March 1st, 2007

  • roybot


Design a post that has a creative/unusual background. Let your background be more complicated that a flat color or simple gradient. Your background may include: hax, internets, tubes, jesus, zzzpt, and tacos. Find a way to make your foreground text and mental images distinguish themselves from the busy, textured background. SHFDAIGJNSItow34oiIERNATDFGNDFASDf.412309490129051924124
let me be
free of this bullshit
free, so free
freedom of movement

  • roybot

i left my <3 in winnipeg

it was 3 am, the 14th hour of the second day of my mission in the icy wilds of winnipeg. i had been sent by the powers that be to locate one A. Funk and present him with cherished/famed Ghettoblaster of ages. my hat was set to 179 degrees.

i was enjoying a moment of deep-fried respite in a local Burger Despot, when my plunge into a double (heart) stopper was interrupted by a growing commotion towards the door of the venue.

i casually peered over my burger, and was pleasantly surprised. the man i had been searching for, A. Funk, was currently in the process of kicking people out of his way so he could enter the establishment.

"Mr. Funk!!" I cried as he finally broke through.

"WHAAaaat!#~$!" He exclaimed, an eyebrow twitching dangerously. He probably thought I was going to try and arrest him, or something (hell, the cashier had been nervously edging over to the phone the entire time), and I figured I'd better explain myself quickly.

"I was sent here, looking for you. I bring gift" I said, putting on my best Don't Kill The Messenger tone.

His demeanor changed instantly, a smile appearing on his face.

"What the fuck, man?" he asked, and chuckled a little. "I don't even live in Winnipeg any more! I just came back to visit and pummel."

I had not known this. I was not even sure why I was supposed to deliver this Item to A. Funk, but then, I am not supposed to know these things. That is the nature of my job.

"I follow my orders." I said.

"OK, so what is it?" He said, clearly eager to get back to kicking ass.

"It is famed Ghettoblaster of the ages, Sir Funk." I responded, digging it out of my duffel bag.

I handed it to him.

The invoice presented to me when I took it into my posession had listed a fresh set of batteries and a burned, unlabeled CDR as well as the boombox itself. A. Funk immediately took note of this fact, adjusted the amplitudinator to 11, and started it playing.

"INSANE IN THE MEMBRANE!!" the boombox cried, quickly filling the franchise with the stylins' of Cypress Hill.

"INSANE IN THE BRAIN!!" the boombox continued.

A. Funk was clearly surprised, but not unpleasantly so. He continued his ass-kicking process, famed Ghettoblaster of ages riding on his shoulder. I calmly watched and continued eating my burger.

At some point, his excessive gyration started to take its toll on famed Ghettoblaster of ages, and the song began to skip.

"INSANE IN THE BRzzzurp" the boombox stuttered.

A. Funk was clearly irritated by this. He gave it a whap, and the problem quickly became worse. Angered, he hurled famed Ghettoblaster of ages at the cashier, who was just starting to talk to the police. He did not miss.

A. Funk then left the eatery. I finished my double heart stopper and left a few minutes later - and just in time, as I saw police flashers once I was a few blocks away.


A week later, I was back at headquarters, browsing the day's paper. A headline immediately caught my eye: "QRUNKBEKISTAN PRINCESS KILLED BY HURTLING GHETTOBLASTER"

I did not read the article. I simply didn't even WANT to know.

Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker