Clownbot

Niiice avvie, man. xD

Yes it does. I had 120 friends. I fixed my friends list by deleting the random requests.

I think they call it reading comprehension.

I had roughly 120 friends. Most of which I never talked to.

I fixed my friends list.

lol Thanks. I gotta give credit to Sonicandtails. He made it for me.

Neo Exdeth:
HOLY F*CK MAN WHAT THE F*CK I MEAN SERIOUSLY WHAT THE F*CK FORTY F*CKING POSTS PER F*CKING DAY





F*CK

Neo Exdeath also offered his help, so we could be 3, having the 3 character styles filled. I also gave the idea to create a private social group.

Maybe could we do Dawn, she has a heavyweight ( Mamoswine ), a medium character ( Ambipom ) and light and small characters ( Buneary, Piplup and Pachirisu )

That's fine with me, as I also could that. Anyways, I was planning on getting even more people, do you have ideas for people.

For the Pokémon, I thought about a Gym Leader, a Elite Four/ Champion or a Anime character. Not only some random Pokémon sticked together.

Hahaha! Sig it if you want to!
I just loved your reply . Oh and, I should be the one calling you good sir!

. . .

(h)

Your avatar.... (D)

Both. It just randomly occurred to me one day.

(I accidentally posted this in my own visitor messages before here. I need to get more sleep)

I don't care, as long as you don't make my job difficult.

Well, quite!

I was born to a drug-addled mother, who callously tossed me into a nearby dumpster after birthing me. So, alone, riddled with various drugs of all kinds, and cold, I did the only thing I could do: I cried.

I soon realized, however, that crying wasn't helping my situation, and I was rapidly coming ever closer to a cold, frozen death. Knowing this, I proceeded to physically beat the drugs out of my bloodstream with my tiny, yet powerful fists. I then ate my way through the plastic roof of the dumpster I was in, and warmed myself up with a light cross-country jog.

As I reached the Rocky Mountains, I suddenly found myself surrounded by hungry wolves. I managed to crush several of their skulls, but, tired as I was from my voyage, they eventually overpowered me. My still-soft cranium was literally inside the jaws of the pack leader when my first parents: Aslan, Bagheera, and Mufasa. The three mountain lions swiftly drove away the remaining wolves, and were about to claim their reward (my broken, bloody body)...but they sensed the pure, unfiltered greatness present within me, and, rather than consuming me, placed me on their shoulders and carried me back to their mountainside cave.

And so, for the next three years, I was raised in the most wild reaches of the Rocky Mountain Range, learning the ways of the world: hunting and preying on the weak, emitting feral screams to attract a mate, being only active near dusk and dawn, and (perhaps most importantly) being a combat helicopter.

However, it was not meant to be. One day, my adopted parents were all cruelly shot by local hunters. Only Mufasa managed to limp back to our cave, where I cradled him in my small, but already powerful arms, tears of pure love rolling down my cheeks. I believe I gave him some level of solace in his final moments.

The next day, I assassinated every man, woman and child in the area who has or had ever owned a hunting license, a rifle, camouflage pants, or who had in their life used the word "sport" in reference to the cold, inhuman act of taking another living thing's life for nothing but the sheer, barbaric thrill.

And so, with nothing left for me in the Rockies, I continued on in my quest, turning north, and eventually making my way to the Canadian outback.



/////

One day, I was casually eating my fill of the Caribou herd I had, moments before, brought down using nothing but a single pebble, when a large Grizzly Bear approached me, obviously looking for his next meal. I stood my ground, and as he approached, so did I.

During our epic, mortal struggle, the sheer force of will present within me contacted the bear's spirit, and instantly, we knew each other. While tending my fresh gouge wounds in a nearby stream, I learned my new parent's name: Wojtek. He had been the subject of several Canadian Government-funded experiments, resulting in him being bereft in a total, unending state of starvation; no matter how much Wojtek ate, he never could satiate himself. So, compassion filling my tiny, four-year frame, I devoted myself to helping him.

And so I hunted. Over the course of the next seven years, I made myself known across the country as "The Windigo", though of course, I was only a small boy at this time. Of course, I was uneducated in the ways of numbers, so had no notion at the time of how many animals I defeated in single combat for Wojtek's sake, but looking back, I would say...anywhere from five to seventy-eight hundred thousand.

At the end of this bloody, noble trail lay the Canadian Scientist's Headquarters, also known as "Mount Villainy". I climbed the jagged, sulfurous cliffs of that accursed rock for five days, never resting--for below me was Wojtek, barely alive and on his own: I had to do this as fast as possible. I infiltrated their foul lair, and found the anitdote to the illness afflicting my pitiable foster father. However, the Canadians discovered me on my way out, and I was forced into combat against an elite sect of Canada's greatest fighters: the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. When all was said and done, I limped out of the laboratory, bullet and saber wounds all across my battered body. One had even managed to gouge out one of my eyes with a hook mounted on a stump, where I presume a hand once was.

Despite my great cause, I found I could not maintain consciousness any longer. As I crested the summit, I passed out, cursing myself for failing at the task set before me...



/////


...Yet soon, I awoke: a cool breeze awakening me from my rest. I felt beneath me, and my hand touched against enormous, silken feathers. Yes, I was being held aloft on the back of a tremendous golden eagle. I reached out with my pure, most bare of emotions to the creature, telling her of Wojtek's plight.

...But, to my utter despair, she informed me that Wojtek had perished at the base of Mount Villainy. Her name was Aquila, and her nine siblings, Corvus, Flint, Cygnus, Huginn and Muginn, Simurgh, Mynah, and Old Great Auk, were on their way to Wojtek's aid on the command of the Bird King, Phoenix. But alas and alack, they arrived too late. Perhaps due to my leading him around the countryside, he was without the aid of the birdfolk.

I have always...blamed myself for that, I suppose.

With nothing to be done for poor Wojtek, I swore vengeance against the Royal Canadian Mountain Police, and continued East with my new, feathered family.



/////


I did not stay with the eagles for long, though. As we were flying over Tennesee, Huginn and Muginn attempted to steal the eyes from my sockets as I slept atop Old Great Auk's back. They held no alleigance to me or my journey, and so I do not blame them for this: it is only the natural law that when a thing is hungry, it must eat.

...However, it is also the way of the world that only the strongest survive. And so, reacting like barbed lightning, I arose, and tore the tongues from my attacker's gizzards, sending them both into uncontrollable, pain-induced free falls. I could immediately tell how well this went over with the other birds, and so I leapt from Auk's wing, pummeting to the ground hundreds of miles below me.

It is never a good idea to let oneself be surrounded by wrathful servants of the Bird King.

Handily, I had learned much from Aquila of the ways of flight, and though I possessed no wings, I used my knowledge to directionally influence myself toward a giant red and white speck, miles below me. As I reached terminal velocity, and the terrible inertia began to peel the very flesh from my bones, I again could not hold out, and I saw black.

When I awoke, I was staring up into the murderous eyes of an enormous African Elephant, or loxodonta africana, as they say in the West. Before he had the chance to gore or trample me, I sprung to my feet and delivered a kick so fierce it could shatter the trunk of a full-grown Redwood tree (and indeed, during my time in the North, it had done so, on several occasions) to the beast's head...but to my complete amazement, it bucked me away but with a brush of it's head! Suddenly and horrifyingly, I knew fear. For the first time in my life, I truly did not know whether I would be the victor of this contest of strength.

...Amazingly, though I no longer held any conception of victory, the thing did not approach me. It merely eyed me up, from head to toe several times, then, deciding something, turned to leave. With this relief, I examined my surroundings for the first time since arriving in this foreign locale. I discovered I had landed on the top of a giant circus tent, which would explain how all my bones were not of dust at this point. But I had little time to ponder the past, as my immortal warrior's soul was calling to me.

Thus, I was trained. My master, Orwell, was a fine teacher indeed. Raised on the barren plains of the Savannah, he had been born weak and alone, much like myself. He had spent most of his time there migrating from herd to herd, never fully accepted, and often physically assaulted for his ignoble origins and lowly station. But through it all, he never gave in, eventually defeating the Bull of a rival tribe in single combat, and thus becoming their herdmaster. For fifty years, he and his tribe roamed the Great Plains, conquering all and sparing none in their paths. He sired countless calves, and those he did not approve of were swiftly exiled. Like me, he held dearly to the Ways of the World. However, one day, while he was away on an expedition, black-suited men with loud, booming sticks and red, maple leaves on their backs came and destroyed his entire clan, stealing their proud tusks, not allowing even for a respectful burial. Enraged, Orwell took to the coast, hounding the men in black. Though they boarded their iron fish before he could catch them, he could see the way they traveled, and so, with a deep breath of the African air he loved more than life itself, he plunged beneath the waves, and ran along the Ocean's floor toward a new, alien world.

Once there, he was tired from his journey, and so laid down beneath a tall tree for rest. But--the fiends!--they ambushed him while he slept! He awoke, and crushed many underfoot, and his tusks were lined with bodies that day, but through sheer numbers and a traitorous tranquilizing poison, they brought him to his knees, and carried him off to their stronghold.

...Thankfully, he escaped: breaking out of the belly of their giant iron snake, he rampaged his way south until he found a lonely, secluded stretch of open land. It reminded him of his homeland, and that was good. For seven days and seven nights he wept for those lost to him. He would never see them again.

And so, when the circus came and erected their giant shelters, Orwell approached them. At first, they panicked, but in time, they came to accept him. Ever since, he had stayed with the group as they toured the country, performing for humans from all walks of life. It was not a dignified life, he told me, but a simple one. One deserving of a man who could not protect those closest to him.



/////


Under his tutelage, I learned much. In the span of a single year, I became a rival even to his great strength, and began to finally integrate myself into the world of man--through my performances in the circus as "The Whild Child", I learned the human tongue, and even made several "friends". In time, though, this was our downfall. Word spread of our famed performances, which eventually attracted the very same forces that had stolen so much from both my and Orwell's lives...

One fateful day, during the highlight act of our performance, Orwell toppled to the ground. I rushed to his side, but he batted me away with his trunk as he regained his footing. It was then I saw the enormous needle protruding from the side of his head. Furthermore, I finally noticed how oddly quiet the crowd had been, and looking out past the glare of the stage lights, I saw not a normal crowd--but the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. They had come to reclaim what was not theirs! I gave a roar that would enrapture even the coldest of puma vixens, and lunged toward my sworn enemies, but my way was suddenly blocked by Orwell's hulking body, which shuddered as a second salvo of poisoned darts punctured his thick hide. I knew what he was doing, but would not accept it--he was all that I had left.

...But, against my dearest wishes, he lifted me, kicking and screaming, in his trunk, trundled outside the tent, with every step being more harried as more and more Canadian venom assaulted his old body...and threw me into the sky with all of his remaining strength.



/////


I spent the following day, and part of the night soaring through the air, tears lashing their way off my face, falling behind me into my windstream. I beat my chest, gnashed my teeth, pulled my hair, and tore my flesh in penitence: once again, I had not been able to stand up and deliver justice, as a man should.


