You know, that cork sucker sent me a few emails today. Says he was from Hightstown or some shit. Doesn't know what an "AP Address" is. Farging ice hole. I'm gonna knock down dis wall....dis wall...and dis friggin wall.
Fuck is a verb. To fuck, as in, say, a rolling doughnut. Asshole is an insult. I'm not a total barbarian.
So Jake sent me this email tonight. We're hacked again. And I'm all like, oh lame. So I check it out and it's all Moroccan some-shit or something. But I'm all filthy because I'm chipping away the caulk (Boston cock) from the bath tub and at the end of the day, I gotta finish this project. So I go back to chipping away. In the grand scheme of things, it's annoying but whatever. If some 13 year old douche bag gets his rocks off this way, swell for him. But there's a small part of me that's thinking, "You know, what if there's this slim chance that this is how the e-terrorists pass their messages?" Slim chance, but you know - you never know. So anyway a bit later Jake is like, "Fuck this I'm fronting the $$ for the upgrade, this is nonsense," and Jason and Gerard get it going, which is cool. I should probably send them free MTBNJ t-shirts and shit (PM me with your address guys) which we have plenty left so if you have not yet bought one send me a PM and help fund the fucking anti-Jihad you cheap SOBs!!! So anyway, they get the upgrade and maybe the first 2 tries were a test run and they're going to "go live" with a hijack the next time but since we have the upgrade it won't work. So in the 1 in a million chance all that pans out, maybe this will thwart some innocent kittens getting blown up for no good reason because some dick weed in Islamabad or Hightstown will tune in and see no message and climb into a dumpster somewhere and blow him or herself up. So we got that going for us, which is nice.
So I jump ship in Hong Kong and make my way over to Tibet, and I get on as a looper at a course over in the Himalayas. A looper, you know, a caddy, a looper, a jock. So, I tell them I'm a pro jock, and who do you think they give me? The Dalai Lama, himself. Twelfth son of the Lama. The flowing robes, the grace, bald... striking. So, I'm on the first tee with him. I give him the driver. He hauls off and whacks one - big hitter, the Lama - long, into a ten-thousand foot crevasse, right at the base of this glacier. Do you know what the Lama says? Gunga galunga... gunga, gunga-galunga. So we finish the eighteenth and he's gonna stiff me. And I say, "Hey, Lama, hey, how about a little something, you know, for the effort, you know." And he says, "Oh, uh, there won't be any money, but when you die, on your deathbed, you will receive total consciousness." So I got that goin' for me, which is nice.