Way out West there was this fella — fella I wanna tell ya about. Fella by the name of PSY. At least that was the handle his loving parents gave him, but he never had much use for it himself. PSY, he called himself PSY. Now, PSY — he didn’t make a whole lot of sense. And a lot about where he lived, likewise.
Christmas is approaching like an old Buick going too fast down an ice-covered road. It rattles along like a freight train, and there will be hell to pay if you’re not prepared for it to rip off your wing mirror and send you careening into an embankment. If you’ve run out of ideas for Christmas presents, and you’re still a few presents short of an acceptable Christmas bundle, you should buy a copy of our Poorly Wrapped Christmas Album. It’s full of Christmasy goodness, even though Christmasy isn’t a real word. Believe me, it’s good stuff.
There is a theory which states that if ever anyone discovers exactly what the Universe is for and why it is here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable. There is another theory which states that this has already happened.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XB1Pq1_M-Wg
Today might seem like a day like any other, but today is a very special day. Today is the day all the nerds in the western world congregate to celebrate another sweaty turd secreted from the sweaty, strained mind of George “Needs More Dead Jawas and Screaming” Lucas. A new monolith to monotonous cinema has been erected using discarded Jar-Jar Binks merchandise and VHS tapes where Han shot first.