dr. doom must take care of business.
Every word uttered by dr. doom and also mister Alfred pennyworth is unique & integral in that any and all spoken words must be recorded for posterity. If any words utterances or other recordible audible sound produced out of any orifice are lost in any kind of circumstance, they must be retrieved at all costs. If I did not do what am about to do today, then history would have dropped off the map. a pebblestone dropped in the river that could & may grow to engulf all of the 7 continents and the 3,000 lakes. verbage from that utha level, up or down i ain't sayin', just that it's, well, just... yes. that's all there is to say.
I wonder if he had recorders all over his body and every little moment was truly recorded. What did Reed Richards really make of Victor Von Doom anyway? You know, Mr. Fantastic the leader and stretching power dude with the gray sidelined hair and Invisible Woman his hottie wife and her brother Johnny storm the human torch and reed’s best friend from college days and a military pilot, ben grimm aka the thing, man of orange rocks. (thanks for the comic dork ass explanation for pics already up, mr. galaxy quest 4700) hey easy there turbo, let's play nice, no wargames, breh.
Uh, so where was I? This is obviously not the inner musings of victor von doom but Berkeley joe. Berkeley, Berkeley joe, you little scheisholio. The only person more infamous would be Jackey Jasper.
So anyway, oh yeah. Gotta record the words of keith pennyworth for any and all playa-hating pipe feens might wanna perpetrate on this gangsta-ass dogshit acre styled bastardized step-children.
A post from about a month ago that was lost in a swirling horsecock called blogger, which now must be reposted. It’s an oldie but as far as a goodie, it ain’t a two-shoes or a mob. It’s a donkey encrusted pancake of melted whiffle ball bat encased in atomized lead.
Ok here goes:
Tuesday, March 4th, the year of our lord (ok that wasn't really in there) 2003
so it’s like that, eh? Whut can I say it was a scary night on old saddle road. Beth and Johnny were huddled up by the old gnarled tree root in Ol’ Maggette’s farm and a storm was brewin’, as sure as the power of Patrick Ewing.
There’s a lot of things to say and a lot of things to get all Fay Rae style on. It’s really up to me. It’s all about me, by the way.
As if you didn’t know. I’m the best. The ultimate gladiator in sheep’s clothing this side of the Emeryville express line. I’m the ultimate champion in a billowy windspawn of playa hatin bustavilles.
As if you DID NOT KNOW that I rule harder than Kathy Lee Giffords lungs on 1873. that is something of which there is no doubt. That is Dr. Dooom. That is Galactus on an ecstasy chain.
Ok first off, that was just a stage move, ok? I don’t really think I’m the best. But I know that Brandon is. There I said it. Fuck off if you don’t like it dagnabbit.
Fuk kool keith is pretty fukn badass, even on a Tuesday.
“I bring the ruckus, straight from the sideline…”
now that is fukn Reginald style. Bombin from tree like a nutt butta’d OG showtimer.
Hi I’m the clippers. Pleased to meet you. Fuck you, you suck. Goddamm clippers.
But I can’t stay mad at you, it’s like she-hulk putting up with Johnny storm’s shenanigans. It was not to happen unless that boundaries were not crossed.
Did I mention that kool keith is dope?
End scene
Oh and there was one comment on this pinnacle of literary masterpieces. Trevor kicked a milk bone:
I rule harder than Kathy Lee Giffords lungs on 1873
hahahahahahaha. I don't know what that means (maybe you meant "in 1873") but I am pleased none the less)
He of the hat spoke true, I DID mean to say in 1873 but I sadly fucked it up. And didn’t feel like fixing it. I figured that people would realize it and be pleased. And all this enduring worry about it had informed me that sure enough, the masses that are you 8 million readers strong, a day to day kersey-ed out version of the real live dillio called the super secret diary of francis emmanuel josephson.
Every word uttered by dr. doom and also mister Alfred pennyworth is unique & integral in that any and all spoken words must be recorded for posterity. If any words utterances or other recordible audible sound produced out of any orifice are lost in any kind of circumstance, they must be retrieved at all costs. If I did not do what am about to do today, then history would have dropped off the map. a pebblestone dropped in the river that could & may grow to engulf all of the 7 continents and the 3,000 lakes. verbage from that utha level, up or down i ain't sayin', just that it's, well, just... yes. that's all there is to say.
I wonder if he had recorders all over his body and every little moment was truly recorded. What did Reed Richards really make of Victor Von Doom anyway? You know, Mr. Fantastic the leader and stretching power dude with the gray sidelined hair and Invisible Woman his hottie wife and her brother Johnny storm the human torch and reed’s best friend from college days and a military pilot, ben grimm aka the thing, man of orange rocks. (thanks for the comic dork ass explanation for pics already up, mr. galaxy quest 4700) hey easy there turbo, let's play nice, no wargames, breh.
Uh, so where was I? This is obviously not the inner musings of victor von doom but Berkeley joe. Berkeley, Berkeley joe, you little scheisholio. The only person more infamous would be Jackey Jasper.
So anyway, oh yeah. Gotta record the words of keith pennyworth for any and all playa-hating pipe feens might wanna perpetrate on this gangsta-ass dogshit acre styled bastardized step-children.
A post from about a month ago that was lost in a swirling horsecock called blogger, which now must be reposted. It’s an oldie but as far as a goodie, it ain’t a two-shoes or a mob. It’s a donkey encrusted pancake of melted whiffle ball bat encased in atomized lead.
Ok here goes:
Tuesday, March 4th, the year of our lord (ok that wasn't really in there) 2003
so it’s like that, eh? Whut can I say it was a scary night on old saddle road. Beth and Johnny were huddled up by the old gnarled tree root in Ol’ Maggette’s farm and a storm was brewin’, as sure as the power of Patrick Ewing.
There’s a lot of things to say and a lot of things to get all Fay Rae style on. It’s really up to me. It’s all about me, by the way.
As if you didn’t know. I’m the best. The ultimate gladiator in sheep’s clothing this side of the Emeryville express line. I’m the ultimate champion in a billowy windspawn of playa hatin bustavilles.
As if you DID NOT KNOW that I rule harder than Kathy Lee Giffords lungs on 1873. that is something of which there is no doubt. That is Dr. Dooom. That is Galactus on an ecstasy chain.
Ok first off, that was just a stage move, ok? I don’t really think I’m the best. But I know that Brandon is. There I said it. Fuck off if you don’t like it dagnabbit.
Fuk kool keith is pretty fukn badass, even on a Tuesday.
“I bring the ruckus, straight from the sideline…”
now that is fukn Reginald style. Bombin from tree like a nutt butta’d OG showtimer.
Hi I’m the clippers. Pleased to meet you. Fuck you, you suck. Goddamm clippers.
But I can’t stay mad at you, it’s like she-hulk putting up with Johnny storm’s shenanigans. It was not to happen unless that boundaries were not crossed.
Did I mention that kool keith is dope?
End scene
Oh and there was one comment on this pinnacle of literary masterpieces. Trevor kicked a milk bone:
I rule harder than Kathy Lee Giffords lungs on 1873
hahahahahahaha. I don't know what that means (maybe you meant "in 1873") but I am pleased none the less)
He of the hat spoke true, I DID mean to say in 1873 but I sadly fucked it up. And didn’t feel like fixing it. I figured that people would realize it and be pleased. And all this enduring worry about it had informed me that sure enough, the masses that are you 8 million readers strong, a day to day kersey-ed out version of the real live dillio called the super secret diary of francis emmanuel josephson.
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