I remember when it began very clearly. I was ass deep in a game of intellectual rugby (similar to intellectual tug of war
or intellectual pro wrestling) with Slade's Girlfriend, who is slowly usurping some unknown person and turning into a writer
for this site. She's doing it subtly though but I'm on to her. Especially with all her talk of how me fixing the penis voting isn't fair. Remember, the Nazis always complained about how things weren't fair, though this largely occured at Nurenburg.
The other reason I suspect her is because Slade is biased in her favor, or at least we both suspect him of being so. I
imagine that when he looked at her penis, he immediately decided it was the greatest ever, mainly out of favouritism. When
I tracked him down for comment he muttered something about "Stop lurking outside my window" and talked about calling the cops,
and then he told me to put my pants on.
Clearly, I wasn't going to get any answers from my co-author. So I decided to do what any sensible person does when faced
with a problem: I decided to use nuclear warheads to solve the problem while a digital timer ticked nearby and a wacky black
guy panicked.
Jerry Bruckheimer gave me a great deal of praise, but then I watched a movie that wasn't made for idiots, and I realized
that to find out if Slade was biased or not, I'd have to go back to the future of the past. The past would be too long ago,
and the present is too soon, but somewhere in between it's just right. And besides, if I went back too far John Adams might molest me again.
I had Sime get to work on a time machine for me, since until then he'd been experimenting with this weird literary style
where he dosn't write anything and is shiftless. What he came up with is pictured below.
Above: The car Sime built for me looked a lot like this one, but we were low on funds so we had to use a Honda
civic for a chassie.
Above: Why Michael Jackson came up when I was searching for Back To The Future I do not know, but maybe it has
something to do with his statue stuffing its crotch to try to look like David Bowie.
Despite Michael Jackson's sock-filled crotch attempting to interfere, I did go back to two months ago, before Slade met
Slade's girlfriend. Back then everyone was always asking her why she was called Slade's girlfriend, and I imagine this did
indeed cause a lot of confusion. Anyhow, I found Slade living in desperate conditions:
Slade: Argh! I'm trying to crap in peace!
JM of the FUUUUTURE: Slade, there isn't much time. You have to tell me which penis is better.
Slade: What?
JM of the past: Hey Slade, what's up?
Slade: Dude you're a pervery in the future.
JM of the FUUUTURE: I am not!
Slade: ARE TOO!
JM of the FUUUTURE: Less talk more cock!
Slade: Goddammit ok, the sad penis is better.
JM of the FUUUTURE: Alright then, take this sports almanac and I'll see you later. Oh, and you might want to clean the
seat of your computer chair.
Slade: I didn't say I WAS crapping, I said I was TRYING to crap. Anyhow I don't even like sports. *toss*
Yoda: Crap on your computer chair or crap not, there is no try.
JM of the Past: Why god WHY!!!
JM of the FUUUTURE: I must go now, my friends need me.
Biff: Hey look, a sports almanac from the year nineteen eighty five. I bet this is useless!
So, there you have it. We're all fucked up, and I've managed to make an erotic time travel epic about penises and Slade's
girlfriend. The erotic part was edited out by a coalition of elves, men, Fiji, Puerto Rico, Guatemala, Latvia, and several
other countries with no militaries, and is now lost forever, or so we hope.
Epilogue: Slade's girlfriend, hoping Slade would still pick her penis over all others, has now gone back in time to try
to undo what I did, but I'm going to go further back to try to undo what she will do. I'll have to be quick though, because
if she messes up too much Slade and her might not meet, or they might meet at the wrong time and end up being my parents or
worse yet, my cousins twice removed.
