God Dear,

Said He I the they of all time good and KFC, I am here to bestow upon all the blessed(destitute) peoples of the XWF(FWX), a world blurred my love and limes.

"I'm sorry... I'm [font=Times New Roman]cixelsyd[/font]

Timessome hte world ins't quite as ordinry as one might believeably?

Oh, my Captain, in what harbour might you stash me away in?

In the sweaty palms of all the nervebundles in the back?

Those gobbling at the drop, sucking at the teetle of those they deem 'superior?'

"Hold UUUUUP! SPACE JAM!"

(Michael Jordan appears before us amidst a white background because a narrator has yet to deem you worthy of knowing the locale.)

Soon enough though, once I've washed my hands, the man behind the curtain allows the rest of the picture to come into sight.

We're in a half-filled world of orange tennis balls and AK-47's.

That's all.

No grass.

No sky.

What would be the sky is a strange mixture of tennis balls and Kalishnikovs.

But Michael Jordan is able to wade around in this bulky and dense dimension.

Why, you might ask?

He's Michael Jordan.

I'm... 'X--------'

I have a [i]cockus about seventeen times bigger then Mr. XWF's.

What's a cockus?

It's an octopus's genitalia mixed with a martini.

Martinisquirter is a nice past-time of mine. It's a little game I made up, where the goal is to squirt enough sweet cumlixir at the Semen Demons in a quick....


fuck ya'll bitches... I'm out... I'm here motherfuckers...