Finally, I had won the internet. Years of

Finally, I had won the internet. Years of research, countless sleepless nights hunched over a glowing screen had paid off. It only took

half a decade, or 2629800 minutes, in you're not into that whole brevity thing. Ah, but who's counting? Now that the Internet is mine (All mine! *maniacal laughter*) I have to fin

d true love because, what's the point of owning the entire internet if I have no one to share it with. I want a love to call my own, but I have these walls up. Big jagged walls.

With giant walking hammers to protect them. If you try to tear down my walls, I will hammer you. But I still want you to try. Be my mother and then let's get between the sheets.

Andy Warhol enjoyed getting hammered and then nailed. The drill at The Factory was different every time. There was music. Poetry. Lights. Cameras. Canvases. The giant hammers swung

about wildly, sometimes hammering, often clawing the drug-addled members of The Factory audience. Andy Warhol was pleased that the collaboration with Survival Research Laboratories

was going so well, although not many of the "subjects" were surviving. "It's un-FOR-toon-ate," drawled Andy as he sketched out another version of a soup can. Dr. What from the lab

oratory of pop art suggested the make a giant Chairman Mao golum from one of Andy's silkscreens & animate a giant Marilyn as his bride. Squeezing all the remaining tubes of acrylic

found in there, but when it all started WORKING, coming to LIFE beyond his limited mechanical expertise, he first suspected that something was very, very wrong indeed. Indeed. Inde