This article is part of the Golan The Insatiable series.
Oak Grove Gazette, Letters to the Editor
Dear Scrawny Fools,
Cower!!! Golan the Insatiable addresses you, cowardly readers of Oak Grove Gazette! I gift you with response to Monday's letter from one Mrs. Budnick regarding my most recent "rampage" through your pathetic town.
For first - the thought of how weak your bones are makes me laugh, one Mrs. Budnick! You are nothing! For second - that was hardly a rampage. Golan the Insatiable has killed millions and cut pitiless swathes through deathmare hellscapes too heinous and gruesome for your mortal brain to even comprehend, Mrs. Budnick! Yes, I will cede that a hedonistic revel amongst my new acolytes at the feastinghole of Nick's Bar & Grill preceded my berserker tear through your quaint main street; yes, lives were lost and many were permanently injured; yes, the Jamba Juice will need to be completely rebuilt, but never shall I - Godlord Terrible of Gkruool, Crusher of Wills, Raper of All - apologize to the likes of you, Mrs. Budnick!
You may have lived in this forsaken suburban pit longer than I, but Golan the Insatiable has been breathing for as long as your feeble species has been alive! I am endless! So maybe you are the one who should leave Oak Grove, Mrs. Budnick!
Common citizens of Oak Grove, we've been over this ... I do not know how I got to your worthless dimension (I suspect foul wizardry), nor do I know how to return to my kingdom. I do not like it any more than you insects. Yet here we are and it seems we must make the most of it.
To this end, I do not appreciate that even after I made that infuriatingly degrading peace pact with your laughable city council, still yet I discover that you fools are seeking ways to destroy me. How many times and ways must I repeat ... Golan the Insatiable is immortal! You can not hope to kill me! Nothing in your fat stank world frightens me!
And even if, let's just say totally hypothetically, that there were maybe a certain enchanted item - maybe a cursed dagger forged from my own flesh for the sole purpose of destroying the Godlord Terrible of Gkruool - this dagger, which is just a hypothetical of course, currently resides protected by my serpent-whores in the bowels of an immeasurable cave system too nightmarish for even your greatest mapmaker to illustrate ... in my dimension! And before you start wasting your ridiculous time trying to figure out how you might possibly get to my dimension to fetch said dagger, I'd would like to point out the obvious: If you find a way to get there, maybe you should just tell me so I can leave! Besides, such a cursed dagger forged of my own flesh does not exist. Hypothetical, as said.
Hows about you, me, and five uncomfortable minutes in my basement apartment next to the dusty Christmas tree that's still up from my last visit with my estranged children.
The Upper Kitchen Cabinet Where Your Roommate Keeps His Food: You’ll 'need the footstool' to reach your roommate’s 'fine selection' of 'stale cereal,' but he'll never notice if 'only a little is missing from each box.' Feel less guilty by reminding yourself that Jeff 'acts weird around your girlfriend,' and always 'asks about her.' What a 'creep.'
This ain't your daddy's globe...! .... or is it?!
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