On the top of Mount Everest, adjusting the straps on my rocket-powered hang-glider... when all of a sudden, hundreds and hundreds of cute and fuzzy ninjas popped up, and they looked like they meant business!
So there he was, the commander of the Ninja horde. I doffed my cap and let him know: "call it what you will, but this contraption will be seeing me and those microchips on top of K-2 making sweet music before you can wax your mustache, old man" and I gave the ignition a strong tug.
As my body was pressed back by the force of the accelleration, and I felt my feet leave the ground, I saw that the roar of the engines had caused an avalanche that was rapidly sending the cute and fuzzy ninjas down to a frozen grave.
In preparation for my landing on K-12 and the making of sweet music, I reached back to unsling my trusty banjo. However, it seemed to be stuck fast on something, and my landing spot on K-12 was rapidly approaching...
I looked over my shoulder to see a leprechaun clutching my banjo. "Hey, let go," I shouted over the dying engines.
"Shouldn't you be watching where we're going?" he replied in a thick Chinese accent.
I turned back, confused by his dialect, only to see K-12 disappear in a puff of smoke. Damn you David Copperfield. I knew I shouldn't have cheated during the Masters of Illusion checkers tournament. I quickly reached down to my utility belt...
Maybe there are rockets that create the air currents that the glider rides upon.
In fact, I was just setting up a network of stationary rockets for that very purpose, when suddenly an ex-Buddhist armadillo challenged me to a game of Parcheesi that I could not refuse.
and picked off the skeleton blipper. I calmly depressed the boot-release button, pointing it at the Range Rover that was madly approaching me as if I was the Myer and it was the Boxing-Day crowd.
All at once, like a mexican wave, two BMWs, a Fiat, and a hatch-backy thing that I couldn't for the life of me remember (although I did vaguely recall the catchy jingle of the campaign when it was released in the fall of '82) all stood their rears at attention, their darkened cheap carpetted boots hoping, salivating at the possibility of a taste of my salted and fresh-frozen flesh.
Alas the Range Rover held tight. It appeared that either it felt I was not good enough to receive a softer landing than it's number plate or that it spoke a strange dialect of Middle English that my skeleton blipper could not replicate.
Given that all these cars were approaching rather quickly, I reached to my utility belt for a second time...
abusing the minions, when someone said "Sweet Jesus" and I thought of this [goats.com]
So I thought I'd drop by and see how you're all doing. I see Zeds still leader of the pack, Herr Professor is chassing and unFallen's avitar seems to have the jitters...
So it's same ol' same ol' then?
"Leader of the pack?"
Only in terms of being at the bottom of the dogpile.
It's the same ol', same ol' here until either a bunch of newbies decide to take it over by storm (which given the general apathy isn't going to take a whole lot of blowing) or until the rest of this lot decides to get off their arse and be a community again.