/////

I finally began to lose altitude as I came over the Atlantic Ocean, the same one Orwell had traveled on his road of revenge. After ricocheting off the surface of the waves for several miles, I was finally able to obtain my sea legs...or lack thereof. This was my first experience with the ocean, and I lacked Orwell's powerful elephantine lungs, so had no hope of walking back to shore. I though for sure I would perish, broken and alone, out there in the Great, Uncaring Blue...when something large and smooth wrapped itself around my leg. In a flurry of rushing water and coursing foam, I was pulled under, and found myself face to face with a truly gigantic creature--at least ten times the size of my now-deceased master! It's hundred arms grabbed me from all sides and tore at me, intent on breaking me open like some crude chestnut. But I would not have this. There was still much evil for me to cleanse in this world, and so I held off the monster's fatal embrace, making my body as steel. Apparently surprised at this turn of events, the leviathan brought me to the surface, and, in what seemed the blink of an eye, brought me to a nearby, remote and uninhabited island.

I learned the kraken's name: Jormungandr, and since then (this was roughly four months ago, mind) have been peacefully enjoying my time on the same island, which I have named "Chief Mendez's Island". As I have not yet been able to communicate effectively with Jormungandr (and indeed, he rarely is around to attempt communication with), I have had nothing to do with myself but lie around, tend the fertile land of Chief Mendez's Island, and hang out on SWF with all my pals (using my wind-powered laptop made of sand and hermit crabs).

But one day soon, I will taste revenge. I will hunt down the red-leaf'd demons that stole my parents from me, and I will tear them limb from limb with my bear hands. The Earth will run red with blood. The accumulated filth of all their murder will foam up about their waists and all those *******s will look up and shout "Save us!"...

...and I will look down, and whisper "No."



/////


Aside from the kraken (whom I now reside with), all of my parents have at one point tried to devour me alive. Only constant vigilance and devotion to my martial studies have kept me alive this long.

Yes, it has been a harrowing journey. But I have survived. And I am all the stronger for it.

I was born to a drug-addled mother, who callously tossed me into a nearby dumpster after birthing me. So, alone, riddled with various drugs of all kinds, and cold, I did the only thing I could do: I cried.

I soon realized, however, that crying wasn't helping my situation, and I was rapidly coming ever closer to a cold, frozen death. Knowing this, I proceeded to physically beat the drugs out of my bloodstream with my tiny, yet powerful fists. I then ate my way through the plastic roof of the dumpster I was in, and warmed myself up with a light cross-country jog.

As I reached the Rocky Mountains, I suddenly found myself surrounded by hungry wolves. I managed to crush several of their skulls, but, tired as I was from my voyage, they eventually overpowered me. My still-soft cranium was literally inside the jaws of the pack leader when my first parents: Aslan, Bagheera, and Mufasa. The three mountain lions swiftly drove away the remaining wolves, and were about to claim their reward (my broken, bloody body)...but they sensed the pure, unfiltered greatness present within me, and, rather than consuming me, placed me on their shoulders and carried me back to their mountainside cave.

And so, for the next three years, I was raised in the most wild reaches of the Rocky Mountain Range, learning the ways of the world: hunting and preying on the weak, emitting feral screams to attract a mate, being only active near dusk and dawn, and (perhaps most importantly) being a combat helicopter.

However, it was not meant to be. One day, my adopted parents were all cruelly shot by local hunters. Only Mufasa managed to limp back to our cave, where I cradled him in my small, but already powerful arms, tears of pure love rolling down my cheeks. I believe I gave him some level of solace in his final moments.

The next day, I assassinated every man, woman and child in the area who has or had ever owned a hunting license, a rifle, camouflage pants, or who had in their life used the word "sport" in reference to the cold, inhuman act of taking another living thing's life for nothing but the sheer, barbaric thrill.

And so, with nothing left for me in the Rockies, I continued on in my quest, turning north, and eventually making my way to the Canadian outback.



/////

One day, I was casually eating my fill of the Caribou herd I had, moments before, brought down using nothing but a single pebble, when a large Grizzly Bear approached me, obviously looking for his next meal. I stood my ground, and as he approached, so did I.

During our epic, mortal struggle, the sheer force of will present within me contacted the bear's spirit, and instantly, we knew each other. While tending my fresh gouge wounds in a nearby stream, I learned my new parent's name: Wojtek. He had been the subject of several Canadian Government-funded experiments, resulting in him being bereft in a total, unending state of starvation; no matter how much Wojtek ate, he never could satiate himself. So, compassion filling my tiny, four-year frame, I devoted myself to helping him.

And so I hunted. Over the course of the next seven years, I made myself known across the country as "The Windigo", though of course, I was only a small boy at this time. Of course, I was uneducated in the ways of numbers, so had no notion at the time of how many animals I defeated in single combat for Wojtek's sake, but looking back, I would say...anywhere from five to seventy-eight hundred thousand.

At the end of this bloody, noble trail lay the Canadian Scientist's Headquarters, also known as "Mount Villainy". I climbed the jagged, sulfurous cliffs of that accursed rock for five days, never resting--for below me was Wojtek, barely alive and on his own: I had to do this as fast as possible. I infiltrated their foul lair, and found the anitdote to the illness afflicting my pitiable foster father. However, the Canadians discovered me on my way out, and I was forced into combat against an elite sect of Canada's greatest fighters: the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. When all was said and done, I limped out of the laboratory, bullet and saber wounds all across my battered body. One had even managed to gouge out one of my eyes with a hook mounted on a stump, where I presume a hand once was.

Despite my great cause, I found I could not maintain consciousness any longer. As I crested the summit, I passed out, cursing myself for failing at the task set before me...



/////


...Yet soon, I awoke: a cool breeze awakening me from my rest. I felt beneath me, and my hand touched against enormous, silken feathers. Yes, I was being held aloft on the back of a tremendous golden eagle. I reached out with my pure, most bare of emotions to the creature, telling her of Wojtek's plight.

...But, to my utter despair, she informed me that Wojtek had perished at the base of Mount Villainy. Her name was Aquila, and her nine siblings, Corvus, Flint, Cygnus, Huginn and Muginn, Simurgh, Mynah, and Old Great Auk, were on their way to Wojtek's aid on the command of the Bird King, Phoenix. But alas and alack, they arrived too late. Perhaps due to my leading him around the countryside, he was without the aid of the birdfolk.

I have always...blamed myself for that, I suppose.

With nothing to be done for poor Wojtek, I swore vengeance against the Royal Canadian Mountain Police, and continued East with my new, feathered family.



/////


I did not stay with the eagles for long, though. As we were flying over Tennesee, Huginn and Muginn attempted to steal the eyes from my sockets as I slept atop Old Great Auk's back. They held no alleigance to me or my journey, and so I do not blame them for this: it is only the natural law that when a thing is hungry, it must eat.

...However, it is also the way of the world that only the strongest survive. And so, reacting like barbed lightning, I arose, and tore the tongues from my attacker's gizzards, sending them both into uncontrollable, pain-induced free falls. I could immediately tell how well this went over with the other birds, and so I leapt from Auk's wing, pummeting to the ground hundreds of miles below me.

It is never a good idea to let oneself be surrounded by wrathful servants of the Bird King.

Handily, I had learned much from Aquila of the ways of flight, and though I possessed no wings, I used my knowledge to directionally influence myself toward a giant red and white speck, miles below me. As I reached terminal velocity, and the terrible inertia began to peel the very flesh from my bones, I again could not hold out, and I saw black.

When I awoke, I was staring up into the murderous eyes of an enormous African Elephant, or loxodonta africana, as they say in the West. Before he had the chance to gore or trample me, I sprung to my feet and delivered a kick so fierce it could shatter the trunk of a full-grown Redwood tree (and indeed, during my time in the North, it had done so, on several occasions) to the beast's head...but to my complete amazement, it bucked me away but with a brush of it's head! Suddenly and horrifyingly, I knew fear. For the first time in my life, I truly did not know whether I would be the victor of this contest of strength.

...Amazingly, though I no longer held any conception of victory, the thing did not approach me. It merely eyed me up, from head to toe several times, then, deciding something, turned to leave. With this relief, I examined my surroundings for the first time since arriving in this foreign locale. I discovered I had landed on the top of a giant circus tent, which would explain how all my bones were not of dust at this point. But I had little time to ponder the past, as my immortal warrior's soul was calling to me.

Thus, I was trained. My master, Orwell, was a fine teacher indeed. Raised on the barren plains of the Savannah, he had been born weak and alone, much like myself. He had spent most of his time there migrating from herd to herd, never fully accepted, and often physically assaulted for his ignoble origins and lowly station. But through it all, he never gave in, eventually defeating the Bull of a rival tribe in single combat, and thus becoming their herdmaster. For fifty years, he and his tribe roamed the Great Plains, conquering all and sparing none in their paths. He sired countless calves, and those he did not approve of were swiftly exiled. Like me, he held dearly to the Ways of the World. However, one day, while he was away on an expedition, black-suited men with loud, booming sticks and red, maple leaves on their backs came and destroyed his entire clan, stealing their proud tusks, not allowing even for a respectful burial. Enraged, Orwell took to the coast, hounding the men in black. Though they boarded their iron fish before he could catch them, he could see the way they traveled, and so, with a deep breath of the African air he loved more than life itself, he plunged beneath the waves, and ran along the Ocean's floor toward a new, alien world.

Once there, he was tired from his journey, and so laid down beneath a tall tree for rest. But--the fiends!--they ambushed him while he slept! He awoke, and crushed many underfoot, and his tusks were lined with bodies that day, but through sheer numbers and a traitorous tranquilizing poison, they brought him to his knees, and carried him off to their stronghold.

...Thankfully, he escaped: breaking out of the belly of their giant iron snake, he rampaged his way south until he found a lonely, secluded stretch of open land. It reminded him of his homeland, and that was good. For seven days and seven nights he wept for those lost to him. He would never see them again.

And so, when the circus came and erected their giant shelters, Orwell approached them. At first, they panicked, but in time, they came to accept him. Ever since, he had stayed with the group as they toured the country, performing for humans from all walks of life. It was not a dignified life, he told me, but a simple one. One deserving of a man who could not protect those closest to him.



/////


Under his tutelage, I learned much. In the span of a single year, I became a rival even to his great strength, and began to finally integrate myself into the world of man--through my performances in the circus as "The Whild Child", I learned the human tongue, and even made several "friends". In time, though, this was our downfall. Word spread of our famed performances, which eventually attracted the very same forces that had stolen so much from both my and Orwell's lives...

