| Subject: death plan |
Author:
xander
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Date Posted: 15:03:12 05/19/03 Mon
upon the request of the venerable Mr D, I will explain our Mr Peterson death plan to y'all:
It starts when we take the luftwaffe of Fort Nort (If your lost by now, you don't hang out with us enough) and they do their kamakazi attack on the great hall of the penis in luxembourg (not to be confused with the great hall of the people in Beijing). The Fort Nort Luftwaffe planes are deadly triplanes (With three sets of wings, too!) with trebuchets attached to their bellies, so whenever the trebuchets fire the arm of the trebuchet smacks into the bottom of the planes, sending it into a crash. It's all very frightening. Anyway, as the great hall of the penis is destroyed, the building implodes and forms into sapling, except for the great bronze penis statue on top of the brunelleschi-esque dome of the magnificent structure.
This being done, we rig a little rope foot trap to the sapling and bend it so that whoever steps into it will be flung into the cosmos. We then send a brightly colored brochure to the peterson family to take a trip to lovely luxembourg. Enticed by the myriad of colors and smart formats on this brochure, Mr Peterson drops his work and catches the first flight to Luxembourg. There, predictably, the little miscreant steps into the sapling trap and is flung far up into the troposphere, perhaps even to heaven.
Here he is met by the bronze penis statue from the rubble of the building so efficiently destroyed by my Luftwaffe. Now the penis has been transformed, by a team of ex-USSR Kazakhi scientists into a ballistic missile. As it reaches Mr Peterson, to everyone's surprise and exultation, the warhead opens up to reveal Morpheus, katana in hand. Morpheus cuts Mr Peterson briskly across the torso with the sharp blade and throws him with deadly accuracy directly into the Ganges River.
Here he is met by a gang of Ganges River Dolphin hoodlums who D and I have hired to kill Peterson. The poor wounded Private school principal doesn't stand a chance, and is ripped to shreds by the roving pod of blind, fat, unceasingly comical cephalopods. The dolphins demand pay, and we tell them they can only have it on the condition that they loot all rough up all the Armenians in Jerusalem. C'mon, the city has enough strife, it doesn't need an entire quarter devoted to a bunch of mopey Armenians. Seriously. But thats for a later story.
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