they've gotten out of the hospital. That thing is 44 motherfucking pounds.

This Geodude is a ladydude. Unfortunately "Anwar Sadat" is an entirely unsuitable name, so we'll go with Pawn's choice of "Little Dickens".

This can't be anything other than totally appropriate, I'm sure.

Pokemuffins: Part I

IT BEGINS.

So because I live under a fucking rock and never played a Pokemon game, I started a file in Fire Red on an emulator.

As far as I can tell this is a game about animal trafficking. I run around like a jackass and throw animals at other animals and make them "level up" (which I can only assume is a cleverly disguised reference at injecting them with anabolic steroids).

To counter this, I have developed a complex equation for naming my Pokemon:

Utter fucking nonsense.

My Libertarian Charmeleon has succeeded in besting some dude named Brock, who was some kind of caucus representative or something. Hell if I know. I got a badge, because obviously my animals whaling on his animals and emerging victorious demonstrates some kind of great character on my part (see fig. A).

Fig. A - Michael Vick. What a funny guy I am.

Also, some guy wanted to preach the Good News of shorts to me, and he provided me with some helpful literature.

What the fuck. Does that even fucking mean. Are regular fucking pants too challenging?

DAMN IT GREG, I'M NOT IN THE MOOD FOR THIS SHIT.

So now I have to go to Mount Moon to find some space rocks or some crap. I don't know. I named my rival "Douche", so hopefully that will provide me with three nanoseconds of laughter next time he bumbles around screaming about his damn Pokedex and making grandpa proud or whatever.

Also to keep this fun, whatever names get posted in the comments will get used as soon as I kidnap more defenseless animals for my murder mill. SO THINK UP SOME GOOD ONES. Anwar Sadat is next up.