One fateful day, during the highlight act of our performance, Orwell toppled to the ground. I rushed to his side, but he batted me away with his trunk as he regained his footing. It was then I saw the enormous needle protruding from the side of his head. Furthermore, I finally noticed how oddly quiet the crowd had been, and looking out past the glare of the stage lights, I saw not a normal crowd--but the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. They had come to reclaim what was not theirs! I gave a roar that would enrapture even the coldest of puma vixens, and lunged toward my sworn enemies, but my way was suddenly blocked by Orwell's hulking body, which shuddered as a second salvo of poisoned darts punctured his thick hide. I knew what he was doing, but would not accept it--he was all that I had left.

...But, against my dearest wishes, he lifted me, kicking and screaming, in his trunk, trundled outside the tent, with every step being more harried as more and more Canadian venom assaulted his old body...and threw me into the sky with all of his remaining strength.



/////


I spent the following day, and part of the night soaring through the air, tears lashing their way off my face, falling behind me into my windstream. I beat my chest, gnashed my teeth, pulled my hair, and tore my flesh in penitence: once again, I had not been able to stand up and deliver justice, as a man should.


/////

I finally began to lose altitude as I came over the Atlantic Ocean, the same one Orwell had traveled on his road of revenge. After ricocheting off the surface of the waves for several miles, I was finally able to obtain my sea legs...or lack thereof. This was my first experience with the ocean, and I lacked Orwell's powerful elephantine lungs, so had no hope of walking back to shore. I though for sure I would perish, broken and alone, out there in the Great, Uncaring Blue...when something large and smooth wrapped itself around my leg. In a flurry of rushing water and coursing foam, I was pulled under, and found myself face to face with a truly gigantic creature--at least ten times the size of my now-deceased master! It's hundred arms grabbed me from all sides and tore at me, intent on breaking me open like some crude chestnut. But I would not have this. There was still much evil for me to cleanse in this world, and so I held off the monster's fatal embrace, making my body as steel. Apparently surprised at this turn of events, the leviathan brought me to the surface, and, in what seemed the blink of an eye, brought me to a nearby, remote and uninhabited island.

I learned the kraken's name: Jormungandr, and since then (this was roughly four months ago, mind) have been peacefully enjoying my time on the same island, which I have named "Chief Mendez's Island". As I have not yet been able to communicate effectively with Jormungandr (and indeed, he rarely is around to attempt communication with), I have had nothing to do with myself but lie around, tend the fertile land of Chief Mendez's Island, and hang out on SWF with all my pals (using my wind-powered laptop made of sand and hermit crabs).

But one day soon, I will taste revenge. I will hunt down the red-leaf'd demons that stole my parents from me, and I will tear them limb from limb with my bear hands. The Earth will run red with blood. The accumulated filth of all their murder will foam up about their waists and all those *******s will look up and shout "Save us!"...

...and I will look down, and whisper "No."



/////


Aside from the kraken (whom I now reside with), all of my parents have at one point tried to devour me alive. Only constant vigilance and devotion to my martial studies have kept me alive this long.

Yes, it has been a harrowing journey. But I have survived. And I am all the stronger for it.

I was born to a drug-addled mother, who callously tossed me into a nearby dumpster after birthing me. So, alone, riddled with various drugs of all kinds, and cold, I did the only thing I could do: I cried.

I soon realized, however, that crying wasn't helping my situation, and I was rapidly coming ever closer to a cold, frozen death. Knowing this, I proceeded to physically beat the drugs out of my bloodstream with my tiny, yet powerful fists. I then ate my way through the plastic roof of the dumpster I was in, and warmed myself up with a light cross-country jog.

As I reached the Rocky Mountains, I suddenly found myself surrounded by hungry wolves. I managed to crush several of their skulls, but, tired as I was from my voyage, they eventually overpowered me. My still-soft cranium was literally inside the jaws of the pack leader when my first parents: Aslan, Bagheera, and Mufasa. The three mountain lions swiftly drove away the remaining wolves, and were about to claim their reward (my broken, bloody body)...but they sensed the pure, unfiltered greatness present within me, and, rather than consuming me, placed me on their shoulders and carried me back to their mountainside cave.

And so, for the next three years, I was raised in the most wild reaches of the Rocky Mountain Range, learning the ways of the world: hunting and preying on the weak, emitting feral screams to attract a mate, being only active near dusk and dawn, and (perhaps most importantly) being a combat helicopter.

However, it was not meant to be. One day, my adopted parents were all cruelly shot by local hunters. Only Mufasa managed to limp back to our cave, where I cradled him in my small, but already powerful arms, tears of pure love rolling down my cheeks. I believe I gave him some level of solace in his final moments.

The next day, I assassinated every man, woman and child in the area who has or had ever owned a hunting license, a rifle, camouflage pants, or who had in their life used the word "sport" in reference to the cold, inhuman act of taking another living thing's life for nothing but the sheer, barbaric thrill.

And so, with nothing left for me in the Rockies, I continued on in my quest, turning north, and eventually making my way to the Canadian outback.



/////

One day, I was casually eating my fill of the Caribou herd I had, moments before, brought down using nothing but a single pebble, when a large Grizzly Bear approached me, obviously looking for his next meal. I stood my ground, and as he approached, so did I.

During our epic, mortal struggle, the sheer force of will present within me contacted the bear's spirit, and instantly, we knew each other. While tending my fresh gouge wounds in a nearby stream, I learned my new parent's name: Wojtek. He had been the subject of several Canadian Government-funded experiments, resulting in him being bereft in a total, unending state of starvation; no matter how much Wojtek ate, he never could satiate himself. So, compassion filling my tiny, four-year frame, I devoted myself to helping him.

And so I hunted. Over the course of the next seven years, I made myself known across the country as "The Windigo", though of course, I was only a small boy at this time. Of course, I was uneducated in the ways of numbers, so had no notion at the time of how many animals I defeated in single combat for Wojtek's sake, but looking back, I would say...anywhere from five to seventy-eight hundred thousand.

At the end of this bloody, noble trail lay the Canadian Scientist's Headquarters, also known as "Mount Villainy". I climbed the jagged, sulfurous cliffs of that accursed rock for five days, never resting--for below me was Wojtek, barely alive and on his own: I had to do this as fast as possible. I infiltrated their foul lair, and found the anitdote to the illness afflicting my pitiable foster father. However, the Canadians discovered me on my way out, and I was forced into combat against an elite sect of Canada's greatest fighters: the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. When all was said and done, I limped out of the laboratory, bullet and saber wounds all across my battered body. One had even managed to gouge out one of my eyes with a hook mounted on a stump, where I presume a hand once was.

Despite my great cause, I found I could not maintain consciousness any longer. As I crested the summit, I passed out, cursing myself for failing at the task set before me...



/////


...Yet soon, I awoke: a cool breeze awakening me from my rest. I felt beneath me, and my hand touched against enormous, silken feathers. Yes, I was being held aloft on the back of a tremendous golden eagle. I reached out with my pure, most bare of emotions to the creature, telling her of Wojtek's plight.

...But, to my utter despair, she informed me that Wojtek had perished at the base of Mount Villainy. Her name was Aquila, and her nine siblings, Corvus, Flint, Cygnus, Huginn and Muginn, Simurgh, Mynah, and Old Great Auk, were on their way to Wojtek's aid on the command of the Bird King, Phoenix. But alas and alack, they arrived too late. Perhaps due to my leading him around the countryside, he was without the aid of the birdfolk.

I have always...blamed myself for that, I suppose.

With nothing to be done for poor Wojtek, I swore vengeance against the Royal Canadian Mountain Police, and continued East with my new, feathered family.



/////


I did not stay with the eagles for long, though. As we were flying over Tennesee, Huginn and Muginn attempted to steal the eyes from my sockets as I slept atop Old Great Auk's back. They held no alleigance to me or my journey, and so I do not blame them for this: it is only the natural law that when a thing is hungry, it must eat.

...However, it is also the way of the world that only the strongest survive. And so, reacting like barbed lightning, I arose, and tore the tongues from my attacker's gizzards, sending them both into uncontrollable, pain-induced free falls. I could immediately tell how well this went over with the other birds, and so I leapt from Auk's wing, pummeting to the ground hundreds of miles below me.

It is never a good idea to let oneself be surrounded by wrathful servants of the Bird King.

Handily, I had learned much from Aquila of the ways of flight, and though I possessed no wings, I used my knowledge to directionally influence myself toward a giant red and white speck, miles below me. As I reached terminal velocity, and the terrible inertia began to peel the very flesh from my bones, I again could not hold out, and I saw black.

When I awoke, I was staring up into the murderous eyes of an enormous African Elephant, or loxodonta africana, as they say in the West. Before he had the chance to gore or trample me, I sprung to my feet and delivered a kick so fierce it could shatter the trunk of a full-grown Redwood tree (and indeed, during my time in the North, it had done so, on several occasions) to the beast's head...but to my complete amazement, it bucked me away but with a brush of it's head! Suddenly and horrifyingly, I knew fear. For the first time in my life, I truly did not know whether I would be the victor of this contest of strength.

...Amazingly, though I no longer held any conception of victory, the thing did not approach me. It merely eyed me up, from head to toe several times, then, deciding something, turned to leave. With this relief, I examined my surroundings for the first time since arriving in this foreign locale. I discovered I had landed on the top of a giant circus tent, which would explain how all my bones were not of dust at this point. But I had little time to ponder the past, as my immortal warrior's soul was calling to me.

Thus, I was trained. My master, Orwell, was a fine teacher indeed. Raised on the barren plains of the Savannah, he had been born weak and alone, much like myself. He had spent most of his time there migrating from herd to herd, never fully accepted, and often physically assaulted for his ignoble origins and lowly station. But through it all, he never gave in, eventually defeating the Bull of a rival tribe in single combat, and thus becoming their herdmaster. For fifty years, he and his tribe roamed the Great Plains, conquering all and sparing none in their paths. He sired countless calves, and those he did not approve of were swiftly exiled. Like me, he held dearly to the Ways of the World. However, one day, while he was away on an expedition, black-suited men with loud, booming sticks and red, maple leaves on their backs came and destroyed his entire clan, stealing their proud tusks, not allowing even for a respectful burial. Enraged, Orwell took to the coast, hounding the men in black. Though they boarded their iron fish before he could catch them, he could see the way they traveled, and so, with a deep breath of the African air he loved more than life itself, he plunged beneath the waves, and ran along the Ocean's floor toward a new, alien world.

Once there, he was tired from his journey, and so laid down beneath a tall tree for rest. But--the fiends!--they ambushed him while he slept! He awoke, and crushed many underfoot, and his tusks were lined with bodies that day, but through sheer numbers and a traitorous tranquilizing poison, they brought him to his knees, and carried him off to their stronghold.

...Thankfully, he escaped: breaking out of the belly of their giant iron snake, he rampaged his way south until he found a lonely, secluded stretch of open land. It reminded him of his homeland, and that was good. For seven days and seven nights he wept for those lost to him. He would never see them again.

And so, when the circus came and erected their giant shelters, Orwell approached them. At first, they panicked, but in time, they came to accept him. Ever since, he had stayed with the group as they toured the country, performing for humans from all walks of life. It was not a dignified life, he told me, but a simple one. One deserving of a man who could not protect those closest to him.



