I'll pray for you.

Epic comment? That sounds like something that cannot be contained within the bounds of the English language alone...

I shall, hence, employ all that I know in the effort to reduce you to a flaming pile of dung, enshrined so perfectly in the hailstorm of belittlement I'm about to send your way, that you can't even stink:

(Urdu)

Tum mujhe ye muqaabla jeetnay per aik qameez dau gay? Main nahin maanta!

(Arabic)

Anta kazzaab... kazzaab-ul-maahir...

(Faarsi [Persian])

Man khwaahar o madarat yakki kerdaam... tu besyaar bazande hasti.. =P

(Punjabi)

Teri aisi taisi.. main tenu aakhya si meray naal aeho jaye mazaq na keeta ker.. fair bhe tu ai kitae meray naal.. hun main tenu nai chadna.. lay k rehni eh ay qameez main tere kolon.. hmph..

(Bahasa Melayu [Malay])

Kamu bodo lah.. =P

---------------

There. I have now insulted you in five different languages. I now deserve a T-shirt, for if that isn't epic, I don't know what is.

On a friendlier note, I love you? =)

You look like a Jewish Elvis with long hair and that retro mic. Now that is epic.

Okay... I'll try that once again!

'eh??'

There!

damn!

Lets see...Epic comment.....

How About...

Cowabunga...?

or..

GO GO POWER RANGERS?

probably not....

BUT THIS IS GOING TO BE LEGEN....how your not lacostolorent because the next part of the word is DARY!!!! LEGENDARY!!!

Hey I'm not just gunna kiss you ass for a t shirt I'm gonna win it by telling u that a fox came at me in my backyard and to protect my self I kick it about 14 yards

Yeah that's right I punted a fox ture story

I AM THE LAW!

(90's movie reference? Eh? Eh?)

So I'm eating these nacho's, minding my own business when this freaking big sweaty itallian comes up to me wearing kielbasa like it was bling around his neck. This guy is trying to sell the stuff, hollering at me and in the general direction of three teenage girls across the street that its the best deal ever, Now I'm a little confused here, he wont let me by, I only half understand what he's saying, and well, I just don't like kielbasa sausage. tastes like fish and copper wire. . . .

needless to say my nachos made the ultimate sacrifice so I could get to class.

Epic? He send her the link, throws the challenge down so to speak, as if somehow he expects The McSpazatron (yes, she's so epic even the "the" gets capitalisation) could deliver anything less.

Obviously he's expecting something or perhaps even someone to out-epic her. Someone with a few less brain chunks and a little more awesomesauce. She's take aback by his expectations or, rather, the expectations she's forced upon him due to her objectional definition of the phrase "creative license"

Someone with more awesomesauce then The McSpazatron? Could such a person truly exist and was this, in all honesty, a competition or a blind date? Though she'd never admit as much she's secretly hoping it's the latter.

She's also craving a cheeseburger something terrible and so, in the end, as the sun sets over the horizon The McSpazatron can be seen driving towards the magestic golden arches she worshipped as a child ready to astound the public with what is, without a doubt, her most notable acheivement...

First-grade Procrastination.

(But not before typing up the ever-so-irritating "first" in the comment section of some random fuckbucket's first video just for the lulz...karma's a bitch.)

The McSpazatron, signed out

-insert random transformer's noise her for additional epicness-

You spelled plagiarized wrong you fucking moron!

The Darksider Inn:

It was just another night at Darksider Inn in the outskirts of the favela. The decrepit, squalid hut of a bar was as perfect as the night it was started. The number of lamps were kept to a minimum to ensure that all the luminosity had a purely functional significance, i.e to see the way to the bathroom and back. The decapitated body of Michael Jackson, which had already decayed while he was alive to a saturation point, was propped up next to one of them, with the embalmed pelvic area of Farrah Fawcett placed on top of it, ass forward. Blood and beer mixed on the wall to provide the peculiar aroma that spelt only one thing to the regulars of the Inn - home. Two of these regulars were there that night : Tripp, the AngloBaptist, who jotted down his thoughts on grace on a spit stained, cum drenched napkin and wondered why he wasn't closer to God after all this time. In a far darker corner of the room sat Ibrahim, drinking his home brought goat milk, while solving the word puzzle in the paper. The entertainment as per usual was provided by The Starving Soprano, whose sugary voice sang classics by Metallica, Staind, Butthole Surfers, SOAD and Tool, among others. Baby Smith was there, ukulele at hand, to play when Soprano decided it was time. Indeed, as has been brought up many times, the ukulele isn't as dark an instrument as it appears. Such people have not smelt Baby Smith's ukulele to even have an idea as to where it has been. That's because few have even dealt with it, let alone smelt it, and lived to tell the tale. And finally, as with every bar, there was a bartender. Standing behind the counter, meant merely to hide the fact that he wore nothing from the waist down, was Sabino, Depointless de Mariachi, whose priapistic bottle opener of a penis had made him a star attraction at the bar for some time. And there were the key words: for some time. The bar was not what it used to be. When the town of ALEXia had fallen, like all great towns do, one man had a dream to build his empire out of the ruins of this mini empire. That man was Jordan Krumbine. Sitting near the entrance, he was observing his dreams crash down before his eyes with each passing day. There was a time where he planned on building an empire that would rival that of the Nerdfighters in the neighbouring city. Indeed, that empire was heading towards capturing the city itself. But the darksider empire had not materialized, the Apocalyptic wars did not take place.. perhaps only, since they were so small that the Nerdfighters couldn't even take notice. They were not even a flea on the Great Dane of the Nerdfighters. And why? Why had this been the case? As was the case on planet YouTubus, all empires began with bars, and what Krumbine did not consider was that the world was filled with power hungry people. Ergo, with there being so many bars in the region, there was nothing that made his stand up in the crowd. The boobs of the deviant Misspacman08 did little to elevate the static status of the bar, and Satan knows she couldn't be trusted with furthering the cause. She was a heartbeat away from starting her own bar! And then there was the vain, dramaphile Victor, who despite all that time had gifted him, was a curse unto himself, a plague to society and a cancer in general. In other words, he was perfect, but useless in furthering the cause past a certain point. Something was required other than sperm drizzled beer foam caused by a man popping bottles with his penis to miscellaneous porn all day. Something more was required than music being provided by a woman who sang like a 15 year old girl but whose boobs bounced like a 35 year old cougar, accompanied by a cutesy, artistic ukulele player with a dark history. Something more was required, an edge was needed.

At that moment of contemplation, in walked another regular, carrying around a handful of freshly shot black swans. He was Obsquatch, a bar veteran unlike any other. So many bars had he visited, that he knew the game better than his own perineum. Cackling like a maniacal fucker, he sat next to his friend Tripp and said he was free of bars as he had just discovered something miraculous. Tripp, eyebrow raised, thighs cocked and balls flopped asked sarcastically whilst crossing his arms and legs "Can you turn water into wine my Lord?", before scratching his bellybutton through his silk bathrobe. Obsquatch smiled even wider, had a blue vein pop on his forehead and said "I think I can!". Tripp thinking this to be another joke on him on account of his religious affiliation, began to pay more attention to his earlier activity. The converse was true of the other regular, Ibrahim, who was now noticing the closest lamp with the corner of his eye, and was deeply interested in Obsquatch's every move. Obsquatch took his shirt off, and Ibrahim followed suit with his pants. Squatch began to mark circles around his carmine nipples, with bubbles beginning to form and pop from th

The Darksider Inn (part 2):

