His name is Yoshida
He’s a black belt in keyboard karate (hey! hey!)
Workin’ for the next war,
Has to discipline his body…

Re-write:

His name is Yoshidi,
He knows keyboard karate,
Lettin’ poor folks fight the next war,
So he’s eatin’ lotsa Twinkees.

Something about the “discipline her body” line as applied to Ad-Yosh is just…. unsettling. In an Opus Dei sleepover camp kinda way.

indefatigable?

Are you calling me gay?

Is that Florida?

J: One can only hope.

I am fairly certain that is the coast of Wisconsin, the area around Milwaukee. Damn Feingold.

There’s a joke here, about frickin’ nukes with frickin’ lazerz attached to their frickin’ warheads.
“I’m going to get you, Kim Jong Powers!”
Hehehe, this has potential. Kim Jong Il already has the glasses for it.

God, I’m so glad I got that Flaming Lips reference this time.

Is that what that was? Once again, I am proved incurably uncool. Woe is me.

Thank you, Salvage, for the fantastic and incredibly appropriate graphic. I am in awe of the Photoshop gods here, though I didn’t really appreciate you folks until I saw some really bad Photoshopping the other day and realized how spoiled I’d gotten.

I think I’ve finally found a deity to believe in. All hail, ye Gods of Photoshop! Smite us not with thy Mighty Mouse!

Chairman Adam does not suffer insolence from his international rivals.

Ming: Klytus, I’m bored. What plaything can you offer me today?

Klytus: An obscure body in the SK system, your Majesty. The inhabitants refer to it as the planet…Earth. {said with disgust}

M: How peaceful it looks.

{CUT TO: An Evilly-beringed finger traversing a set of buttons with titles such as “Tidal Wave”, “Volcanic Eruption”, and “Earthquake” before pausing over and then decisively pressing the one labelled “Hot Hail.”}
{FX: Ray Gun noises, followed by explosions}

{We hear Ming laughing, followed by Klytus joining in before saying}

K: Most effective, your Majesty! We’ll destroy this…Earth-

M: Later! I like to play with things a while…before annihilation.

Fucking awesome.

That is all.

The details of my life are quite inconsequential… very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we’d make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum… it’s breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it.