/////


Under his tutelage, I learned much. In the span of a single year, I became a rival even to his great strength, and began to finally integrate myself into the world of man--through my performances in the circus as "The Whild Child", I learned the human tongue, and even made several "friends". In time, though, this was our downfall. Word spread of our famed performances, which eventually attracted the very same forces that had stolen so much from both my and Orwell's lives...

One fateful day, during the highlight act of our performance, Orwell toppled to the ground. I rushed to his side, but he batted me away with his trunk as he regained his footing. It was then I saw the enormous needle protruding from the side of his head. Furthermore, I finally noticed how oddly quiet the crowd had been, and looking out past the glare of the stage lights, I saw not a normal crowd--but the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. They had come to reclaim what was not theirs! I gave a roar that would enrapture even the coldest of puma vixens, and lunged toward my sworn enemies, but my way was suddenly blocked by Orwell's hulking body, which shuddered as a second salvo of poisoned darts punctured his thick hide. I knew what he was doing, but would not accept it--he was all that I had left.

...But, against my dearest wishes, he lifted me, kicking and screaming, in his trunk, trundled outside the tent, with every step being more harried as more and more Canadian venom assaulted his old body...and threw me into the sky with all of his remaining strength.



/////


I spent the following day, and part of the night soaring through the air, tears lashing their way off my face, falling behind me into my windstream. I beat my chest, gnashed my teeth, pulled my hair, and tore my flesh in penitence: once again, I had not been able to stand up and deliver justice, as a man should.


/////

I finally began to lose altitude as I came over the Atlantic Ocean, the same one Orwell had traveled on his road of revenge. After ricocheting off the surface of the waves for several miles, I was finally able to obtain my sea legs...or lack thereof. This was my first experience with the ocean, and I lacked Orwell's powerful elephantine lungs, so had no hope of walking back to shore. I though for sure I would perish, broken and alone, out there in the Great, Uncaring Blue...when something large and smooth wrapped itself around my leg. In a flurry of rushing water and coursing foam, I was pulled under, and found myself face to face with a truly gigantic creature--at least ten times the size of my now-deceased master! It's hundred arms grabbed me from all sides and tore at me, intent on breaking me open like some crude chestnut. But I would not have this. There was still much evil for me to cleanse in this world, and so I held off the monster's fatal embrace, making my body as steel. Apparently surprised at this turn of events, the leviathan brought me to the surface, and, in what seemed the blink of an eye, brought me to a nearby, remote and uninhabited island.

I learned the kraken's name: Jormungandr, and since then (this was roughly four months ago, mind) have been peacefully enjoying my time on the same island, which I have named "Chief Mendez's Island". As I have not yet been able to communicate effectively with Jormungandr (and indeed, he rarely is around to attempt communication with), I have had nothing to do with myself but lie around, tend the fertile land of Chief Mendez's Island, and hang out on SWF with all my pals (using my wind-powered laptop made of sand and hermit crabs).

But one day soon, I will taste revenge. I will hunt down the red-leaf'd demons that stole my parents from me, and I will tear them limb from limb with my bear hands. The Earth will run red with blood. The accumulated filth of all their murder will foam up about their waists and all those *******s will look up and shout "Save us!"...

...and I will look down, and whisper "No."



/////


Aside from the kraken (whom I now reside with), all of my parents have at one point tried to devour me alive. Only constant vigilance and devotion to my martial studies have kept me alive this long.

Yes, it has been a harrowing journey. But I have survived. And I am all the stronger for it.

I was born to a drug-addled mother, who callously tossed me into a nearby dumpster after birthing me. So, alone, riddled with various drugs of all kinds, and cold, I did the only thing I could do: I cried.

I soon realized, however, that crying wasn't helping my situation, and I was rapidly coming ever closer to a cold, frozen death. Knowing this, I proceeded to physically beat the drugs out of my bloodstream with my tiny, yet powerful fists. I then ate my way through the plastic roof of the dumpster I was in, and warmed myself up with a light cross-country jog.

As I reached the Rocky Mountains, I suddenly found myself surrounded by hungry wolves. I managed to crush several of their skulls, but, tired as I was from my voyage, they eventually overpowered me. My still-soft cranium was literally inside the jaws of the pack leader when my first parents: Aslan, Bagheera, and Mufasa. The three mountain lions swiftly drove away the remaining wolves, and were about to claim their reward (my broken, bloody body)...but they sensed the pure, unfiltered greatness present within me, and, rather than consuming me, placed me on their shoulders and carried me back to their mountainside cave.

And so, for the next three years, I was raised in the most wild reaches of the Rocky Mountain Range, learning the ways of the world: hunting and preying on the weak, emitting feral screams to attract a mate, being only active near dusk and dawn, and (perhaps most importantly) being a combat helicopter.

However, it was not meant to be. One day, my adopted parents were all cruelly shot by local hunters. Only Mufasa managed to limp back to our cave, where I cradled him in my small, but already powerful arms, tears of pure love rolling down my cheeks. I believe I gave him some level of solace in his final moments.

The next day, I assassinated every man, woman and child in the area who has or had ever owned a hunting license, a rifle, camouflage pants, or who had in their life used the word "sport" in reference to the cold, inhuman act of taking another living thing's life for nothing but the sheer, barbaric thrill.

And so, with nothing left for me in the Rockies, I continued on in my quest, turning north, and eventually making my way to the Canadian outback.



/////

One day, I was casually eating my fill of the Caribou herd I had, moments before, brought down using nothing but a single pebble, when a large Grizzly Bear approached me, obviously looking for his next meal. I stood my ground, and as he approached, so did I.

During our epic, mortal struggle, the sheer force of will present within me contacted the bear's spirit, and instantly, we knew each other. While tending my fresh gouge wounds in a nearby stream, I learned my new parent's name: Wojtek. He had been the subject of several Canadian Government-funded experiments, resulting in him being bereft in a total, unending state of starvation; no matter how much Wojtek ate, he never could satiate himself. So, compassion filling my tiny, four-year frame, I devoted myself to helping him.

And so I hunted. Over the course of the next seven years, I made myself known across the country as "The Windigo", though of course, I was only a small boy at this time. Of course, I was uneducated in the ways of numbers, so had no notion at the time of how many animals I defeated in single combat for Wojtek's sake, but looking back, I would say...anywhere from five to seventy-eight hundred thousand.

At the end of this bloody, noble trail lay the Canadian Scientist's Headquarters, also known as "Mount Villainy". I climbed the jagged, sulfurous cliffs of that accursed rock for five days, never resting--for below me was Wojtek, barely alive and on his own: I had to do this as fast as possible. I infiltrated their foul lair, and found the anitdote to the illness afflicting my pitiable foster father. However, the Canadians discovered me on my way out, and I was forced into combat against an elite sect of Canada's greatest fighters: the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. When all was said and done, I limped out of the laboratory, bullet and saber wounds all across my battered body. One had even managed to gouge out one of my eyes with a hook mounted on a stump, where I presume a hand once was.

Despite my great cause, I found I could not maintain consciousness any longer. As I crested the summit, I passed out, cursing myself for failing at the task set before me...



/////


...Yet soon, I awoke: a cool breeze awakening me from my rest. I felt beneath me, and my hand touched against enormous, silken feathers. Yes, I was being held aloft on the back of a tremendous golden eagle. I reached out with my pure, most bare of emotions to the creature, telling her of Wojtek's plight.

...But, to my utter despair, she informed me that Wojtek had perished at the base of Mount Villainy. Her name was Aquila, and her nine siblings, Corvus, Flint, Cygnus, Huginn and Muginn, Simurgh, Mynah, and Old Great Auk, were on their way to Wojtek's aid on the command of the Bird King, Phoenix. But alas and alack, they arrived too late. Perhaps due to my leading him around the countryside, he was without the aid of the birdfolk.

I have always...blamed myself for that, I suppose.

With nothing to be done for poor Wojtek, I swore vengeance against the Royal Canadian Mountain Police, and continued East with my new, feathered family.



/////


I did not stay with the eagles for long, though. As we were flying over Tennesee, Huginn and Muginn attempted to steal the eyes from my sockets as I slept atop Old Great Auk's back. They held no alleigance to me or my journey, and so I do not blame them for this: it is only the natural law that when a thing is hungry, it must eat.

...However, it is also the way of the world that only the strongest survive. And so, reacting like barbed lightning, I arose, and tore the tongues from my attacker's gizzards, sending them both into uncontrollable, pain-induced free falls. I could immediately tell how well this went over with the other birds, and so I leapt from Auk's wing, pummeting to the ground hundreds of miles below me.

It is never a good idea to let oneself be surrounded by wrathful servants of the Bird King.

Handily, I had learned much from Aquila of the ways of flight, and though I possessed no wings, I used my knowledge to directionally influence myself toward a giant red and white speck, miles below me. As I reached terminal velocity, and the terrible inertia began to peel the very flesh from my bones, I again could not hold out, and I saw black.

When I awoke, I was staring up into the murderous eyes of an enormous African Elephant, or loxodonta africana, as they say in the West. Before he had the chance to gore or trample me, I sprung to my feet and delivered a kick so fierce it could shatter the trunk of a full-grown Redwood tree (and indeed, during my time in the North, it had done so, on several occasions) to the beast's head...but to my complete amazement, it bucked me away but with a brush of it's head! Suddenly and horrifyingly, I knew fear. For the first time in my life, I truly did not know whether I would be the victor of this contest of strength.

...Amazingly, though I no longer held any conception of victory, the thing did not approach me. It merely eyed me up, from head to toe several times, then, deciding something, turned to leave. With this relief, I examined my surroundings for the first time since arriving in this foreign locale. I discovered I had landed on the top of a giant circus tent, which would explain how all my bones were not of dust at this point. But I had little time to ponder the past, as my immortal warrior's soul was calling to me.

Thus, I was trained. My master, Orwell, was a fine teacher indeed. Raised on the barren plains of the Savannah, he had been born weak and alone, much like myself. He had spent most of his time there migrating from herd to herd, never fully accepted, and often physically assaulted for his ignoble origins and lowly station. But through it all, he never gave in, eventually defeating the Bull of a rival tribe in single combat, and thus becoming their herdmaster. For fifty years, he and his tribe roamed the Great Plains, conquering all and sparing none in their paths. He sired countless calves, and those he did not approve of were swiftly exiled. Like me, he held dearly to the Ways of the World. However, one day, while he was away on an expedition, black-suited men with loud, booming sticks and red, maple leaves on their backs came and destroyed his entire clan, stealing their proud tusks, not allowing even for a respectful burial. Enraged, Orwell took to the coast, hounding the men in black. Though they boarded their iron fish before he could catch them, he could see the way they traveled, and so, with a deep breath of the African air he loved more than life itself, he plunged beneath the waves, and ran along the Ocean's floor toward a new, alien world.

