I don't typically wander down from my high-tower, especially to explain myself to filthy commoners and swine of the like--but I will make an exception this time, because I just had my boner mopped, as it were, by the former Ms. Alternate-Universe, and I'm feeling gracious in this hour of great triumph. Who is this Ms. Alternate-Universe? you may be wondering. Well, she's only the most beautiful inside-out woman you'll ever lay eyes on. Some people may be put off by the sight of her organs oozing about the mass of her interior skin, but I don't hold that against her because she has a wonderful personality and if you can manage to sift through the amassment of slimy flesh and wiry veins to find her salacious eyes, you'd be trapped within her spell forever. That and she wants to end world peace. Can you believe that?! About god damned time, I say. War kicks ass.
I seem to have run off on a tangent of sorts, but the point I was struggling to make there was something about the twat. Indeed. But what about it? Well, for starters, fingering twats is the American Way. Any number of fingers is fine, and, in fact, there is no designated prerequisite for the number of fingers required or limited to perform within the bounds of the American Way. However, any time fists are involved--such as fisting of the twat--you have wandered into the realm of the German Way, and we handed their asses to them in the war for good reason. Fisting is forbidden in America, and that's the way Lincoln would have wanted it.
Ah, but the American Way is tricky. Sodomy is the American Way, but mostly only in the South where that kind of thing is commonplace among the citizenry. Sodomy amongst first-cousins is considered a guilty pleasure in the deep South, and if you were to venture down into the murky depths of the deep, deep South, you'll not only find sodomy amongst first-cousins a guilty pleasure, but encouraged throughout the community. A clever Southern axiom has just come upon me, and it goes something like this: "buttsex is wild and it don't cause no child." And it's a good thing it doesn't, because if there's anything we don't need, it's a legion of inbreds genetically predisposed to Camaro Hair, perpetual tooth-loss, and constant rent welshing on the trailer. So let the freaks have their first-cousin sodomy and we'll all be the better for it.
And there I go again, off on another tangent of little pertinence. What I had meant to say was something of great and profound importance. Something inscrutably wonderous and astounding and mystifying all at once. Ah, yes. It is my awe-inspiring and incredibly majestic persona. If the Universe had a dignitary, I would be him, as I am the champion of our race, and possess a certain charm that is irresistable to other alien champion dignitaries of alternate universes, which is how I managed to bag Ms. Aternate-Universe. That's how this whole thing comes together, you see. Can you grasp that? It takes a rare breed to attract a Ms. Alternate-Universe, and in fact the breed is so rare that I am the only one of its kind. I am a fluke of grandeur and paralleled by none. I am a paradox of fantasy and reality. I am Don Magic, and, god damn it, I've come to kick ass.
swEEt lay0uts
