This is a title. Notice the bold lettering.

Why should I tell any of you a story? How audacious of you people to demand such things from me. We live in the “Me” generation of selfish dolts who declare that we are allowed to do whatever we want and we shouldn’t be berated or shamed for whatever preposterous proclivities potentially possess our minds. So I’ve thrown myself into the ranks of this group of depraved misfits; and to tell you the truth, I love it.

I can say whatever I want and do whatever I want and whoever tries to stop me, I simply call an ignorant bigot. It works on so many levels. If I identify as an elderly Eskimo woman despite being a burly white dude, who are you to say I’m wrong? It’s how I was born on the inside. Nature or God or hyper intelligent aliens wired me incorrectly, that’s all. And to nature, God, or hyper intelligent aliens, despite me knowing zilch about anything,I am above them all somehow. I should be worshiped for my courage and defiance to all staples of society. Also, rich people are the worst thing ever. They should be stripped of everything they’ve ever earned so it can be evenly distributed to all the people who sit on their front porch all day eating pork and beans out of a can. Those are the real heroes.

I’m not really sure where I was going with all this…

Oh yes! You wanted a story? Well if you read through this meandering tripe for this long I guess I could throw you a bone. Lets see…Ok! I got something.

There was once a guy named Bob. He was elderly and didn’t care for children. Some punk kid accidentally threw a baseball in Bob’s yard and the kid decided to trespass on Bob’s lawn to get his precious ball. In a flash, like a man with a brand new pacemaker, Bob ran into his garage, starting up his lawnmower. He burst forth from his dank den and ran that kid down like a deer in headlights. The kids family and even the police apparently didn’t care for Bob turning the boy into a pile of bloodied lawn clippings so now Bob sits in a maximum security prison, serving a life sentence. He has taken up painting.

There’s your precious story. Happy? No? I don’t care. Here’s a picture of an insane person.

The World War I era helmet is fake; however the U.S. Calvary saber is quite real. This man proceeded to massacre all the fruit within my home with no regard for safety. I pleaded with him to cease his manic action against my supple produce to no avail. I ended up chasing him out of the house with a can of bug spray and a lighter. Later that evening I enjoyed a nice fruit salad.

I never did see the strange man again. He did claim to be an Admiral, but in what army I truly cannot even fathom. To all in internet land, keep a vigilant eye for this deeply disturbed and potentially dangerous man.

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