Once there, he was tired from his journey, and so laid down beneath a tall tree for rest. But--the fiends!--they ambushed him while he slept! He awoke, and crushed many underfoot, and his tusks were lined with bodies that day, but through sheer numbers and a traitorous tranquilizing poison, they brought him to his knees, and carried him off to their stronghold.

...Thankfully, he escaped: breaking out of the belly of their giant iron snake, he rampaged his way south until he found a lonely, secluded stretch of open land. It reminded him of his homeland, and that was good. For seven days and seven nights he wept for those lost to him. He would never see them again.

And so, when the circus came and erected their giant shelters, Orwell approached them. At first, they panicked, but in time, they came to accept him. Ever since, he had stayed with the group as they toured the country, performing for humans from all walks of life. It was not a dignified life, he told me, but a simple one. One deserving of a man who could not protect those closest to him.



/////


Under his tutelage, I learned much. In the span of a single year, I became a rival even to his great strength, and began to finally integrate myself into the world of man--through my performances in the circus as "The Whild Child", I learned the human tongue, and even made several "friends". In time, though, this was our downfall. Word spread of our famed performances, which eventually attracted the very same forces that had stolen so much from both my and Orwell's lives...

One fateful day, during the highlight act of our performance, Orwell toppled to the ground. I rushed to his side, but he batted me away with his trunk as he regained his footing. It was then I saw the enormous needle protruding from the side of his head. Furthermore, I finally noticed how oddly quiet the crowd had been, and looking out past the glare of the stage lights, I saw not a normal crowd--but the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. They had come to reclaim what was not theirs! I gave a roar that would enrapture even the coldest of puma vixens, and lunged toward my sworn enemies, but my way was suddenly blocked by Orwell's hulking body, which shuddered as a second salvo of poisoned darts punctured his thick hide. I knew what he was doing, but would not accept it--he was all that I had left.

...But, against my dearest wishes, he lifted me, kicking and screaming, in his trunk, trundled outside the tent, with every step being more harried as more and more Canadian venom assaulted his old body...and threw me into the sky with all of his remaining strength.



/////


I spent the following day, and part of the night soaring through the air, tears lashing their way off my face, falling behind me into my windstream. I beat my chest, gnashed my teeth, pulled my hair, and tore my flesh in penitence: once again, I had not been able to stand up and deliver justice, as a man should.


/////

I finally began to lose altitude as I came over the Atlantic Ocean, the same one Orwell had traveled on his road of revenge. After ricocheting off the surface of the waves for several miles, I was finally able to obtain my sea legs...or lack thereof. This was my first experience with the ocean, and I lacked Orwell's powerful elephantine lungs, so had no hope of walking back to shore. I though for sure I would perish, broken and alone, out there in the Great, Uncaring Blue...when something large and smooth wrapped itself around my leg. In a flurry of rushing water and coursing foam, I was pulled under, and found myself face to face with a truly gigantic creature--at least ten times the size of my now-deceased master! It's hundred arms grabbed me from all sides and tore at me, intent on breaking me open like some crude chestnut. But I would not have this. There was still much evil for me to cleanse in this world, and so I held off the monster's fatal embrace, making my body as steel. Apparently surprised at this turn of events, the leviathan brought me to the surface, and, in what seemed the blink of an eye, brought me to a nearby, remote and uninhabited island.

I learned the kraken's name: Jormungandr, and since then (this was roughly four months ago, mind) have been peacefully enjoying my time on the same island, which I have named "Chief Mendez's Island". As I have not yet been able to communicate effectively with Jormungandr (and indeed, he rarely is around to attempt communication with), I have had nothing to do with myself but lie around, tend the fertile land of Chief Mendez's Island, and hang out on SWF with all my pals (using my wind-powered laptop made of sand and hermit crabs).

But one day soon, I will taste revenge. I will hunt down the red-leaf'd demons that stole my parents from me, and I will tear them limb from limb with my bear hands. The Earth will run red with blood. The accumulated filth of all their murder will foam up about their waists and all those *******s will look up and shout "Save us!"...

...and I will look down, and whisper "No."



/////


Aside from the kraken (whom I now reside with), all of my parents have at one point tried to devour me alive. Only constant vigilance and devotion to my martial studies have kept me alive this long.

Yes, it has been a harrowing journey. But I have survived. And I am all the stronger for it.

I was born to a drug-addled mother, who callously tossed me into a nearby dumpster after birthing me. So, alone, riddled with various drugs of all kinds, and cold, I did the only thing I could do: I cried.

I soon realized, however, that crying wasn't helping my situation, and I was rapidly coming ever closer to a cold, frozen death. Knowing this, I proceeded to physically beat the drugs out of my bloodstream with my tiny, yet powerful fists. I then ate my way through the plastic roof of the dumpster I was in, and warmed myself up with a light cross-country jog.

As I reached the Rocky Mountains, I suddenly found myself surrounded by hungry wolves. I managed to crush several of their skulls, but, tired as I was from my voyage, they eventually overpowered me. My still-soft cranium was literally inside the jaws of the pack leader when my first parents: Aslan, Bagheera, and Mufasa. The three mountain lions swiftly drove away the remaining wolves, and were about to claim their reward (my broken, bloody body)...but they sensed the pure, unfiltered greatness present within me, and, rather than consuming me, placed me on their shoulders and carried me back to their mountainside cave.

And so, for the next three years, I was raised in the most wild reaches of the Rocky Mountain Range, learning the ways of the world: hunting and preying on the weak, emitting feral screams to attract a mate, being only active near dusk and dawn, and (perhaps most importantly) being a combat helicopter.

However, it was not meant to be. One day, my adopted parents were all cruelly shot by local hunters. Only Mufasa managed to limp back to our cave, where I cradled him in my small, but already powerful arms, tears of pure love rolling down my cheeks. I believe I gave him some level of solace in his final moments.

The next day, I assassinated every man, woman and child in the area who has or had ever owned a hunting license, a rifle, camouflage pants, or who had in their life used the word "sport" in reference to the cold, inhuman act of taking another living thing's life for nothing but the sheer, barbaric thrill.

And so, with nothing left for me in the Rockies, I continued on in my quest, turning north, and eventually making my way to the Canadian outback.



/////

One day, I was casually eating my fill of the Caribou herd I had, moments before, brought down using nothing but a single pebble, when a large Grizzly Bear approached me, obviously looking for his next meal. I stood my ground, and as he approached, so did I.

During our epic, mortal struggle, the sheer force of will present within me contacted the bear's spirit, and instantly, we knew each other. While tending my fresh gouge wounds in a nearby stream, I learned my new parent's name: Wojtek. He had been the subject of several Canadian Government-funded experiments, resulting in him being bereft in a total, unending state of starvation; no matter how much Wojtek ate, he never could satiate himself. So, compassion filling my tiny, four-year frame, I devoted myself to helping him.

And so I hunted. Over the course of the next seven years, I made myself known across the country as "The Windigo", though of course, I was only a small boy at this time. Of course, I was uneducated in the ways of numbers, so had no notion at the time of how many animals I defeated in single combat for Wojtek's sake, but looking back, I would say...anywhere from five to seventy-eight hundred thousand.

At the end of this bloody, noble trail lay the Canadian Scientist's Headquarters, also known as "Mount Villainy". I climbed the jagged, sulfurous cliffs of that accursed rock for five days, never resting--for below me was Wojtek, barely alive and on his own: I had to do this as fast as possible. I infiltrated their foul lair, and found the anitdote to the illness afflicting my pitiable foster father. However, the Canadians discovered me on my way out, and I was forced into combat against an elite sect of Canada's greatest fighters: the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. When all was said and done, I limped out of the laboratory, bullet and saber wounds all across my battered body. One had even managed to gouge out one of my eyes with a hook mounted on a stump, where I presume a hand once was.

Despite my great cause, I found I could not maintain consciousness any longer. As I crested the summit, I passed out, cursing myself for failing at the task set before me...



/////


...Yet soon, I awoke: a cool breeze awakening me from my rest. I felt beneath me, and my hand touched against enormous, silken feathers. Yes, I was being held aloft on the back of a tremendous golden eagle. I reached out with my pure, most bare of emotions to the creature, telling her of Wojtek's plight.

...But, to my utter despair, she informed me that Wojtek had perished at the base of Mount Villainy. Her name was Aquila, and her nine siblings, Corvus, Flint, Cygnus, Huginn and Muginn, Simurgh, Mynah, and Old Great Auk, were on their way to Wojtek's aid on the command of the Bird King, Phoenix. But alas and alack, they arrived too late. Perhaps due to my leading him around the countryside, he was without the aid of the birdfolk.

I have always...blamed myself for that, I suppose.

With nothing to be done for poor Wojtek, I swore vengeance against the Royal Canadian Mountain Police, and continued East with my new, feathered family.



/////


I did not stay with the eagles for long, though. As we were flying over Tennesee, Huginn and Muginn attempted to steal the eyes from my sockets as I slept atop Old Great Auk's back. They held no alleigance to me or my journey, and so I do not blame them for this: it is only the natural law that when a thing is hungry, it must eat.

...However, it is also the way of the world that only the strongest survive. And so, reacting like barbed lightning, I arose, and tore the tongues from my attacker's gizzards, sending them both into uncontrollable, pain-induced free falls. I could immediately tell how well this went over with the other birds, and so I leapt from Auk's wing, pummeting to the ground hundreds of miles below me.

It is never a good idea to let oneself be surrounded by wrathful servants of the Bird King.

Handily, I had learned much from Aquila of the ways of flight, and though I possessed no wings, I used my knowledge to directionally influence myself toward a giant red and white speck, miles below me. As I reached terminal velocity, and the terrible inertia began to peel the very flesh from my bones, I again could not hold out, and I saw black.

When I awoke, I was staring up into the murderous eyes of an enormous African Elephant, or loxodonta africana, as they say in the West. Before he had the chance to gore or trample me, I sprung to my feet and delivered a kick so fierce it could shatter the trunk of a full-grown Redwood tree (and indeed, during my time in the North, it had done so, on several occasions) to the beast's head...but to my complete amazement, it bucked me away but with a brush of it's head! Suddenly and horrifyingly, I knew fear. For the first time in my life, I truly did not know whether I would be the victor of this contest of strength.

...Amazingly, though I no longer held any conception of victory, the thing did not approach me. It merely eyed me up, from head to toe several times, then, deciding something, turned to leave. With this relief, I examined my surroundings for the first time since arriving in this foreign locale. I discovered I had landed on the top of a giant circus tent, which would explain how all my bones were not of dust at this point. But I had little time to ponder the past, as my immortal warrior's soul was calling to me.

