Sinking to Hambre's level. What's happened to me?
I tell you, Hamby, I used to be able to feel the comedy down in my soul. I could do more with a quick, well-placed robot ninja than with every last swear in the English language.
I miss those days, when the robot ninja would fight their natural enemy: the performing circus bear on a unicycle. The clang of sword on bone, the hiss of tooth on flesh, and the smell of clown feces rotting in the background.
Good times.
You know I used to have a small army of carnies at my beck and call, ready to bite the head right off a chicken and spit it at my detractors? They would vomit on the floor to prevent my feet from touching the ground. I asked them to stop, but apparently it's their custom.
Carnies are wonderful people; planet Earth's natural antibody to the hobo infestation. Always ready with a laugh, a song, and VDs of all shapes and sizes.
I had all that, and here I am trading "nuh-uh, you fuck"s with Andy Dick's stunt double.
It's time to get back to my roots, Hambre. No more dancing around with fake letters and TV promos. You wanna take me on, you take on the hobos, the carnies, the robots, the midgets and the monkeys. Because they're all on my side, big man. And they're seriously pissed off.