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"Oh, sure," Max grunted, "easy for you. You've

  • "Oh, sure," Max grunted, "easy for you. You've never spent one minute in a zombie brothel, much less an hour trying to sort out what's left over after a
  • zombie "happy ending." All this Zombie talk bored the crap out of "The Eliminator." Max's bravado was lame. Zombie battles are nothing compared to Zelinian Hydras from sector
  • Pandromeda. Plus, zombies were just rotted corpses; not that effective. Even the West Mississippi Plastic Pants Task Force could flamethrower them. Zelinian Hydras scared Max tho.
  • Hell, the Teletubbies scared Max. He was in over his head in this space war, having been commissioned straight out of Academy thanks to his godzillionaire father's influence. Now
  • fourteen billion Quinliks were bearing down on Max's outpost, with unclear intentions. Max couldn't remember: Were the Quinlikians signatories to the ceasefire?
  • Max fumbled around to find the key to the filing cabinet - it was in the coffee money jam jar. Yes! The Quinlikians had signed the ceasefire. Just then, plasma bolts tore the roof
  • Open to reveal the rainforest he had dreamed of, populated by wild horses. Max took out his paintbrush and created his masterpiece, with Yves Tanguy as a witness. "Voila!", Max
  • exclaimed with glee!! This was to be his best oil painting ever!! The wild horses dancing in the sunlight against the vibrant green of the trees and the
  • spaghetti monster just floating in the background of the oil painting. Beautiful. The horses danced and praised the spaghetti monster for being deliciously holy and rich in flavour
  • as the trees and mountains swayed in the presence of the spaghetti monster. The artist thinks that this is the best piece to ever have been made in the industry.

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