Thus, I was trained. My master, Orwell, was a fine teacher indeed. Raised on the barren plains of the Savannah, he had been born weak and alone, much like myself. He had spent most of his time there migrating from herd to herd, never fully accepted, and often physically assaulted for his ignoble origins and lowly station. But through it all, he never gave in, eventually defeating the Bull of a rival tribe in single combat, and thus becoming their herdmaster. For fifty years, he and his tribe roamed the Great Plains, conquering all and sparing none in their paths. He sired countless calves, and those he did not approve of were swiftly exiled. Like me, he held dearly to the Ways of the World. However, one day, while he was away on an expedition, black-suited men with loud, booming sticks and red, maple leaves on their backs came and destroyed his entire clan, stealing their proud tusks, not allowing even for a respectful burial. Enraged, Orwell took to the coast, hounding the men in black. Though they boarded their iron fish before he could catch them, he could see the way they traveled, and so, with a deep breath of the African air he loved more than life itself, he plunged beneath the waves, and ran along the Ocean's floor toward a new, alien world.

Once there, he was tired from his journey, and so laid down beneath a tall tree for rest. But--the fiends!--they ambushed him while he slept! He awoke, and crushed many underfoot, and his tusks were lined with bodies that day, but through sheer numbers and a traitorous tranquilizing poison, they brought him to his knees, and carried him off to their stronghold.

...Thankfully, he escaped: breaking out of the belly of their giant iron snake, he rampaged his way south until he found a lonely, secluded stretch of open land. It reminded him of his homeland, and that was good. For seven days and seven nights he wept for those lost to him. He would never see them again.

And so, when the circus came and erected their giant shelters, Orwell approached them. At first, they panicked, but in time, they came to accept him. Ever since, he had stayed with the group as they toured the country, performing for humans from all walks of life. It was not a dignified life, he told me, but a simple one. One deserving of a man who could not protect those closest to him.



/////


Under his tutelage, I learned much. In the span of a single year, I became a rival even to his great strength, and began to finally integrate myself into the world of man--through my performances in the circus as "The Whild Child", I learned the human tongue, and even made several "friends". In time, though, this was our downfall. Word spread of our famed performances, which eventually attracted the very same forces that had stolen so much from both my and Orwell's lives...

One fateful day, during the highlight act of our performance, Orwell toppled to the ground. I rushed to his side, but he batted me away with his trunk as he regained his footing. It was then I saw the enormous needle protruding from the side of his head. Furthermore, I finally noticed how oddly quiet the crowd had been, and looking out past the glare of the stage lights, I saw not a normal crowd--but the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. They had come to reclaim what was not theirs! I gave a roar that would enrapture even the coldest of puma vixens, and lunged toward my sworn enemies, but my way was suddenly blocked by Orwell's hulking body, which shuddered as a second salvo of poisoned darts punctured his thick hide. I knew what he was doing, but would not accept it--he was all that I had left.

...But, against my dearest wishes, he lifted me, kicking and screaming, in his trunk, trundled outside the tent, with every step being more harried as more and more Canadian venom assaulted his old body...and threw me into the sky with all of his remaining strength.



/////


I spent the following day, and part of the night soaring through the air, tears lashing their way off my face, falling behind me into my windstream. I beat my chest, gnashed my teeth, pulled my hair, and tore my flesh in penitence: once again, I had not been able to stand up and deliver justice, as a man should.


/////

I finally began to lose altitude as I came over the Atlantic Ocean, the same one Orwell had traveled on his road of revenge. After ricocheting off the surface of the waves for several miles, I was finally able to obtain my sea legs...or lack thereof. This was my first experience with the ocean, and I lacked Orwell's powerful elephantine lungs, so had no hope of walking back to shore. I though for sure I would perish, broken and alone, out there in the Great, Uncaring Blue...when something large and smooth wrapped itself around my leg. In a flurry of rushing water and coursing foam, I was pulled under, and found myself face to face with a truly gigantic creature--at least ten times the size of my now-deceased master! It's hundred arms grabbed me from all sides and tore at me, intent on breaking me open like some crude chestnut. But I would not have this. There was still much evil for me to cleanse in this world, and so I held off the monster's fatal embrace, making my body as steel. Apparently surprised at this turn of events, the leviathan brought me to the surface, and, in what seemed the blink of an eye, brought me to a nearby, remote and uninhabited island.

I learned the kraken's name: Jormungandr, and since then (this was roughly four months ago, mind) have been peacefully enjoying my time on the same island, which I have named "Chief Mendez's Island". As I have not yet been able to communicate effectively with Jormungandr (and indeed, he rarely is around to attempt communication with), I have had nothing to do with myself but lie around, tend the fertile land of Chief Mendez's Island, and hang out on SWF with all my pals (using my wind-powered laptop made of sand and hermit crabs).

But one day soon, I will taste revenge. I will hunt down the red-leaf'd demons that stole my parents from me, and I will tear them limb from limb with my bear hands. The Earth will run red with blood. The accumulated filth of all their murder will foam up about their waists and all those *******s will look up and shout "Save us!"...

...and I will look down, and whisper "No."



/////


Aside from the kraken (whom I now reside with), all of my parents have at one point tried to devour me alive. Only constant vigilance and devotion to my martial studies have kept me alive this long.

Yes, it has been a harrowing journey. But I have survived. And I am all the stronger for it.

I was born to a drug-addled mother, who callously tossed me into a nearby dumpster after birthing me. So, alone, riddled with various drugs of all kinds, and cold, I did the only thing I could do: I cried.

I soon realized, however, that crying wasn't helping my situation, and I was rapidly coming ever closer to a cold, frozen death. Knowing this, I proceeded to physically beat the drugs out of my bloodstream with my tiny, yet powerful fists. I then ate my way through the plastic roof of the dumpster I was in, and warmed myself up with a light cross-country jog.

As I reached the Rocky Mountains, I suddenly found myself surrounded by hungry wolves. I managed to crush several of their skulls, but, tired as I was from my voyage, they eventually overpowered me. My still-soft cranium was literally inside the jaws of the pack leader when my first parents: Aslan, Bagheera, and Mufasa. The three mountain lions swiftly drove away the remaining wolves, and were about to claim their reward (my broken, bloody body)...but they sensed the pure, unfiltered greatness present within me, and, rather than consuming me, placed me on their shoulders and carried me back to their mountainside cave.

And so, for the next three years, I was raised in the most wild reaches of the Rocky Mountain Range, learning the ways of the world: hunting and preying on the weak, emitting feral screams to attract a mate, being only active near dusk and dawn, and (perhaps most importantly) being a combat helicopter.

However, it was not meant to be. One day, my adopted parents were all cruelly shot by local hunters. Only Mufasa managed to limp back to our cave, where I cradled him in my small, but already powerful arms, tears of pure love rolling down my cheeks. I believe I gave him some level of solace in his final moments.

The next day, I assassinated every man, woman and child in the area who has or had ever owned a hunting license, a rifle, camouflage pants, or who had in their life used the word "sport" in reference to the cold, inhuman act of taking another living thing's life for nothing but the sheer, barbaric thrill.

And so, with nothing left for me in the Rockies, I continued on in my quest, turning north, and eventually making my way to the Canadian outback.



/////

One day, I was casually eating my fill of the Caribou herd I had, moments before, brought down using nothing but a single pebble, when a large Grizzly Bear approached me, obviously looking for his next meal. I stood my ground, and as he approached, so did I.

During our epic, mortal struggle, the sheer force of will present within me contacted the bear's spirit, and instantly, we knew each other. While tending my fresh gouge wounds in a nearby stream, I learned my new parent's name: Wojtek. He had been the subject of several Canadian Government-funded experiments, resulting in him being bereft in a total, unending state of starvation; no matter how much Wojtek ate, he never could satiate himself. So, compassion filling my tiny, four-year frame, I devoted myself to helping him.

And so I hunted. Over the course of the next seven years, I made myself known across the country as "The Windigo", though of course, I was only a small boy at this time. Of course, I was uneducated in the ways of numbers, so had no notion at the time of how many animals I defeated in single combat for Wojtek's sake, but looking back, I would say...anywhere from five to seventy-eight hundred thousand.

At the end of this bloody, noble trail lay the Canadian Scientist's Headquarters, also known as "Mount Villainy". I climbed the jagged, sulfurous cliffs of that accursed rock for five days, never resting--for below me was Wojtek, barely alive and on his own: I had to do this as fast as possible. I infiltrated their foul lair, and found the anitdote to the illness afflicting my pitiable foster father. However, the Canadians discovered me on my way out, and I was forced into combat against an elite sect of Canada's greatest fighters: the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. When all was said and done, I limped out of the laboratory, bullet and saber wounds all across my battered body. One had even managed to gouge out one of my eyes with a hook mounted on a stump, where I presume a hand once was.

Despite my great cause, I found I could not maintain consciousness any longer. As I crested the summit, I passed out, cursing myself for failing at the task set before me...



/////


...Yet soon, I awoke: a cool breeze awakening me from my rest. I felt beneath me, and my hand touched against enormous, silken feathers. Yes, I was being held aloft on the back of a tremendous golden eagle. I reached out with my pure, most bare of emotions to the creature, telling her of Wojtek's plight.

...But, to my utter despair, she informed me that Wojtek had perished at the base of Mount Villainy. Her name was Aquila, and her nine siblings, Corvus, Flint, Cygnus, Huginn and Muginn, Simurgh, Mynah, and Old Great Auk, were on their way to Wojtek's aid on the command of the Bird King, Phoenix. But alas and alack, they arrived too late. Perhaps due to my leading him around the countryside, he was without the aid of the birdfolk.

I have always...blamed myself for that, I suppose.

With nothing to be done for poor Wojtek, I swore vengeance against the Royal Canadian Mountain Police, and continued East with my new, feathered family.



/////


I did not stay with the eagles for long, though. As we were flying over Tennesee, Huginn and Muginn attempted to steal the eyes from my sockets as I slept atop Old Great Auk's back. They held no alleigance to me or my journey, and so I do not blame them for this: it is only the natural law that when a thing is hungry, it must eat.

...However, it is also the way of the world that only the strongest survive. And so, reacting like barbed lightning, I arose, and tore the tongues from my attacker's gizzards, sending them both into uncontrollable, pain-induced free falls. I could immediately tell how well this went over with the other birds, and so I leapt from Auk's wing, pummeting to the ground hundreds of miles below me.

It is never a good idea to let oneself be surrounded by wrathful servants of the Bird King.

Handily, I had learned much from Aquila of the ways of flight, and though I possessed no wings, I used my knowledge to directionally influence myself toward a giant red and white speck, miles below me. As I reached terminal velocity, and the terrible inertia began to peel the very flesh from my bones, I again could not hold out, and I saw black.

When I awoke, I was staring up into the murderous eyes of an enormous African Elephant, or loxodonta africana, as they say in the West. Before he had the chance to gore or trample me, I sprung to my feet and delivered a kick so fierce it could shatter the trunk of a full-grown Redwood tree (and indeed, during my time in the North, it had done so, on several occasions) to the beast's head...but to my complete amazement, it bucked me away but with a brush of it's head! Suddenly and horrifyingly, I knew fear. For the first time in my life, I truly did not know whether I would be the victor of this contest of strength.

