June 21, 1997
Day 2 of the X-games and my stomach is churning, festering. "Ever see a Fat man do the worlds greatest moves on a board?" the generic rock plays and it shows clips of me grinding at home. My little ESPN bio intro deceives you.
Building up speed on the pipe, a minimum of tricks to gain inertia. Due to my Weight and Weight gain I am going very fast! It's time now. It's time to pull it off for the crowd.... Fuck yeah, a huge 900 w/ projectile vomit shooting out in all directions. Some people puke from the smell and all of the crowd is sprayed by my meals.
I grab my board and run out of there while you are all blinded by stomach acids. That was me, I was...
April 1st, 2000
My finger struggles to navigate the tiny confines of your doorbell, but I succeed eventually. No need to hurry - need to keep my cool. The door opens, and you welcome me in willingly, so great is my disguse and so blind are you to the horrors that await.
Is it my red afro wig? Is it my bulbous rubber nose? THe big shoes. Whatever it is, I'm not at your kid's party to perform magic.
As the children look up at me with eager eyes, I do a little juggling. I gain your sons trust - then I invite him to pull my finger. As he yanks, I let loose my pickle all over his dome. I cackle madly and bust a hole in the wall like the Kool aid guy, and let off some fireworks in the sky. You look up, to see....
This tuna ain't working, bro, and this gross hot dog needs a one way trip to go live on your uncle's Flavor Farm.
These millennials have no idea how it feels to really work. They would never think about spending all day in the hot sun with their carapace baking and their dung drying out.
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