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.