...Amazingly, though I no longer held any conception of victory, the thing did not approach me. It merely eyed me up, from head to toe several times, then, deciding something, turned to leave. With this relief, I examined my surroundings for the first time since arriving in this foreign locale. I discovered I had landed on the top of a giant circus tent, which would explain how all my bones were not of dust at this point. But I had little time to ponder the past, as my immortal warrior's soul was calling to me.

Thus, I was trained. My master, Orwell, was a fine teacher indeed. Raised on the barren plains of the Savannah, he had been born weak and alone, much like myself. He had spent most of his time there migrating from herd to herd, never fully accepted, and often physically assaulted for his ignoble origins and lowly station. But through it all, he never gave in, eventually defeating the Bull of a rival tribe in single combat, and thus becoming their herdmaster. For fifty years, he and his tribe roamed the Great Plains, conquering all and sparing none in their paths. He sired countless calves, and those he did not approve of were swiftly exiled. Like me, he held dearly to the Ways of the World. However, one day, while he was away on an expedition, black-suited men with loud, booming sticks and red, maple leaves on their backs came and destroyed his entire clan, stealing their proud tusks, not allowing even for a respectful burial. Enraged, Orwell took to the coast, hounding the men in black. Though they boarded their iron fish before he could catch them, he could see the way they traveled, and so, with a deep breath of the African air he loved more than life itself, he plunged beneath the waves, and ran along the Ocean's floor toward a new, alien world.

Once there, he was tired from his journey, and so laid down beneath a tall tree for rest. But--the fiends!--they ambushed him while he slept! He awoke, and crushed many underfoot, and his tusks were lined with bodies that day, but through sheer numbers and a traitorous tranquilizing poison, they brought him to his knees, and carried him off to their stronghold.

...Thankfully, he escaped: breaking out of the belly of their giant iron snake, he rampaged his way south until he found a lonely, secluded stretch of open land. It reminded him of his homeland, and that was good. For seven days and seven nights he wept for those lost to him. He would never see them again.

And so, when the circus came and erected their giant shelters, Orwell approached them. At first, they panicked, but in time, they came to accept him. Ever since, he had stayed with the group as they toured the country, performing for humans from all walks of life. It was not a dignified life, he told me, but a simple one. One deserving of a man who could not protect those closest to him.



/////


Under his tutelage, I learned much. In the span of a single year, I became a rival even to his great strength, and began to finally integrate myself into the world of man--through my performances in the circus as "The Whild Child", I learned the human tongue, and even made several "friends". In time, though, this was our downfall. Word spread of our famed performances, which eventually attracted the very same forces that had stolen so much from both my and Orwell's lives...

One fateful day, during the highlight act of our performance, Orwell toppled to the ground. I rushed to his side, but he batted me away with his trunk as he regained his footing. It was then I saw the enormous needle protruding from the side of his head. Furthermore, I finally noticed how oddly quiet the crowd had been, and looking out past the glare of the stage lights, I saw not a normal crowd--but the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. They had come to reclaim what was not theirs! I gave a roar that would enrapture even the coldest of puma vixens, and lunged toward my sworn enemies, but my way was suddenly blocked by Orwell's hulking body, which shuddered as a second salvo of poisoned darts punctured his thick hide. I knew what he was doing, but would not accept it--he was all that I had left.

...But, against my dearest wishes, he lifted me, kicking and screaming, in his trunk, trundled outside the tent, with every step being more harried as more and more Canadian venom assaulted his old body...and threw me into the sky with all of his remaining strength.



/////


I spent the following day, and part of the night soaring through the air, tears lashing their way off my face, falling behind me into my windstream. I beat my chest, gnashed my teeth, pulled my hair, and tore my flesh in penitence: once again, I had not been able to stand up and deliver justice, as a man should.


/////

I finally began to lose altitude as I came over the Atlantic Ocean, the same one Orwell had traveled on his road of revenge. After ricocheting off the surface of the waves for several miles, I was finally able to obtain my sea legs...or lack thereof. This was my first experience with the ocean, and I lacked Orwell's powerful elephantine lungs, so had no hope of walking back to shore. I though for sure I would perish, broken and alone, out there in the Great, Uncaring Blue...when something large and smooth wrapped itself around my leg. In a flurry of rushing water and coursing foam, I was pulled under, and found myself face to face with a truly gigantic creature--at least ten times the size of my now-deceased master! It's hundred arms grabbed me from all sides and tore at me, intent on breaking me open like some crude chestnut. But I would not have this. There was still much evil for me to cleanse in this world, and so I held off the monster's fatal embrace, making my body as steel. Apparently surprised at this turn of events, the leviathan brought me to the surface, and, in what seemed the blink of an eye, brought me to a nearby, remote and uninhabited island.

I learned the kraken's name: Jormungandr, and since then (this was roughly four months ago, mind) have been peacefully enjoying my time on the same island, which I have named "Chief Mendez's Island". As I have not yet been able to communicate effectively with Jormungandr (and indeed, he rarely is around to attempt communication with), I have had nothing to do with myself but lie around, tend the fertile land of Chief Mendez's Island, and hang out on SWF with all my pals (using my wind-powered laptop made of sand and hermit crabs).

But one day soon, I will taste revenge. I will hunt down the red-leaf'd demons that stole my parents from me, and I will tear them limb from limb with my bear hands. The Earth will run red with blood. The accumulated filth of all their murder will foam up about their waists and all those *******s will look up and shout "Save us!"...

...and I will look down, and whisper "No."



/////


Aside from the kraken (whom I now reside with), all of my parents have at one point tried to devour me alive. Only constant vigilance and devotion to my martial studies have kept me alive this long.

Yes, it has been a harrowing journey. But I have survived. And I am all the stronger for it.

I was born to a drug-addled mother, who callously tossed me into a nearby dumpster after birthing me. So, alone, riddled with various drugs of all kinds, and cold, I did the only thing I could do: I cried.

I soon realized, however, that crying wasn't helping my situation, and I was rapidly coming ever closer to a cold, frozen death. Knowing this, I proceeded to physically beat the drugs out of my bloodstream with my tiny, yet powerful fists. I then ate my way through the plastic roof of the dumpster I was in, and warmed myself up with a light cross-country jog.

As I reached the Rocky Mountains, I suddenly found myself surrounded by hungry wolves. I managed to crush several of their skulls, but, tired as I was from my voyage, they eventually overpowered me. My still-soft cranium was literally inside the jaws of the pack leader when my first parents: Aslan, Bagheera, and Mufasa. The three mountain lions swiftly drove away the remaining wolves, and were about to claim their reward (my broken, bloody body)...but they sensed the pure, unfiltered greatness present within me, and, rather than consuming me, placed me on their shoulders and carried me back to their mountainside cave.

And so, for the next three years, I was raised in the most wild reaches of the Rocky Mountain Range, learning the ways of the world: hunting and preying on the weak, emitting feral screams to attract a mate, being only active near dusk and dawn, and (perhaps most importantly) being a combat helicopter.

However, it was not meant to be. One day, my adopted parents were all cruelly shot by local hunters. Only Mufasa managed to limp back to our cave, where I cradled him in my small, but already powerful arms, tears of pure love rolling down my cheeks. I believe I gave him some level of solace in his final moments.

The next day, I assassinated every man, woman and child in the area who has or had ever owned a hunting license, a rifle, camouflage pants, or who had in their life used the word "sport" in reference to the cold, inhuman act of taking another living thing's life for nothing but the sheer, barbaric thrill.

And so, with nothing left for me in the Rockies, I continued on in my quest, turning north, and eventually making my way to the Canadian outback.



/////

One day, I was casually eating my fill of the Caribou herd I had, moments before, brought down using nothing but a single pebble, when a large Grizzly Bear approached me, obviously looking for his next meal. I stood my ground, and as he approached, so did I.

During our epic, mortal struggle, the sheer force of will present within me contacted the bear's spirit, and instantly, we knew each other. While tending my fresh gouge wounds in a nearby stream, I learned my new parent's name: Wojtek. He had been the subject of several Canadian Government-funded experiments, resulting in him being bereft in a total, unending state of starvation; no matter how much Wojtek ate, he never could satiate himself. So, compassion filling my tiny, four-year frame, I devoted myself to helping him.

And so I hunted. Over the course of the next seven years, I made myself known across the country as "The Windigo", though of course, I was only a small boy at this time. Of course, I was uneducated in the ways of numbers, so had no notion at the time of how many animals I defeated in single combat for Wojtek's sake, but looking back, I would say...anywhere from five to seventy-eight hundred thousand.

At the end of this bloody, noble trail lay the Canadian Scientist's Headquarters, also known as "Mount Villainy". I climbed the jagged, sulfurous cliffs of that accursed rock for five days, never resting--for below me was Wojtek, barely alive and on his own: I had to do this as fast as possible. I infiltrated their foul lair, and found the anitdote to the illness afflicting my pitiable foster father. However, the Canadians discovered me on my way out, and I was forced into combat against an elite sect of Canada's greatest fighters: the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. When all was said and done, I limped out of the laboratory, bullet and saber wounds all across my battered body. One had even managed to gouge out one of my eyes with a hook mounted on a stump, where I presume a hand once was.

Despite my great cause, I found I could not maintain consciousness any longer. As I crested the summit, I passed out, cursing myself for failing at the task set before me...



/////


...Yet soon, I awoke: a cool breeze awakening me from my rest. I felt beneath me, and my hand touched against enormous, silken feathers. Yes, I was being held aloft on the back of a tremendous golden eagle. I reached out with my pure, most bare of emotions to the creature, telling her of Wojtek's plight.

...But, to my utter despair, she informed me that Wojtek had perished at the base of Mount Villainy. Her name was Aquila, and her nine siblings, Corvus, Flint, Cygnus, Huginn and Muginn, Simurgh, Mynah, and Old Great Auk, were on their way to Wojtek's aid on the command of the Bird King, Phoenix. But alas and alack, they arrived too late. Perhaps due to my leading him around the countryside, he was without the aid of the birdfolk.

I have always...blamed myself for that, I suppose.

With nothing to be done for poor Wojtek, I swore vengeance against the Royal Canadian Mountain Police, and continued East with my new, feathered family.



/////


I did not stay with the eagles for long, though. As we were flying over Tennesee, Huginn and Muginn attempted to steal the eyes from my sockets as I slept atop Old Great Auk's back. They held no alleigance to me or my journey, and so I do not blame them for this: it is only the natural law that when a thing is hungry, it must eat.

...However, it is also the way of the world that only the strongest survive. And so, reacting like barbed lightning, I arose, and tore the tongues from my attacker's gizzards, sending them both into uncontrollable, pain-induced free falls. I could immediately tell how well this went over with the other birds, and so I leapt from Auk's wing, pummeting to the ground hundreds of miles below me.

It is never a good idea to let oneself be surrounded by wrathful servants of the Bird King.

Handily, I had learned much from Aquila of the ways of flight, and though I possessed no wings, I used my knowledge to directionally influence myself toward a giant red and white speck, miles below me. As I reached terminal velocity, and the terrible inertia began to peel the very flesh from my bones, I again could not hold out, and I saw black.

