Vulgar Display of Bunn
WAHHHHHHHH, HAAAAAAA, HAAAAAA… El Señor Rico, you think you can fire me?!? Notwithstanding your status as expert on all matters related to oil, pussy, F1 and Black Sabbath, you are victimized by the punishing fatal flaw of underestimating Bunn Bunn!
I’ve burrowed deep inside the belly of zee ZK beast and am now more omnipotent than ever. Your personal death march will involve ruing — with a style of grave sincerity generally only seen in B&W foreign movies of ancient vintage — the day that you dropped the washroom key. In my possession, the WC-opening bauble rapidly facilitated an unprecedented viral explosion of annoying performances and dissociative showboating. Sucker! My reign of terror is just beginning!
I’m watching all of you illuminati fucks and my finger is on the button. JR’s acting all good cop an’ shit, but that’s okay. I’m ripped and glossy and ready to mete out some serious discipline. (I’ve been wanting to do this for years. Ha ha! [If you didn’t pick up on that homage, you must make time in your life to sit at the feet of some master who can teach you about rock n’ roll]) For similar reasons (see his prior posts), Doom is scrambling to get his snout into this trough of obscene power. Trust me. I will look beneficent and tolerant once you see him in action.
If you were to call me an arrogant furry-assed self-promoting megalomaniac, you would be somewhere between one-quarter and three-fourths correct, depending upon whether and to what extent you’re onboard with my new global animism movement.
For Bunn’s sake, I hope that you lazy primates are enjoying this just a little bit, because it isn’t going last forever. So either way, you win.
While the bright light of the me that you see must eventually die, I live forever. (But, [as Byron King and others have said, and perhaps I paraphrase,] that’s another topic for another day.)