The War Gods are angry
11.14.2001 11:02 PM
YOU ARE NOT IN OUR LEAGUE.
| The Exposition |
The War Gods want you to know a little more about Davin. Davin is the frattiest frat boy ever, in that he drinks a lot of beer and is almost totaly retarded. However he differs from the standard frat boy in a few key areas:
Allegedly, he's a web developer, however Davin is the operator of the Geoshittiest web-site ever. Experience the pain. I'm not sure what is worse: the insane frame layout or the very painful multitude of animated gifs. Further, note the almost exclusive use of the dreaded center tag. I'm not sure, but there might be a marquee tag in there somewhere too. Would YOU want this guy developing web pages for you? Let him know!
War Gods dislike being upset. This is a banner year for them and somebody comes along and pisses in their Cornflakes of Strife. Thus, the War Gods have decided to retaliate. You see, Davin, I really don't mind the smut. I don't mind that you like to post granny/gay porn; everybody uses the Internet to express their inner selves. They do take exception to you doing it on my page. If you're gonna post porno on my site, at least post some GOOD PORNO (Warning: real porno).
It turns out that these are the tamest pictures I have of you:
| The War Gods, however, are not so kind. I bet you forgot about this: |
The War Gods didn't.
Interestingly, the War Gods spend a lot of time spying on seedy motels. I was shocked at what they found:
YOU SICK FUCK! I should have known something was up the second you tore all the nudies out of National Geographic and threw them out, but I never expected this! My God.
The War Gods say there are more pictures. It will never end. Not even in Death, when the War Gods will have a new axle for their poo-traversing chairiots.
The War Gods aren't done with your sorry ass. They'd like to ask a favour of my readers: send off emails to Davin at email@example.com and tell him how much balls he sucks. Better yet, mail him at work and send some some of these pictures, ANY of these pictures, at firstname.lastname@example.org. I'm sure his boss would love to find out how he spends his weekend.
In closing, the War Gods and I have two things to say:
1. I'm calling your Mom. You don't know when, you don't know how. It'll happen.