Eeeexcellent! As you can see, this is my own profile. At the touch of a button I can double the pixels used in any words at any time. You hear me? Any time.
Ha! And so, as I use more pixels, I also use more of your precious
video bandwidth. Probably little more than 2 or 3 bytes, but I'm sure
the performance hit is there... And so, I suppose I will just continue
typing in bold.
Am I finished yet? No, be quiet, this is my profile. Not yours. If you don't like my rambling, you can leave. Git off my lawn!
when I was a young otter, the rest of my pack decided they would go
play in the rapid part of the river. I told them to listen to reason,
and I told them not to go there. But did they listen? No, of course
not. They swam right to the rapids and started playing
ring-around-the-rosie. Otters playing games is just downright silly.
And impossible. It's also impossible for an otter to type. So I'll let
you in on a little secret, I'm just a human in an otter suit, but you
wouldn't know if you were looking at me from a satellite photo. Trust
me. And if you could tell from a satellite photo, your satellite is too
advanced, spend your money on something like a washing machine empire.
You could get rich by stealing the "Whirlpool" name and calling it "Not
Whirlpool". So anyways, back to the story. The otters, see, were
playing games in the rapids. I obviously didn't approve, but being the
only non-swimming otter of the whole bunch I didn't have much else to
do except crack open a can of Pepsi and watch the carnage that would
soon take place. They were surprisingly resilient, and didn't get
dragged under by the currents. I must have watched for at least 5
minutes, and after I was finished with my Pepsi, I chucked the empty
can into the waterfall. Unfortunately the other otters thought I was
playing catch with them, and they dove over the waterfall to try and
retrieve it. I never knew what happened to them that day, because a
bear mauled me and thought I was dinner, but I sure showed him when I
dressed like a bear and roared at him, he was so frightened I think his
fur flew off. Which is physically possible by the way, at least, it is
in cartoons. And cartoons are real drawings on real pieces of paper.
Whoops. Time's up. Time to go!
Gets in his rocket-powered
shopping cart.* Now, the trick is trying to steer this thing while it's
going 600 miles per hour... I probably should have hired sled dogs like
I did back in my pirate days, but that's another story.
Oh, and I'm done eating your video bandwidth now.
And I guess if you want real information on me, my name is Jason Brown
(obviously), and I'm a 19-year-old fellow living in Pennsylvania, or as I
like to call it, Hillbilly Central. No gangsters around here. Oh, and I'm going to be
famous someday. Now, I know you're all saying "You foolish mortal, you
cannot possibly become- OH MY GOSH! I read Captain Retrograde and
you're right! You will be famous!" and to those people I say, darn
right I will. To those of you who are still skeptical, guess what? I
dislike you. Actually, I don't dislike you, but I am disappointed in