Preface- Everyone is complaining about me not keeping up with this, so here you are. A long ass post. Be careful what you wish for:
Greetings Patriots,
I am sure all of my numerous followers (Hi "Bob" and Zach) are curious as to what became of my courageous exploits in England. Did I get thrown in the tower of London? Did I forsake the greatest country on Earth and join the Royal Air Force? Was I struck with illness and met an excruciating death due to the evil ways of socialized health care? Worse my friends, I was caught up in a conspiracy that is bigger than you, or even me (the pinnacle of human potential) . Think of National Treasure, except with worse teeth and everyone having Nicholas Cage's hairstyle...also this doesn't suck.
It all started with one startling poster, a cry for help in this troubled world. If America taught me anything it is that when someone is in trouble, or looks like they might be in trouble, or even if you are just looking at them, you have every right to interfere with their life and make sure justice is brought upon anyone who disagrees with you. Here is the tragic distress signal that I saw while traveling in Bath, a city originally built by the Romans (Pagans):
Who would do such a thing? First thought: probably some evolutionist who thought this was another young child ready to lap up his communist propaganda (how is this monkey supposed to be my grandfather..answer that scientists!) Anyway, this monkey is more than a mere toy, this represents someones private property, and as a capitalist I must protect the integrity of private property at all costs, unless it interferes with national security or the interests of big corporations ...I should also mention I have something of a sweet spot for
monkeys.
Before traveling to England I read several Sherlock Holmes books in order to learn the culture while simultaneously honing my skills in deduction. Thus I thought about using this logic to solve this case, but then I remembered I am American, so I hit the nearest pub, downed a couple pints and then blindly headed off to put an end to this injustice.
I arrived at Stonehenge, a place known for having some rocks (Oh England, your prioritization of valuing history over flashy modern buildings amuses me). There was no sign of the monkey , though there was a shitload of sheep. But they did serve beer at the concession stand, so before investigating the rocks I had a couple or four. The rocks were boring as shit, but the signs said that they got put there mysteriously many years ago...another unsolved case. At this point I am a little drunk and see a couple sheep looking at me..so naturally I go over there to start a fight (show them what the old star spangled baaaaannner is all about...sheep jokes am i right?). But what do you know...these sheep are protected more heavily by fencing than the damn rocks are. Something just isn't right here...why are there so go damn many sheep and why I am not able to ride one? Perhaps more importantly, why are famous relics of the ancient world being guarded by a shoelace and these sheep are kept in by electric fence and barbwire? After much contemplation, or the thirty seconds that I was on the ground after I drunkenly stumbled, a shocking but intuitively truthful notion popped into my brainhouse, THE SHEEP PUT THE ROCKS THERE.
 |
| Stonehenge..nothing suspicious to see here... |
 |
| UNLESS YOU SEE THE SHEEP... |
Horrified by the sight of these monsters, and unsure if they could read my mind or not I caught the next bus back to Bath.
The bus came to a sudden stop, awaking me from my drunken slumber. Looking around I wondered why are we pulled to the side of the rode, are the sheep behind this too? I soon found out my answer; apparently if you pass out and fall limp onto the aisle between the seats of the bus, the "driver" is "required" to throw you off the bus. Sorry your country decided to fight wearing red coats and to be in perfect rows out in the open...I am not responsible for that so please don't take it out on me mr bus driver.
Luckily I was let off a couple minutes from the Roman Baths, a place I was familiar with. This was especially fortunate since I had to throw up and I figured the Romans must have puked after their orgies or whatever countless times in these baths. I run inside..the admission guy is a typical uptight, British royalist and is all "Sir you aren't allowed in here you are very drunk and I will need to..." at this point I cut him off and say "This is America if you don't like it you can get the hell out" and then I sprinted down a corridor. I am now in some lame museum exhibit of ancient roman artifacts, I look for some kind of way out...I turn my gaze towards a wall that I could totally scale because I am a badass... but to my disbelief, this is what I saw:
 |
| Episode III: Revenge of the Sheep |
TO BE CONTINUED...
