The man rolled over the table, smashing a

The man rolled over the table, smashing a few collector's items on the way as bullets fired from him to me. Luckily I had a plan. Before this even started, I had made sure to

rig the ceiling to drop hundreds of fierce Least Weasels and banana peels at the push of a button. As my opponent landed and took aim, I readied my camcorder and pressed the button

. What happened next burned itself into my retina display: hundreds of turd droppings from fierce Least Weasels and blackened peels rained down as Master Rancid fired his Rotten

body builder on Muscle Beach until they became a diamond dust of pulverized dreams, which he then mixed with protein powder and swallowed in one gulp. But the women didn't like

thick, musclebound cabana boys unless they had a master’s degree in Jack of All Trades: Fence builder, carpenter, plumber, gardener, master chef, chauffeur, masseur, and lover.

I suppose we were friends for a while because our taste in guys did not overlap. I was more into average guys who were self-supporting. I realized my "friend" was such a user when

I caught her having a threesome with two men made of cocaine. Then I realised her lampshades were made of cocaine. And the bed. I ran down the powdery stairs and out the powdery h-

ouse, grabbing several bricks from its cocaine exterior. I could never trust anyone again! Selling the coke, I bought 41 pounds of gold, a bunker, guns and hamburger helper to last

forever. If you're reading this manifesto, you have most likely killed me for my gold. Congratulations. If that's not true, my condolences -- I'm standing behind you with a gun.