Hide your kids, hide your wife, hide you’re husband, because they’re coming for everything you love. They cannot be stopped. Nothing will stand in their way. They make the Nazis look like girl scouts. They make the Stalinist purges look like a nice day at the beach. I weep for humanity because soon there will be very little of us left.
Ah, video games. I used to play a lot of video games. I still do — but I used to, too. I had to stop for a while because I blamed all my irregular tendencies on video games. Little did they know that beating up hobos was just something that I did on my own time, and it didn’t have anything to do with my obsession with Viva Pinata and the Sims.
Four barrels are most certainly better than two. The only way this could get any better is if the shooter could grow an extra pair of arms, so he could shoot another two pistols. Then you’d get eight rounds down range every trigger pull. Imagine how many targets you could hit with that. A lot, probably. I’m not too good at math, but I know that eight bullets means eight barrels, and eight is most certainly more than four. It stands to reason that more is better because there’s no way that it could be worse.
Way out West there was this fella — fella I wanna tell ya about. Fella by the name of the Backyard Scientist. At least that was the handle his loving parents gave him, but he never had much use for it himself. The Backyard Scientist, he called himself the Backyard Scientist. Now, the Backyard Scientist — he didn’t make a whole lot of sense. And a lot about where he lived, likewise.