Two thousand fucking thirteen

Because Orjan asked nicely…

Be warned, here be swearing and Bad Words…


Don’t draw your sword unready to use it. Don’t carry your sword unready to draw it. Don’t buy a sword unready to carry it.

This is so retarded, it’s unreal. This is not happening. It’s two thousand fucking thirteen. We’ve got TV. We’ve got the fucking Internet. We play World of Fucking Warcraft. We run around in armour made up by some fucking idiot on crack. It’s not real. You run back to your corpse, pay for your repairs, and you’re back in business. We’ve got the bleeding Police. They’ve got guns. We’ve got the Army, and they have machine guns. M16s. Now that’s what you need to kill a motherfucker. Not one of these lame-ass swords. You can order the things on eBay. Got to do some work on it to make it look right for the Con. Make it look like Frostmourne, shining blue. Got the runes from the Internet. But it’s not like it’s real. Like on fucking Discovery Channel. That’s all made up shit, fucking up dead pigs. Pigs aren’t people. And they’ve got special training to do that. Like modern day fucking Ninjas. And even fucking Ninjas weren’t real. Like they could fly, yeah right. You can’t expect shit to work that’s three hundred fucking years old. My fucking phone is two years old and it’s a piece of shit. Always crapping out on me when I’m texting my girlfriend. People don’t fucking die from fucking swords anymore. Not in two thousand fucking thirteen.

Get up, you fucker. This isn’t funny anymore. Stop fucking around.

Get up, you fucking idiot.

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