lazar wulf: what happened to the bulgarian that threw eggs at you?
SB: Why don't you ask the egg? Same thing.
Baron von Bytecode: Steve, do you see yourself as more of a Jean-Luc Piccard, or more of a Lex Luthor?
SB: Am I some pussy faggot French spaceman or am I some goddamn scrotum with a face? What the fuck kind of question is this?
You're fucking fired, get out of my office.
Baron von Bytecode: Whatcha gonna do, Ballmer? Break a chair? "Fucking kill" me? Can the tough guy act, we all saw you crying during Star Wars Episode III?
Steve: You inhuman son of a bitch - Obi-Wan TRUSTED him. HE WAS THE CHOSEN ONE. Do I have to bring up how you cry every time someone makes fun of your precious Lisa on the Simpsons?
Anyway - fucking kill you? No, Liberace, why waste my incredibly valuable time? Instead of me just telling you what an incredible faggot you are, how about we drink to your continued health?
Oh wait, I've got your liver. Heh.
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
There's no easy way to put this, so I'll tell it like it is. Bouillon is died. He went missing before the weekend and yesterday I found his skeletonized remains at the bottom of the #3 soup vat during one of my swims. I thought the cream of mushroom soup had an especially nourishing taste, and a lot more clumps of fur and skin than usual.
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