Trollin', trollin' trollin'
Lakes and streams are swollen
Fingers nearly frozen, Walleye!!!!
Through wind and rainy weather
We're in this boat together
Six packs, lures and leeches by our side
Muahaha. And you thought I was dead. Figures, you sadistic lil' bastaads. Well as you can tell by now, I can't be killed. They've tried and failed miserably. No, seriously. They sent this giant chicken at me with a chainsaw, but it couldn't stop me because I'm immortal (there are trees and mountains and magic... everywhere, magic). No, seriously. Just wait til the scientists get a hold of me and label me some sort of freak. No, the correct answer is "you were a freak from the day you were born, Freak". Dur.
Anyhoo, I can already see this is turning into a weird sorta deja vu thing, what with the strippers and booze and creepy lookin guys sitting in the corner with their hands under the table, goo. But the fourth of Julia came and went with a mild fizzle and a bit of an odd radioactive green glow (stupid old TV's we found in Chernoble) not to mention a complete lack of communication with the outside world. I hope you damn pyros were stupid enough and are now handless or at least one armed, god knows the world needs more bandits (jokes on you, there is no god). And for those of you that tried the soda can trick with your bonfire... Well I'm only sorry if there is any wood permanently embedded in your genitals (if only Bob Dole would read this blog, ED may have been permanently cured). I remember back when I was the third Hardy boy, wood was plentiful, and many odd little woodland creatures would gnaw on it. Those were the days, the days before Higgins. Personally, I spent much time sleeping but only because I never get to sleep from day to day, what with my busy schedule (shed-JOOL) and all, as well as watching movies and even had the nice occasion to golf (by the way I am a golf demagogue). Now normally I don't mind slow people on the course because then I don't feel so bad on the chance occurrence of me schnarking the fuck up all over the course. But when you have pro-wannabes hugging your ass and literally a small army of tiny Japanese people in front of you, the game tends to lose its splendor. Seriously, who lets a novtet of golfers on a course... Oh, wait, that's right, they didn't all pay, go figure. Well-to-do Asians cheating a golf course out of money, there's something in the spirit of nationalism and capitalism.
But I'm beginning to rant I see, which leads me to believe that the brain cancer may have some side effects. Now I'm not talkin cool side effects like John Travolta in Phenomenon, you know, the whole smart thing, moving things with mind thing; no, I'm talkin the whole stupid thing, the waving penii at traffic on Tuesdays thing, the extremely attractive to women thing, the sensitivity to bright lights thing, and the diarrhea of the mouth thing. Ok, I made up the part about sensitivity to bright lights, I got a bit carried away on that one I must admit. But for now, this shout out goes to Spieder-man, keep on truckin ol skool style, yo! And for the rest of you:
(left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot...)
(oh the Family Guy references are on a rampage, and FREUNLAVIN! SCHMOIL! with the Aqua Teen Hunger Force)