How many times had he told himself not to

How many times had he told himself not to do this, stupid jungle operations always left him in a bad mood. As he pushed the brush out of the way, he was finally there. Time to

die. He pulled out his Stoner 63 and began filling the jungle savages with lead. Sweat roll down all over his manly man muscles as he yelled out his war cry, "DIE!!!" No man was

dank mancave. The stench of sweat and victory both wafted from his muscular arms as he held his prize firmly. "Necrophilia was both a gift, and a curse" he reminded himself, as he

hoisted the remains of Tiny Tim onto his lap. In his mancave he had hundreds of ukeleles but this particular one he found in a village in Hawaii had the crazy

element of Picaso. This particular ukelele "Tiny Tim" had two necks and frets, two soundholes, and three headstocks. The caveman proudly added it to his collection after he

popped a wheelie on his "motorcycle", which unfortunately was just a couple of wheels with a stick in between. Frustration

was setting in from the frequent wheelie popping when he was suddenly interrupted by the Ghurvtin invasion. Why did this always happen?

The Ghurtvin invasion wasn't on purpose this time. They were disoriented due to dehydration, being really sweaty after their last invasion interrupting SlimWhitman’s fungus song.

As they showered in the YMCA locker room after a long day of egging and invading, the Ghurtvins contracted athlete's foot. "The fungus is among us!" they crooned.