Spelling Errors...

It has come to my attention that I left my past headliner on Abu Cghraib with a miserable spelling mistake, spelling it Ab'y' Ghraib, for over two whole days! My goodness. This is simply unheard of, and I assure you the only reason it happened was because I wrote it under extreme duress, reeling from what the implications of the United States pussying out would mean to the world.

If you're not sure what I mean, look at the whole situation with Iran threatening to use oil as a weapon. See, if the US never showed such a sign of weakness in the face of adversity, these vultures would never have swooped in for the scraps. Trust me, this is only the beginning. Soon similar countries like Switzerland will use their banks as bargaining chips, or Japan will withhold their Playstations and Nintendos. Anarchy will be the windfall of this decision. Civilization is at the brink of ruination as we know it. My God...

Wait, where was I? Oh, right, spelling mistakes. I made one and I apologize. I'm only human (for now at least) and human error is inherent in our nature. Once again, sorry.

US Closing Abu Ghraib

It seems the US have agreed to shut down the pleasuredome known as Abu Ghraib due to some...damaging photographs released last year. This is nothing but bad news, as it shows that the US cares about world-wide opinions. In other words, they pulled a France and conceded, not to Germany, but to public opinion. Shame, here I was of the opinion the US rocked. If the world began criticizing Canadian torture camps, such as the grandaddy of them all - Hamilton, we would have told them to fuck off. Recognize, eh?

So yeah, not only has my religious like devotion to the United States been shattered, but without a proper facility to torture, now that even Guantanamo is in danger, how will they possibly gain the proper intel to adequately protect their borders? Even more importantly, how will fans of hardcore homosexual Iraqi S&M satiate their appetites? I don't know, and that scares me.

He Has Risen!

On the 11th day of my absence, from the ashes of the wicked (I'm looking at you Mari-Ju-Wana smoking hippies) I have finally returned to my blogging throne. Now, I am sure you would love to listen to my harrowing tales of misadventures through the land Nothappenedicus, the passionate love affairs with young dames that ensued, and their ineviteably sorrowful demises at the hands of Arabian sheiks. Of how I went on to slay the undemocratic dragons of the socialistic Lord Isintre'al. Of how my ship was attacked by Jamaican pirates off the Iberian peninsula, leaving me for dead only after I stopped my beating heart with nothing but the sheer force of my machismo fortitude.

Waking in the mouth of a raging cyclone, clinging only to a piece of drift wood, probably gotten after beating it from the mouths of raging hammerhead sharks in my sleep. Facing certain death, and worst, leaving my blog unattended and open for corruption from the leftwing zealots, I, oh I couldn't possibly go on about how I managed to mangle my body into inhamanly odd shapes to flow through the ravishing, swirling winds of Poseidon unscathed. How I then swam to Chile, on the opposite side of the Continent in which ocean I was currently held prisoner (because, really, Brazil and Argentina are kinda gay and I overswam Uruguay). Saved by a mischevous gang of roving toddlers, we set out to liberate the Mesoamerican people from their five century long captivity at the hands of the vile Spanish, only to find out that three quarters of the population had somehow become negroid in appearance.

I don't think it'd be right of me to continue my tale of conviction as I describe how I would then befriended the people there, weird phenotypes and all, because I happened to be the prophecized return of Montezuma II, only to be chased out by the actual coming of Quetzalcoatl, mad that some Hispanic heathen took his place in the sixteenth century, forcing him into waiting half a millenia due to his embarasment, and the constant taunting of the Sun God. How I walked across the US midwest, barely avoiding being sodomizingly cannibalized by some freaks in Nevada.

Really, it'd just be rude to waste more of you're time talking about how I then came home without a heroes welcome, as my mission had been a secret OP commissioned by the vicious Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and that any mention of it would...What the? Fuck. Pedro, if you're reading this, Code 442. 442! Get the word out. Viva la...