Num num num....NUM....num num num.... humph....

Num num num....NUM....num num num.... humph.... mmmm....(tasty)... CRUNCH!...chuff-chuff-chuff...num num...gulp...(ahhhhh) So anyway, what I meant to say was

if you don't wanna take another Louisville Slugger to the kneecap you better start talking. I'll ask again: How do you find the phase constant of a harmonic acceleration equation?

But the electronic voice only said, "Bing. What are you doing here? I thought I told you to go fuck your mother." That's it I thought and smashed Stephen Hawkin's knees.

That smug bastard. "Not such hot shit without your knees huh Mr. Hawkins? Relativity, space, and quantom black holes not doing much so save your ass now huh?" I brought my hammer

pants and sang "U Can't Touch This" to really rub Hawking's crippling disability in his face. He wanted to cry, but his robotic voice didn't have the ability to. I totally won

. I later felt really bad about what I had done. So I decided to experience Hawking's lifestyle, I strapped myself in a wheelchair and bought a synthetizer. But I lacked the genius

mind and the understated good looks. Still, I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of attention garnered when wheeling myself into local eateries or just toodling around the mall

in circles for hours on end outside the hot topic. I wanted to get some kickass spokes for my wheelchair, but the emo/goth/hipsters said I wasn't cool enough to shop there. US$.

So I said I liked the mall before it was cool.