133rd - I still haven't seen Quantum of Solace

Before I begin, so that chick I started my mini flame war with. Desi Fashionista managed to find my blog even though I was commenting anonymously, which yes, did make me seem like a girl. Anyway, I'm not sure if I'm impressed, or creeped out.

I woke up this morning overhearing some talkings happening in the hallway. I wondered about those talkings until my attention was diverted to the pain in my chest. Moments later, internal memory had booted up and I was reminded that I was yet again asleep on my floor. The chest pains were due to sleeping on my face. Nevertheless, the sounds were of my father and brother discussing politics, which is a great way to start the day. Get's the blood pumping. You feel energized and awake and don't give a damn about children crossing the streets to get to school. It doesn't matter. Whether later on in life or the front grill of my car, they're doomed. This got me thinking, my brother would be great in politics.

He's be at the debate while running for the office of Supreme Ruler of Everything, discussing his major stand. Which is using fifteen and three quarter gagillion dollars to create and distribute Megatron-like robots for the homeless, blond, blind, old, and otherwisse feeble. These robots would not only serve as aides, they would help against would-be attackers. They would also serve as Canada's defense system since fitting them with a hundred ss-18 missles and four thousand three-inch armor and force field piercing bullet rounds wasn't a huge additional cost. Plus, the prototype robot seems much happier having them than not having them.

At this point some reporter stands up and asks, "Sheryl Mackenzie, Toronto Bum. I just have one question. Are you, in fact, "fu*king" with us, in which case, Kudos and I win a fifty dollar bet with my sound guy or are you insane? Could you be specific on the type of insanity, please."
My brother responds with a rousing speech about how the bus drivers of Vancouver are the enemy and must be smote wherever they are. Intelligence reports suggest that a hella lot of them are posing at TTC operators. The reporter withdraws her question. More questions follow.

"Ben Gary the Third, FirstasLast Magazine. How do you plan to finance such a plan since this kind of money is only available in the United States and how does the United States feel about being replaced as Canada's defense system?" My brother responds with quick joke and then talks about eliminating Bollywood Cinema. All rejoice. The Americans would get over it.

My brother calls for the final question. A very serious looking woman with a navy power suit, matching horn rimming glasses with a fashionable yet sensible cord around her neck to ensure the safety and well being of her glasses during her bi-weekly triathlon stands up. She has a pad and a pen in her mouth so you know she means business. She introduces herself as the the Ally Bidness, Supreme Chancellor of Facts, Solid Facts Magazine and as Glinda, Magician Extraordinaire [weekends only] and as Seth Rompart, Femdom Dominatrix [by appointment only]. She hands out cards. She flips open her pad, scrolls through it. She "hmm"s and "ah"s and taps her pen on the pad as she does this. Then she looks up and without any warning explodes with a series of facts, accusations, belittlings, insults, truths, a joke [she is very good at what she did], history lessons, geographical facts, technological impossibilities of this project, the lunacy of it all, and more facts and statistics that would lead to this projects undeniable doom. She finishes with a triumphant smile. The sea of reporters was silent. Someone coughs. Tumbleweed tumbles across the stage. My brother, who seems far too composed for someone who just received that kind of blunt verbal trauma, clears his throat. He says, "Those are mere facts." The crowd stays silent, anticipating more. My brother said nothing. A few more seconds pass, a minute passes. Nobody spoke a work. A rat can be heard waddling through the ventilation pipe. The crowd explodes in applause. Not because the really approve of what just happened but because the tension was too thick and someone had to do something. Besides, mused Ben Gary to himself, what could it hurt.

My brother wins in a landslide and takes office immediately. He is the new Supreme Ruler of Everything. His opposition begrudgingly offer their congratulations. The fifteen and three quarter gagillion dollars are spent on the Megatron-life robots. As a safety measure the Three Laws of Robotics are applied. Weeks later they remove the laws since it works against the Defense System Bit. The removal of the laws costs around twenty-four gagillion dollars.

Years later, it turns out that the homeless, blond, blind, old, and otherwise feeble are actually part of a secret society bent on taking over Antartica. They steal the Megatron-Like robots and make their own nation in Antartica, Uncreative Namica. Their Tourism Flourishes, mostly due to their the beaches and penguin hunting. Eventually they run out of food and eat the Megatron-like robots to survive. The people of Uncreative Namica die of heat stroke.

My brother manages to recover the Robots. He becomes the greatest Supreme Ruler of Everything.

zQ

p.s. The moral of this story is, DON'T VOTE. You're an idiot. You fell for some stupid horse-shit speech concocted by my brother and decided this is the guy to vote for because he has a plan. You have no idea how to run a Hot Dog vendor stand, let alone a coutnry or the Universe or Everything. You shouldn't be voting.

p.p.s. Five bucks to whomever helps me fix that gap issue between my blog and the sidebar. I'm to lazy to look up HTML. It sounds as tedious and trying to figure out how to work a VCR.