Risky: A Historic Night

Where does one begin after he has experienced so much in a night? First and foremost, the biggest news would have to be the complete global domination that was achieved on the night of November 21, 2005. Is he DAFT?!? You ask. No, he replies. Of course what I’m referring to is my victory in the risk tournament. An epic battle of mass proportions, to say the least.

The match began with a power struggle between myself and some other subordinate for North America—a key continent in my grand scheme. Thus, my terrified and pants-peed troops first saw battle in the battle for “Rabbit nuts” but managed to pull-off the victory, and hold the continent. My associate and unknown ally, Corporal Mallinkovson suffered massive casualties early on in the war. As a result, the Corporal spun into a vodka-induced depression of spousal abuse, and childhood night terrors. However, his fleet managed to survive the first two winters of battle. The alliance between us formed on the eve of battle when the Corporal and I were sharing a milkshake and decided to have a love child of war.

Tension between the four remaining players grew with hunger for a pizza that arrived two years late (Risk time). Specifically tension between the Corporal and I became butter-thick, as a DNA test showed that the war/love child was that of another General. Thus, the battle of “Mud” takes place (the battle was named “Mud” because the soldiers heard that there was rice in the. Over-fought and under-nourished, the soldiers feasted on mud for the entire ten-month battle). As it turns out, The Mallinkovson fleet had eaten too much mud, and died of natural causes. This left General T a clear shot at domination. Tired and awkwardly aroused, the quest of the “Grey Cloud” commenced. An overwhelming forced of “Kazis” swallowed the opposition as if the were mud-rice. Within months the world belonged to the General. With Corporal Mallinkovson trapped in Australia, General T cleverly intercepted all supplies going into the country. On November 21, 2005, Corporal Josh Mallinkovson was forced at mud-point to sign the “treaty of twenty” which stipulated that the victory and riches would be awarded to General Tamasauskas. Unfortunately, General T had the Corporal wrongfully executed when he was getting a foot massage from the Corporal’s wife.

The ghetto puppeteer

As the season grows colder I become more and more desperate for faster and more convenient bike routes to school. One crisp Wednesday evening changed my brain-thoughts forever! As I battle 60 kilometer per hour head winds, I decide to call it quits on the bike trail and head inland—towards the city. While riding the Speed master
(a black diamond-studded stallion speed bike, which has been blessed with a thousand lost bike souls. It was then knighted and was chosen to be the first bike ridden is space. After developing an acid addiction, the bike went untouched for five years. On the fifth day of the fifth year, a young mysterious cloaked man found the bike in a bank vault while robbing it, he now rides it on a regular basis)
I noticed the scenery becoming a little more poor, and the cardboard percentage quadrupled. I had done found myself in the center of Windsor’s ghetto. This thought was then validated when I saw a leather coated elderly women urinate on her dog. “She is tough!” I yelled with anxiety. I started pedaling as fast as I possibly could until I saw him. In all his beauty. A Pant-less, hole-socked, street-greased homeless man wearing two brown paper bag puppets. Grime everywhere, as if an angel had applied stage make-up to his inner-thighs and coat. I looked into his eyes and realized that he smelled like global warming (one hundred years of industry and agriculture). I started crying and then threw a temper tantrum. Once I regained my composure I took a locket of his beard and attached it to my hair. He told me that one locket of homeless hair was enough to keep me warm in the coldest of temperatures. In essence, it was the secret of hobo vitality!!!

I later sold the secret.

Dead Pigeon impact

I don't know about you guys, but I have been encountering an above average amount of pigeon carcasses through out my daily stride. This cracked my heart into three portions for I have a mixed history with the pigeon race. The event which comes to mind haunts my ever step. One crisp morning in the city of Toronto (the pigeon capitol of Canada) there stood what must have been an average one-pound pigeon smoking what appeared to be the butt of a homeless man's cigarette. As I stepped closer to the purple civilian pigeon, I noticed that he had planted himself directly in my path. Well, the divine magics of the universe guided my foot as I attempted the scare the pigeon with a strategic fake-kick. Clearly this stunt allowed for me the pass my scavenging acquaintance. I was able to go on with my life as if nothing happen. SO I THOUGHT!!!!!

The next day, as I walked carefully towards the subway station, a chill like no other washed over my body like someone pan-seared my confidence-meat, a feeling I had not felt since the past morning when I was in the Mexican standoff with the Pigeon. Not knowing what to do, or who to call, I froze. I then unfroze and started charging heroically down the street (in order to evade my impeding doom). Not one second past before I felt it. I felt it people! At first I was too stunned to understand what exactly occurred. I started spiraling into depression as the ordeal sunk in. The pigeon had KICKED me!!! Me!!! He swooped in, and kicked my head. To this day I don't know if it was the same pigeon, or a colleague of the pigeon that I had attempted to kick.

So learn from my mistake people, don't try and kick pigeons, or homeless people for that matter, they might shit liquor on you. by-the-way, gross.

So if any pigeons read this, stop dying because I'm sick of the painful memories.

The bike man encounter.

Welcome to this weeks latest fufilment of my destiny. As you may or may not know, I ride a bike to school. Not just any bike. A speed master 8000. Barely street legal. Anyways, long story short, theres no more room for children in this world. So please do your part in having yourselves spaid or noudured in order to control the fetal population. Its appreciated.

But seriously I'm petitioning against the earth in order to have the wind removed form the environmental equation. NBC just bought the rights to the case, and they will be releasing a made-for-tv movie next fall.

Heres something of interest. I was hanging out with an old chum by the name of Josh (Malvolio) Mallinson. Well we decided the times was ripe enough to engage in a little bout of pool. So we went to acquire the cues. During the interaction with the cashier a moment occured between the mustached merchant and myself. I looked at his soul, it looked back!!! Quickly a conversation sprouted. "What did you do with your bike?" he asks inquisitively. "I left it unlocked with no front tire outside!" I passionately screamed silently. The news washed over the cashier as if the lord Jesus Christ robbed him with a letter opener for lottery tickets. The man then began to ramble furiously. I couldn't really understand it all, but I think he was sending me subliminal messages using eye-blinks. "th-th-th-the thing is, th-th-th thing is see, the thing is see-- about your bike--the thing is about your bike--your bike is...-the bike---my bike is." Understandably I vomited. It was too much use of the word bike in one day. Thats the law! I managed to escape his love gaze and carried on with my daily shananananagans. As I left the complex, I walked out the door in slow-motion while flicking a cigarette through the cashier's four-inch speak-hole. He then exploded........