Dear Foul Wretched Spawn of Society,
Excuse me, could I perhaps have a minute of your time? You see, I had a bit of an accident, and now I appear to be– well, I guess you can already see for yourself. Anyway, I was wondering if you could maybe… oh, of course, I see you are on the phone, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything. I can just wait until you’re finished… oh, it’s going to be a while, is it? In that case, sorry to have bothered you, I will let you carry on.
Mayweather Syndrome is a debilitating condition that results in audience apathy. Onset of symptoms occurs whenever Travis Mayweather opens his mouth. Shortly thereafter, the cancer of his atrocious acting metastasizes to the other cast members, eventually killing the appeal of the show.
There is no known cure for Mayweather Syndrome.
Before I started on the Plutonium Abs program, I was just a scruffy little weakling, just like you. I was overweight, at 4 foot ten and over 200 pounds, but yet I couldn’t lift as well as girls who only weighed 130. But just look at me now! I’ve grown a foot, lost my belly, all while gaining 400 pounds of pure muscle. I actually use most of the muscle to hold the rest of my muscles up. And can you tell I weigh 600 pounds? No! I look great, because I’m roughly as dense as freshly-milled steel.
I listen to better music than you do. I know this, partly because I also know more about music than you do, but mostly because all of your favorite bands either suck, or they were way better before people like you started listening to them. Also you’re ugly and you smell bad. Go away.
Is he gone yet? Good, I hated that guy.
Anyway, the reason I have such a high standard in music is that every band I encounter is first put through a strict test to determine exactly how much I like them on a 0-100 scale. For this quiz, each band starts with 50 points, then add or subtract points based on the answers to the following questions:
They say I am dead. That I will never haunt the world again. That I shot myself in a bunker in Germany sixty years ago. What they don’t know is that I had a long-hidden twin brother who actually was the one who died, and that I learned the secrets of eating right and exercising. I have lived to see the ripe old age of 120. They also don’t know where I’ve been hiding, the one place no one has thought to look: Sentinel Island. From the smallest of the Andaman Islands, I shall attempt my comeback.
For years, I thought I was off to a good start. I smacked these foolish islanders into a steely, unforgiving discipline. I have trained them to make unmotivated attacks on all outsiders. And though they have never met a Jew or Frenchman, they assure me that if they ever do, they will growl menacingly.
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