loltech

Hey, I’m Imasen and this is loltech.org. I suppose if you are reading this that means you are here and you already know that and I’m a world class retard. Oh wait, you might have googled “worlds sexiest man” and found the site that way. If so, welcome ladies and homosexual men. Don’t worry, I’ll get my junk out at the end of the blog.

Since it was a year since the blog before last, and I couldn’t even keep up a fucking monthly schedule even though I’m on like A 2 MONTH UNI BREAK, I’ve decided to make this an extra long entry into both my blog, and Baron Chester Von Retardo’s Top 100 Wastes of Your Time list.

A while ago The talented Mr. Fatson and I were discussing Avatar. I suspect that there are people out there who liked Avatar. Actually, I know for a fact there are. Millions upon millions of them. Here’s what I have to say on that matter: if you LIKED Avatar, then I HATE you. Why? Two words: Papa Dragon. Two different words: FUCK YOU. After a long and introspective discussion about how this could be the highest grossing film of all time, we came up with this three part hypothesis:

1. Everyone on the planet is a fucking idiot.
2. A fucking STUPID idiot.
3. Global warming.

"Call me Papa Dragon." No, how about I call you a cunt instead?

We got off topic towards the end of the conversation, shut up. Never-the-less, another mystery solved by the Fatson and Byron detective agency. You should hire us. We have no problem taking pictures from the bushes of your wife sleeping with a man. We don’t care if she is cheating on you or not, or even if you hire us to find a missing person instead. We don’t even care if it’s YOU she is sleeping with, we are still taking pictures from the bushes of your wife sleeping with a man. That’s our slogan by the way. It’s on the letterhead.

Speaking of Fatson, here is something I bet you didn’t know about him. Someone asked me the other day if I would sleep with one of his ex-girlfriends (hi Gill). Don’t get me wrong, Gill is smoking hot. Not only that, she is totally awesome, and was a good friend until Fatson fucking did some fucked up shit that I SOMEHOW GOT THE FUCKING BLAME FOR, and now she refuses to ever speak to me again. FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF. But anyway, I was asked if I would sleep with her, and my answer was no. Not because it’s the ex of a friend, or because she’s the sister of girl *I* slept with, as a fucking soulless monster I don’t care about stupid shit like that. No, the reason I wouldn’t sleep with her, or ANY of Fatson’s other conquests, is because Fatson sets traps. In girls vaginas. Seriously. He digs fucking spike pits and sets tripwires up in that shit. And I have enough trouble getting girls into bed without having to worry about my dick in an Indiana Jones hat running from a boulder.

Moving ever so briefly away from the topic of my penis, here is something I’ve been meaning to talk about for a while. It’s a video made by some kind of collaboration between Satan, and birth defects. This video is what you get for the person who has everything, except you know, a reason to hate you and want you dead. As soon as DJ Khaled (WE DA BEST) opens his mouth at the start of the song I want to headbutt him in the face and throw myself down a mineshaft. I made up a drinking game to go with this video. Every time something in the song made me angry I had to swallow broken glass. It wasn’t a very long game.

First of all, nice special effects guys. Second of all, Rick Ross shows up and challenges Khaled to a Fat-off. Little known fact about gangstas. While they live life on the streets learning how to pop people in the face and sell narcotics, struggling to fit any enjoyment between their busy schedule of drive by shootings and saying “aiit” to each other, they are deathly afraid of getting wet. Someone should tell the director that it lessens the impact of 15 hardened thugs if they all simultaneously parade around with umbrellas. Apparently he got all his information on gang lifestyles from West Side Story. Thirdly, the guy in the chains is named Plies. Yeah, Plies. Someone should tell him his name sounds like a bowel disease. Also, WHAT THE FUCK DID HE SAY? Finally, I’m sure you noticed the guy in the middle of the song. You know who else noticed it? EVERY DOG IN A 2 KM RADIUS! The only explanation for that guys voice is that he is some type of sonic weapon developed by the military, who has escaped to pursue his dual dream careers as both a rapper, and a fucking target for my NEXT MURDER. He has failed at one of these careers. Let’s ask this clocktower I’m loading my sniper rifle in which one. Actually scratch that. Where did I put my hockey mask and chainsaw? I’m fucking that guy UP. When I’m finished with him they are going to need a team of eminent scientists and medical experts just to determine if that motherfucker was ANIMAL MINERAL OR VEGETABLE.

Shot of the new lounge. PICTURED: insane amount of comics, giant New Ultimates poster. NOT PICTURED: dignity.

Enough about that. instead, THIS: So, if you had read my last blog post (and if you did, NO I wont apologise, fuck you. And YES I was serious about the rough sex part, stop asking. And MAYBE on that offer of free prescription Viagra from that pushy fucking advertising bot in the comments section. Look you cyborg fuck, I’ll get back to you when I work out the exact metric volume of erectile enhancers I’d need to solo navigate the world in a yacht with my dick as the mizzen mast, and how many fucking awesome pages Guinness will devote to pictures of me and it) then you would have noticed the part about me being homeless fairly soon. Little did I fucking know how right I was. I was fucking crazy right, ok? Nostradamus couldn’t carry my nuts. So yeah, there was a battle of epic proportions that I would relate here but for the fact that my lawyer has told me not to comment on it. Ok he hasn’t, are you fucking happy? I just wanted to sound cool. Why must you ruin everything good in my life? WHY? Anyway, it’s a long and inane story that I wont bore you with the details of, because I’m going to bore you with the details of this instead: we have a new place. But before that we had to live in Fatson’s parents home for 3 weeks while we looked. And I know what you are thinking, a guy in his 20’s, living at home with his parents is pathetic. I know. I also know it’s 47 times more pathetic LIVING WITH SOMEONE ELSES. But anyway, now we have a new place. Technically it’s in Nollamara, but that’s like saying technically what I’m doing to my penis when I watch Twilight is sex. Realistically though, it’s Mirrabooka and masturbation respectively. Yes, Mirrabooka. I felt like I wasn’t getting raped NEARLY enough where I lived before.

Earlier in the week I went shopping with Fatson at the Mirrabooka shopping centre. Mistake. It was like a maze, and all the walls were made of retard. I’ve talked about Mirrabooka shops before, but I stupidly thought things might have improved. They haven’t. On the PLUS side, I managed to avoid getting hepatitis. So far. We needed supplies for our brand new Awesome Fortress (not the official name. Well, not YET) so we braved the retardo-hordes and entered Woolworth’s. The first thing I saw upon entry was this sign:

Oh, that's ok. I'm sure....wait, WHAT?

Gentle reader, let me tell you something about myself. I’m smart. Like, scary smart. If I put on a shiny jumpsuit and walk outside, the government is LEGALLY allowed to laser me from orbit on suspicion of Genius Supervillianry. I once concentrated on a math problem so hard it SOLVED ITSELF AS A WARNING TO THE OTHERS. Shit, one time I went to buy a dictionary, and both Oxford AND Webster teamed up and beat the shit out of me for being such a pussy. I only confess this startling truth to you for once reason. So you have some context when I say to you I HAVE NO FUCKING EARTHLY IDEA WHAT THIS SIGN MEANS. Refresh your store? HOOOOOOOOOWWWW? As I was mentally running through which of my 14 Armageddon plans I was to use on a world that obviously no longer made any rational sense, I ran across this:

Well played world. Well played.

Justin, out.