So, I want to talk to you about this whole X-Day thing. I touched upon it earlier, but I was touching myself and stopped paying attention.
Now, specifically in regards to “Bob’s” prophecy and 1998. This topic has been beaten into the ground, but I’m still in the mood for some beatin’ – care to join me?
You see, there are a lot of theories floating around. Some refer to the Conspiracy calendar noting trustworthy – or that maybe “Bob” got the date wrong
I’ve even heard the idea that the memo was upside-down – or that it’s all just some big joke – Ha ha ha ha!
Friends, I have seen a vision – a vision of hope, a vision of promise – a vision profits, pipe smokers, and pudenda!
As a student of sound (audio engineering is my Slackful fetish) I enjoy my evenings creating soundscapes in which the discerning SubGenii can escape the humdrudgery of this Conspiracy infected globe.
Along with my frop pipe, I glide along the sonic sheen of mental masturbation, clinging to the rings of frop smoke like a swimmer with his innertube.
Nothing is finer than floating through the cosmic slime clinging to the frop rings from the pipe. And let me tell you, that was some mighty fine frop this one particular evening.
It was such a lovely evening to FropScape and I was soon bouncing gently along the air currents. Soon, I would be drifting out of the stratosphere and away from this shitball known as Earth Farm One.
Now, I had happened to notice the glint of light just as I escaped the atmosphere, but I had mistaken for the MTV satellite, which I was eagerly hoping to run across so as I might send it plummeting to the ground.
It was then I realized they were trans-dimensional space vessels in geosynchronous orbit, triangulated between myself, the CNN satellite and the moon; I pondered the strange madness of these twisted grotesqueries dancing in orbit around our pathetic little planet.
Upon a close inspection as the frop ring gently bobbed along the currents of the solar surf, I noticed, spray painted in red on the thermo-chromic hull of one of the ships – just to the left of the Quantumaramagnetic Slipstream Propulsion drive – a sign that read "Earth of Bust." I realized that I was witnessing the preparation of the invading Xist armada --
At that moment the solar winds picked up about 20 zettajoules, sending me headlong into the side of the closest ship. Fortunately, frop smoke has a wonderful rubbery elasticity, and I safely bumped along the hull like a balloon caught drifting in a wind of flatulence.
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