.. Squatch began to mark circles around his carmine nipples,with bubbles beginning to form and pop from them at the rate of the angular frequency he had set up to titillate his nipples. Emily began to drool a bit at the sight of the nippular bubbles, or perhaps it was due to her own circular motion about her nub, which she had begun no sooner after Ibrahim had taken his pants off. Here too was another case in Nature where cause and effect was not too clear. Obsquatch's nipples released their first drop and he exclaimed "It's ready!" Grabbing two mugs from the counter beside a dumbfounded Depointless, he smacked them into his chest; the established suction held them in place over his two mancakes. Then, he simply bent forward and had the glasses hover lightly over the table. A completely nude Ibrahim covered with a bit of goat milk, a saliva drenched pantyless Emily, a curious Depointless and a bicurious Krumbine watched along with a trembling Tripp Hudgins, as a golden frothy liquid began to flow heartily from the nipples of the Squatch into the mugs. Ibrahim on seeing this muttered : "I am become death. The destroyer of worlds" , wore his solar eclipse goggles and pulled out a pack of jordoms from his jacket pocket. Baby Smith began to do questionable things to the preserved, cancerous anus of Farrah Fawcett. Emily's right hand had nearly disappeared into her vagina through a mechanism that goes beyond what modern biology can account for, while she maintained the form of an agitated pretzel. By this point, she was covered in many more bodily fluids. Depointless' prostate had gone haywire, and he was ejaculating unceasingly, with increasing frequency, without any external perceptible sexual stimulation. Obsquatch's activities had activated a dormant region in his brain that had been formed by generations of horny depointlii, the meta rodent part of his brain, just beside the hip shaped cerebral campus of the basal ganglia. Why he was spinning though, remains a mystery. Krumbine's masculine and feminine parts were both going wild, resulting in him orgasming like a 17 yr old girl from Moldova losing her virginity to a 35 year old Arab, while playing with his ding dong and ping pongs through his pant pockets.
As he performed this undulatory motion, he wondered about the power of this gigantic pale man, who had turned his bar into a brothel, and without question could turn a planar barn into a lupanar. He did not ooze sexuality, but just seeing him ooze caused people to fuck themselves silly. His eyes wandered around his bar. He witnessing Ibrahim having protected sex with an active lamp, Emily rolling on the ground in her pretzeline form, Baby Smith violating the anus of Farrah Fawcett with her ukulele while licking her decaying vagina and a trembling AngloBaptist looking desperately for his cross. Then, a POP was heard. The mugs had dropped onto to the table, filled nearly to the brim. The golden foam interacted with the poor light from the lamp that had fallen to the floor, continuing to be violated by Ibrahim, to bring the night sky into the bar itself. Golden stars were all over the thatched roof, moving with the rolling motion of the violated lamp on the bar floor. Tripp had witnessed something that seemed to transcend his divine notion of Grace. Not even Jesus could do what he had seen. Had the man consumed so much alcohol in his time that he became a factory of it himself? Was THIS the one true religion, he thought, to drink until a state of nirvana is reached whereby you can make your own alcohol? And if he could squeeze out booze with his nipples, could he shit out pork as well? Tripp was a bright man, and none of this escaped him, unlike the others in the bar who were merely captivated by the superficial display of suction, fluids and moaning sounds from the pale redwood tree. Obsquatch by this time had consumed his mug and insisted that Tripp try his.
"This is the most awesome beverage on the face of the Earth MAN", he said enthusiastically, "Fuck, I'm gonna be rich!!"
Krumbine heard this last part. He took his moist sticky hands out of his pocket and wished to taste it, IF AngloBaptist didn't mind. Alas, he knew that Tripp had just lost his mind, so asking this was redundant.

Krumbine took a sip, and after doing so, his tongue could not cease to detach from the roof of his mouth.. begging for the taste to linger. He proceeded to chug, as tears of joy streamed down his face and collected on his beard, like morning dew on a very prickly caterpillar. He thought of how insignificant life had been prior to this experience. Sex compared to drinking this concoction was like sitting through one of his ten minute vlogs on nothing. To Krumbine, sex and watching his ten minute vlogs were on equal footing, but the drink was easily the best thing to have been served in his bar.. even if acquired from the red nipples of a man, and he was sufficiently emo

The Darksider Inn (part 4, aka the last part (hopefully)) :

Obsquatch:"Right Krumb, I think that does it for final requests."
"Wha.. Wait, where are you going?" ,asked Obsquatch, looking at Krumbine move unhesitatingly to the counter and ask Depointless to open the door. Depointless pushed a button under the counter and was moments later on the phone with someone.

"Wait, what the .. fuck. What ... was in ...it?" asked a foggy headed Obsquatch with his last strands of consciousness.
"Horse tranquilizer", responded Krumbine, aiming the small, now empty bottle that contained the tranquilizer at a basket, and missing by a pathetic margin (Perhaps this was a consequence of his wild gesticulations). "I figured you'd need at least the whole bottle. That's meant for three horses you giant boozetating fuck!"

Obsquatch rose, fist ready ... but collapsed. His topless upper body lay on the table, as booze dripped from the sides. Ibrahim, Emily and Baby were all asleep, and Depointless awaited Krumbine.

Krumbine: "Is Lupine on his way?"
Depointless: "Yea. He's done licking that chi'it (small pause) in the bathroom. He says it's clean (small pause) in a dirty way"
Krumbine: "Good. Tell his to get rid of the remains of the YouTubus partnership officer in the basement. He can, of course, as usual, eat whatever bodily leftovers are there. Make sure he locks the damn door this time after he's done though.. fucking scavenger."
Depointless: "Doing this chi'it seems a bit extreme (short pause) to one of our friends. He's (short pause) Obsquatch, (short pause) you know."
Krumbine: "Yeah well, he's our ticket to building an empire. We'll chain him up and milk him dry, and in between to destroy his spirit, we'll let Lupine do with him as he wants."
Depointless: "But (short pause) that seems so cruel. That's bad man."
Krumbine: "We're the darksiders. It's all good."

i dont want to enter this contest. because i know that you're secretly in love with my dog, and it would be favouritism when i won.

:-)

p.s. HI KRUMBINE!