John stares deeply, thoughtfully into his deep, totally 
unseeable-through grape juice glass. He feels it coming. There's no 
turning back. This could very well be the end of humanity as we know 
it...

"They say two plus two is four, which it obviously is, but they seem 
to forget that two plus two is only four when it is. For the 
purpleness of the Team Rocket costume is nothing at all compared to 
that on the DW costume, as there is none on the former. However, DW 
wears no scarlet letter but Jessie Prynne does, as Nate clearly 
stated in his greatest 14th century renaissance cave-painting. But 
he died from digestion. Which brings us to the point that Earth is 
very improbable and probably should be destroyed before the 
toasteroven falls off another star orbiting the Earth. The Earth is 
flat. Deal with it. It doesn't matter anyway, as it really is round. 
But don't believe your schoolbooks: N Sync really isn't a band. It's 
a guy group. As is Backstreet Boys, Youngstown, and [insert 
whatever's on the Disney Channel right now here]. But they're all 
run by the creators of Barney because they feel they haven't quite 
destroyed humankind yet. But have we truly been exposed to indirect 
sunlight? Liquidator disagrees as he throws a spatula at Barbie's 
head, splintering it into a million wooden toothpicks and a complete
roll of floss and a tube of rehydrated pizza. Yet Tad Stones is a 
god. Don't believe the tabloids. You might want to live in 
Pocatello, Idaho once, but then kill yourself promplty after you 
move there. Trust me, you'll want to. It only makes sense because, 
as we know, the square root of pi is really Alfred Hithcock in 
disguise. He never really directed. He died in 1748. But they hauled 
his carcass around the set and provided a voice actor and very
well-coordinated animatronics installed into his body. It said so in 
my Disney catalog. Yet Pikachu disagrees. He is very disagreeable, 
even if he says he is. So there. Beware running with scissors. You 
throw them, you schnot. But first write a fanfic. Do it now, my sons 
and daughters, or else you won't have. Hahaha. Beware the sniper's 
bullet. Get him first. Don't wear black to a funeral. It's 
disgraceful. Two wrongs make two wrongs. Like three wrongs make one 
wrong and four wrongs make no wrongs. It's all a matter of fours. 
After all, four IS the first digit in forty-two."

Um..it's John's...I'm tired