You grab the javelin. It feels good in your hands as you throw it with all your might. The rod travels through the old monk, sending him flying to the ground. Chad vomits all over himself from the image, but years of internet usage has left you numb. You pull the javelin out and head back towards the main street. Five police officers stop you. Sweat begins to gather on your forehead until one reaches his hand out for a handshake. "Congratulations." He says. For your participation in the extermination of an ancient religious sect, the Chinese government wants to reward you. You can have anything you want.
"I want a girlfriend." You quickly say. No.
"I want to be in the Olympics." No.
"I want a Hanzo Samurai Sword." No. That's Japanese anyway.
"Well, erm, could I have a 50inch Sony TV?" Okay.
"With 1080p HD?" No.
Congratulations on your new television, too bad you won't be able to compete in the Olympics or watch Ratatouille on Blu-ray.
Do you remember the crazy clothes and hair of the 1990s? Do you remember Crystal Pepsi and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? Do you remember where you hid the box your mother gave you?
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.
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