It's Sunday and on Sundays I adhere to a strict regiment of steams and kicking teeth in online. I finished a soul cleansing, hangover busting steam, and fired up my booter. It takes a few minutes for my booter to get ready so I busied myself with stretching my fingers, working out my bum shoulder, and doing a few totally nude squats. My booter was soon ready to go and before jumping online I perused my emails.
It stands to reason that I would have a far reaching, global network of spies, and I do. It so happens that I was notified via Darkstar, my communications minister, that this guy:
is running for office in Staffordshire, England. Not only is this guy fucking awesome because he doesn't let his sweet physical deformity hide behind modern prosthetics but also because his name is, I shit you not, Barrie Mycock! Judas priest that's a cool fucking name! Eye patch, check. Mycock, check. Now where do I dimple my fucking chad, yo!?
I want to take this time to recognize Darkstar for his sleuthing efforts. Out there in the thick of it, his tentacles masturbating the internet hoping to strike pay dirt, Darkstar is one of the unsung heroes of the Deucian empire. The Lady Jaye to my Duke, the Six Fingered Man (Count Rugen) to my Prince Humperdinck, the Shockwave to my Megatron, the Fenris Ulf to my White Witch, some of Darkstar's findings include Cicadaville and needsmorecowbell.com. Darkstar also introduced me to his new girlfriend who leaves me speechless to this day. Darkstar broke the déjà vu-esque story on the jimmy who blew $28,000 at a stripclub, and he also uncovered an in-depth study on the economics of online fantasy worlds which prompted me to start buying up acres and acres of virtual land while the getting' is still good. All this, and I haven't even scratched the surface. A man of singular purpose and vision, a man whose sole ambition in life is something so fucking cool it can't be discussed, Darkstar embodies everything that the Deuce Goose stands for and is a constant reminder that there is an I in TEAM. Darkstar, I give a hollah unto you.
It stands to reason that I would have a far reaching, global network of spies, and I do. It so happens that I was notified via Darkstar, my communications minister, that this guy:
is running for office in Staffordshire, England. Not only is this guy fucking awesome because he doesn't let his sweet physical deformity hide behind modern prosthetics but also because his name is, I shit you not, Barrie Mycock! Judas priest that's a cool fucking name! Eye patch, check. Mycock, check. Now where do I dimple my fucking chad, yo!? I want to take this time to recognize Darkstar for his sleuthing efforts. Out there in the thick of it, his tentacles masturbating the internet hoping to strike pay dirt, Darkstar is one of the unsung heroes of the Deucian empire. The Lady Jaye to my Duke, the Six Fingered Man (Count Rugen) to my Prince Humperdinck, the Shockwave to my Megatron, the Fenris Ulf to my White Witch, some of Darkstar's findings include Cicadaville and needsmorecowbell.com. Darkstar also introduced me to his new girlfriend who leaves me speechless to this day. Darkstar broke the déjà vu-esque story on the jimmy who blew $28,000 at a stripclub, and he also uncovered an in-depth study on the economics of online fantasy worlds which prompted me to start buying up acres and acres of virtual land while the getting' is still good. All this, and I haven't even scratched the surface. A man of singular purpose and vision, a man whose sole ambition in life is something so fucking cool it can't be discussed, Darkstar embodies everything that the Deuce Goose stands for and is a constant reminder that there is an I in TEAM. Darkstar, I give a hollah unto you.
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