Meat Puppet
is smoother than a Sky Pirate. You know. Balthier. Not Vaan.

I want to paint it! I WANT TO PAINT IT, I SAY!!!

To date, there hasn't been a soul who is better than Face. Fact.

I just love typing o_O

To date, there hasn't been a soul who has suggested better IRC nicks than Face. Fact.

I like the one with the fish on a bicycle

o_O

Once upon a time there was a Mighty_Prince of extreme Mental_Prowess, named Meat_Puppet. He ruled his land full of Mundane_People with Magical_Prophets and his Massive_Penis, which was such a Magnificent_Portrusion that it had earned legendary status among the townsfolk as Meatus_Primus.

One day, Meat_Puppet learned of an ambush upon his *kingdom* from Miserable_Pushover, his arch rival and king of the Most_Pathetic kingdom ever to exist. Model_Politician was the logistics expert of Meat_Puppet's Manly_Patrol, which was full of soldiers of the highest rank.

On the evening of the ambush, the glorious prince of the land, Meat_Puppet ordered the troops of his Manly_Patrol to assemble in the path trenches, in waiting for Miserable_Pushover and his band of playground thugs. Exactly as Model_Politician had predicted, Miserable_Pushover showed up exactly on the Most_Probable hour, at which point Meat_Puppet casually strolled into their path to greet him.

"How's it going, guy?" he said, admiring the look of Mad_Panic on the face of Miserable_Pushover, as he gave a ridiculous scream.
"Yeerk! How did you know I was coming to ambush no wait not ambush, um, visit you?" Miserable_Pushover enquired nervously.
"Heard it on the radio." came the nonchalant reply.
Miserable_Pushover's eyes widened. "But the radio hasn't been invented yet, these are medieval times, you know."
Meat_Puppet gave an all knowing shake of his head and replied "Dude, you're American. I hear they're still using the imperial mesurement system down there."

At this point, the rest of Miserable_Pushover's army began to turn up, his head officer rode shakily up beside him on his scraggly horse, which was wearing a large name tag with "Malnourished_Pig" inscribed upon it.
"Master_Pilates, where have you been??" exclaimed a visibly cross Miserable_Pushover.
"I thought you told us to meet at cock's crow, not cat's meow, boss," the apologetic general exclaimed. "but oh well, forget it, we're here for a purpose - TO AMBUSH THESE WEAKLINGS," he swung his sword, bringing him crashing to the ground in a crumpled heap. Malnourished_Pig galloped off in terror, and the Mighty_Prince beckoned to his troops.

They climbed out of the trench to stand beside Meat_Puppet, and began to kick Miserable_Pushover and Master_Pilates in the shins, who promptly responded by throwing sand in the faces of the Manly_Patrol. They then began screaming like little children and ran home crying.

Meat_Puppet and his Manly_Patrol returned home, triumphant once more, and threw a Magnificent_Party, and listened to Musical_Performers, and everyone Merrily_Pranced.
"More_Pork," they said as they took seconds and thirds of the Mouthwatering_Papalum, arranged in the feast of Mighty_Proportions, so kindly catered by the castle chef, Mr_Provision.

The moral of this story is use the freaking Metric_Policy. >:O

I will buy you a train with lotsa steam, MP! Because I'm nice and DELIRIOUSLY HAPPIEEEEE~!

You make a good point, ~jomberto.

NO!