This was probably my favorite thing to do in grade school when I wasn't looking up girl's dresses-
at least until the teachers realized all I ever did was Hunt for Food. Then
I was reduced to Number Munchers and Carmen SanDiego... and looking up
girls dresses. Ah, the wonder years.
be a Banker from Boston. I can buy more bullets that
I'll have to leave Skeletor behind this time.
That's sorta like a cow, right? I dig cows. Gimme 20 yoke. Ah hell,
I can only do 9. Oh, and gimme a mighty fuckload* of ammo while you're
at it, Matt. Oregon might be crowded by the time I get there.
Whee. We're nudists and we're going places. I've always dreamed
of seeing Megaman au natural.
You've got to kidding me. 0 miles and the wagon breaks?
Turn us around, Jesus. I'm going to go knock that Matt guy's teeth
so far down his throat he's going to have to stick his toothbrush up
his ass to reach them. Does anybody know what a "wagon tongue" is?
Looks like we're gonna be here for a while. Might as well
HUNT FOR FOOD
Back to the trail I guess.
... so twenty feet deep in the middle is too deep to ford?
You'll be missed Kookyboy... and Karnov, you were like a
brother to me, you fat, firebreathing foreigner. Now who's
going to help me eat all these dead oxen?
Turn some water into penicillin or something.
I don't know if I can go on. Sure, he was just a little blue robot
boy with a voice like a ten year old girl, but I loved him, and
our love was something special. Now I move on and leave him to rust,
cold and alone in a shallow unmarked grave somewhere in America's vast
midwest. I haven't cried this hard since "Titanic."
How did he fit
all my oxen in those little boxes?
Neener neener neener! The son of god has the trots!
* 1 Mighty Fuckload = 2.8 Fuckloads