Introduction

Alright, time for something clever and catchy. Inspiration is just a step away. Any second and I am absolutely sure to find the tune to take this whole thing to regionals.

Once upon a time, I went someplace solely because they had bottomless root beer floats, proving the value of soft serve. Post apocalypse? Better with soft serve. Specifically if Matty Broderick is involved because nobody should buy that Cameron made the whole thing up. It doesn't even make sense. We're supposed to believe that there's a completely gentrified family centered around Baby Houseman that was a fever dream solely because Stuart from Spin City was having a case of the sniffles? And I suppose it's equally plausible that Sloane Peterson was into him fresh off of Legend.

Now, if you think that's weird then let's channel some inner Jules Winfield, as I am your chick from the Baltics, to explain like you were in a room full of nihilistic lizard haters to "hang onto your Stoltz!" To know me means sharing something about yourself. That's not an easy ask but I have less interest in chatGPT than I do in copypasta. I'm leaning in to that paleolithic diet harder than Ace Levy when chasing Gacy's score. Sadly, space bugs didn't count, though I don't remember if he managed to bag any. Life lesson: hunting space bugs turns you into a creepy creeper, while taming them makes you a space god. What's the difference between space god and space viking? Abs, I think.

So, welcome to silliness central where time is an illusion, lunch time doubly so, but don't let that frustrate you. Grab a cone, befriend Mr. Whippy, because it's all better with soft serve and if you've read this far without the urge to punch me in the tiddies, don't panic. Before it's all over, Huey will need a bullhorn to decry that you're being too darn loud.

LeVar Burton asked for my autograph. I didn't have the heart to deny him, especially since the final frontier is just a bucket of extra crispy goodness. I spend my days at a job that doesn't exist and none of it has to do with fighting, but put your tongue back in your mouth. Don't make it a contest you can't win. I'm a grand slam skee ball jedi who can hit those 100 point holes, the ones up in the corner that need knowledge of the kama sutra. Plus, I can get my heels behind my ears as easily I can touch my nose with my tongue.

You're drooling and nobody blames you.

What does any of this have to do with fighting? Not a thing, but you probably want to try and hit me now.

Last login: 2024-06-30
Start of membership: 2023-11-04