I was sitting there, drinking a shot of orange juice, watching MXC on Spike TV, when the mail came. Surprisingly, there was a letter from someone named Reynolds, G. I was now worried. Was it time for payback for my little joke in which I stupidly used my own telephone?
Did I dare open it? Would it contain anthrax? Would it contain a blue dress? I shuddered at the thought. I took out my letter opener and quickly sliced the top of the envelope away. A letter came out, unharmed. I picked it up off the floor and read it.
"At 2:41 fo sho, I will arrive. Be ready, mah nizzle." At first glance thinking it was some sort of incomprehensible foreign language, I then realized it was plain English thanks to the Great Society and Lyndon Johnson, among others. I looked at the clock. 2:37. Crap.
Sure enough, at 2:41, my doorbell rang. This was especially odd since I don't have a doorbell. I looked through the peephole (which I also don't have), to see another eyeball staring right back at me (don't you HATE it when people like me do that to you?)
"I'm here to help you, my brotha! I'm gonna save your bee-yotch!" I stopped, puzzled, not knowing whether to open the door or call 9-1-1. Unfortunately, I couldn't remember the number, so I opened the door. There stood a six foot white guy in tacky pimp clothes and the most outrageous car I could ever imagine. He shook my hand. "My name is Glizzenn Reynolds, and I'm here to help you and get revenge for what my creator did to me."
I looked at him. "Why not Frank J?" I asked. "He was bought out by some Japanese company which I THINK could be part of an Evil Glenn/Anime/Plush Company/Halliburton caba- I mean, Halibizzling Cabazztic My Knucka!"
A drop of sweat ran down the side of my head just like in all those cartoons. "Did you say you were going to save my bee-yotch? What in the holy smurf is a bee-yotch?"
Glizzen paused, as if comprehending the fact that I had no idea what the hell he was saying. "A bee-yotch is your gal, man! That reporter chick that's being held by Glenn and his thugz! What's her name - Oh I can't remembizzle!"
Another awkward silence. "If you're referring to Akatsuki, she is not my bee-yotch, gal, or girl as we normal people say it. It is a strictly business relationship. I do believe that I can get her back to work safely from Evil Glenn's clutches one way or another."
Glizzen cocked his head as if to say something incoherent and stupid. "Don't be disrespecting yo bee-yotch, son - you'll live to regrizzle it. Now, I don't care if you wanna or not, fo sho you and yo thugz are gonna bring this Instapunditizzle down wit' me!"
It was worse than I thought. Even worse than the time I was asked during a report on cloning whether we could somehow fuse cattle genes with a tomato to make a tomato that tasted like a cow or at least a tomato-sized cow. (Don't ask - that really happened)
"You want me to help you infiltrate Evil Glenn's Dark Castle of HoboMurderedness to rescue my employee and get revenge on your boss? Is that what I'm getting out of this?"
He corrected me. "Evil Glizzenn is my creatizzle. Creator, as you say"
My jaw dropped to the ground. I didn't catch that if he said it before. This was getting more screwed up every second. Then, without thinking:
"Sure, I've done stupider things." - Maybe it's time to reconsider that.
What will happen to the Babaganoosh and Glizzenn Reynolds? What does Glizzenn mean by "his creator"? How sleep-deprived must I be to come up with these last two posts? Find out whenever I get the urge to continue! ^-^
Update: Replace that ^-^ with "O_O"