Evil As a Bunny Eating Babies

                Inspired by a classic Pink Floyd album, and a quarter bottle of my homemade turpentine wine, I venture on this written journey prose and grammar we call an update.  What you say, oh author of the information superhighway, is the topic of your mad ramblings. I am right, no?  The theme is a question that I myself have been battling with for at least a week if not more...  A question so deep and spiritual, it would make the Holy Ghost spit out the strawberry milkshake he's drinking right now.  A question about, truth, justice and the American way.  A question of a thousand questions.

Hey look! It's Mail Man Carl!

Where is the Patent Office?

                I mean really!  Have you ever seen one?  Have you and your poppy strolled over the ol' Patent Office to take a gander at the marvels of man, and his brother, Murray?  No!  Not at all!  Not once!  Not not!  Knot not!  NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Well where is it?  And if this mystical firm of inventions and candy really and truly exists, why can't I visit it to check out the new rocket pack, or the up and coming abortion pill?  Well, I’ve come to two conclusions on the issue:  either it doesn’t exist, or the government doesn’t want us to find out where it is.  I think we all know which one I’m going to favor. 

  Origination of the Patent Office

                 It all started with one man. Hitler's cousin.  Spinkleton Hitler, or Spinkenmiserramadon for short, was a man of few words.  He was very quiet, remaining a bachelor all his life.  For fun, he spelled out entire books for hours on end.  As a boy, he was always picked last for the vomiting tournaments, and first for the "Lets Clean Up Mr. Tickles' Shit" game.  Well, as you can see this was a miserable lifestyle, so the Spinkster decided to spice up his life a bit.  He opened a rather large strip club called the Spicey Micey.  Every night, he would open up this enterprise and welcome in hobos and homeless people alike, letting them drink his soda, and fondle his genitals.  After a few years of this going on every night, Spinklemeyerstan wrote a book.  This book described the life and times at his German, wacky tobacky gentlemen’s club.  An American by the name of Talane Mittencope got his hands on the book, and the rest is history.

 

                Actually, the translation from German to American was really crappy, and the end product resulted in what we now know as the "patent office."  But none of this really fucking matters because the Fox is gone.  The rest of this update is dedicated to the Fox.

 

A very nice action shot.

What horrible weather...

Quite sad isn't it?

There's Carl....Again.....