When I awoke, I was staring up into the murderous eyes of an enormous African Elephant, or loxodonta africana, as they say in the West. Before he had the chance to gore or trample me, I sprung to my feet and delivered a kick so fierce it could shatter the trunk of a full-grown Redwood tree (and indeed, during my time in the North, it had done so, on several occasions) to the beast's head...but to my complete amazement, it bucked me away but with a brush of it's head! Suddenly and horrifyingly, I knew fear. For the first time in my life, I truly did not know whether I would be the victor of this contest of strength.

...Amazingly, though I no longer held any conception of victory, the thing did not approach me. It merely eyed me up, from head to toe several times, then, deciding something, turned to leave. With this relief, I examined my surroundings for the first time since arriving in this foreign locale. I discovered I had landed on the top of a giant circus tent, which would explain how all my bones were not of dust at this point. But I had little time to ponder the past, as my immortal warrior's soul was calling to me.

Thus, I was trained. My master, Orwell, was a fine teacher indeed. Raised on the barren plains of the Savannah, he had been born weak and alone, much like myself. He had spent most of his time there migrating from herd to herd, never fully accepted, and often physically assaulted for his ignoble origins and lowly station. But through it all, he never gave in, eventually defeating the Bull of a rival tribe in single combat, and thus becoming their herdmaster. For fifty years, he and his tribe roamed the Great Plains, conquering all and sparing none in their paths. He sired countless calves, and those he did not approve of were swiftly exiled. Like me, he held dearly to the Ways of the World. However, one day, while he was away on an expedition, black-suited men with loud, booming sticks and red, maple leaves on their backs came and destroyed his entire clan, stealing their proud tusks, not allowing even for a respectful burial. Enraged, Orwell took to the coast, hounding the men in black. Though they boarded their iron fish before he could catch them, he could see the way they traveled, and so, with a deep breath of the African air he loved more than life itself, he plunged beneath the waves, and ran along the Ocean's floor toward a new, alien world.

Once there, he was tired from his journey, and so laid down beneath a tall tree for rest. But--the fiends!--they ambushed him while he slept! He awoke, and crushed many underfoot, and his tusks were lined with bodies that day, but through sheer numbers and a traitorous tranquilizing poison, they brought him to his knees, and carried him off to their stronghold.

...Thankfully, he escaped: breaking out of the belly of their giant iron snake, he rampaged his way south until he found a lonely, secluded stretch of open land. It reminded him of his homeland, and that was good. For seven days and seven nights he wept for those lost to him. He would never see them again.

And so, when the circus came and erected their giant shelters, Orwell approached them. At first, they panicked, but in time, they came to accept him. Ever since, he had stayed with the group as they toured the country, performing for humans from all walks of life. It was not a dignified life, he told me, but a simple one. One deserving of a man who could not protect those closest to him.



/////


Under his tutelage, I learned much. In the span of a single year, I became a rival even to his great strength, and began to finally integrate myself into the world of man--through my performances in the circus as "The Whild Child", I learned the human tongue, and even made several "friends". In time, though, this was our downfall. Word spread of our famed performances, which eventually attracted the very same forces that had stolen so much from both my and Orwell's lives...

One fateful day, during the highlight act of our performance, Orwell toppled to the ground. I rushed to his side, but he batted me away with his trunk as he regained his footing. It was then I saw the enormous needle protruding from the side of his head. Furthermore, I finally noticed how oddly quiet the crowd had been, and looking out past the glare of the stage lights, I saw not a normal crowd--but the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. They had come to reclaim what was not theirs! I gave a roar that would enrapture even the coldest of puma vixens, and lunged toward my sworn enemies, but my way was suddenly blocked by Orwell's hulking body, which shuddered as a second salvo of poisoned darts punctured his thick hide. I knew what he was doing, but would not accept it--he was all that I had left.

...But, against my dearest wishes, he lifted me, kicking and screaming, in his trunk, trundled outside the tent, with every step being more harried as more and more Canadian venom assaulted his old body...and threw me into the sky with all of his remaining strength.



/////


I spent the following day, and part of the night soaring through the air, tears lashing their way off my face, falling behind me into my windstream. I beat my chest, gnashed my teeth, pulled my hair, and tore my flesh in penitence: once again, I had not been able to stand up and deliver justice, as a man should.


/////

I finally began to lose altitude as I came over the Atlantic Ocean, the same one Orwell had traveled on his road of revenge. After ricocheting off the surface of the waves for several miles, I was finally able to obtain my sea legs...or lack thereof. This was my first experience with the ocean, and I lacked Orwell's powerful elephantine lungs, so had no hope of walking back to shore. I though for sure I would perish, broken and alone, out there in the Great, Uncaring Blue...when something large and smooth wrapped itself around my leg. In a flurry of rushing water and coursing foam, I was pulled under, and found myself face to face with a truly gigantic creature--at least ten times the size of my now-deceased master! It's hundred arms grabbed me from all sides and tore at me, intent on breaking me open like some crude chestnut. But I would not have this. There was still much evil for me to cleanse in this world, and so I held off the monster's fatal embrace, making my body as steel. Apparently surprised at this turn of events, the leviathan brought me to the surface, and, in what seemed the blink of an eye, brought me to a nearby, remote and uninhabited island.

I learned the kraken's name: Jormungandr, and since then (this was roughly four months ago, mind) have been peacefully enjoying my time on the same island, which I have named "Chief Mendez's Island". As I have not yet been able to communicate effectively with Jormungandr (and indeed, he rarely is around to attempt communication with), I have had nothing to do with myself but lie around, tend the fertile land of Chief Mendez's Island, and hang out on SWF with all my pals (using my wind-powered laptop made of sand and hermit crabs).

But one day soon, I will taste revenge. I will hunt down the red-leaf'd demons that stole my parents from me, and I will tear them limb from limb with my bear hands. The Earth will run red with blood. The accumulated filth of all their murder will foam up about their waists and all those *******s will look up and shout "Save us!"...

...and I will look down, and whisper "No."



/////


Aside from the kraken (whom I now reside with), all of my parents have at one point tried to devour me alive. Only constant vigilance and devotion to my martial studies have kept me alive this long.

Yes, it has been a harrowing journey. But I have survived. And I am all the stronger for it.

I was born to a drug-addled mother, who callously tossed me into a nearby dumpster after birthing me. So, alone, riddled with various drugs of all kinds, and cold, I did the only thing I could do: I cried.

I soon realized, however, that crying wasn't helping my situation, and I was rapidly coming ever closer to a cold, frozen death. Knowing this, I proceeded to physically beat the drugs out of my bloodstream with my tiny, yet powerful fists. I then ate my way through the plastic roof of the dumpster I was in, and warmed myself up with a light cross-country jog.

As I reached the Rocky Mountains, I suddenly found myself surrounded by hungry wolves. I managed to crush several of their skulls, but, tired as I was from my voyage, they eventually overpowered me. My still-soft cranium was literally inside the jaws of the pack leader when my first parents: Aslan, Bagheera, and Mufasa. The three mountain lions swiftly drove away the remaining wolves, and were about to claim their reward (my broken, bloody body)...but they sensed the pure, unfiltered greatness present within me, and, rather than consuming me, placed me on their shoulders and carried me back to their mountainside cave.

And so, for the next three years, I was raised in the most wild reaches of the Rocky Mountain Range, learning the ways of the world: hunting and preying on the weak, emitting feral screams to attract a mate, being only active near dusk and dawn, and (perhaps most importantly) being a combat helicopter.

However, it was not meant to be. One day, my adopted parents were all cruelly shot by local hunters. Only Mufasa managed to limp back to our cave, where I cradled him in my small, but already powerful arms, tears of pure love rolling down my cheeks. I believe I gave him some level of solace in his final moments.

The next day, I assassinated every man, woman and child in the area who has or had ever owned a hunting license, a rifle, camouflage pants, or who had in their life used the word "sport" in reference to the cold, inhuman act of taking another living thing's life for nothing but the sheer, barbaric thrill.

And so, with nothing left for me in the Rockies, I continued on in my quest, turning north, and eventually making my way to the Canadian outback.



/////

One day, I was casually eating my fill of the Caribou herd I had, moments before, brought down using nothing but a single pebble, when a large Grizzly Bear approached me, obviously looking for his next meal. I stood my ground, and as he approached, so did I.

During our epic, mortal struggle, the sheer force of will present within me contacted the bear's spirit, and instantly, we knew each other. While tending my fresh gouge wounds in a nearby stream, I learned my new parent's name: Wojtek. He had been the subject of several Canadian Government-funded experiments, resulting in him being bereft in a total, unending state of starvation; no matter how much Wojtek ate, he never could satiate himself. So, compassion filling my tiny, four-year frame, I devoted myself to helping him.

And so I hunted. Over the course of the next seven years, I made myself known across the country as "The Windigo", though of course, I was only a small boy at this time. Of course, I was uneducated in the ways of numbers, so had no notion at the time of how many animals I defeated in single combat for Wojtek's sake, but looking back, I would say...anywhere from five to seventy-eight hundred thousand.

At the end of this bloody, noble trail lay the Canadian Scientist's Headquarters, also known as "Mount Villainy". I climbed the jagged, sulfurous cliffs of that accursed rock for five days, never resting--for below me was Wojtek, barely alive and on his own: I had to do this as fast as possible. I infiltrated their foul lair, and found the anitdote to the illness afflicting my pitiable foster father. However, the Canadians discovered me on my way out, and I was forced into combat against an elite sect of Canada's greatest fighters: the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. When all was said and done, I limped out of the laboratory, bullet and saber wounds all across my battered body. One had even managed to gouge out one of my eyes with a hook mounted on a stump, where I presume a hand once was.

Despite my great cause, I found I could not maintain consciousness any longer. As I crested the summit, I passed out, cursing myself for failing at the task set before me...



/////


...Yet soon, I awoke: a cool breeze awakening me from my rest. I felt beneath me, and my hand touched against enormous, silken feathers. Yes, I was being held aloft on the back of a tremendous golden eagle. I reached out with my pure, most bare of emotions to the creature, telling her of Wojtek's plight.

...But, to my utter despair, she informed me that Wojtek had perished at the base of Mount Villainy. Her name was Aquila, and her nine siblings, Corvus, Flint, Cygnus, Huginn and Muginn, Simurgh, Mynah, and Old Great Auk, were on their way to Wojtek's aid on the command of the Bird King, Phoenix. But alas and alack, they arrived too late. Perhaps due to my leading him around the countryside, he was without the aid of the birdfolk.

I have always...blamed myself for that, I suppose.

With nothing to be done for poor Wojtek, I swore vengeance against the Royal Canadian Mountain Police, and continued East with my new, feathered family.



/////


I did not stay with the eagles for long, though. As we were flying over Tennesee, Huginn and Muginn attempted to steal the eyes from my sockets as I slept atop Old Great Auk's back. They held no alleigance to me or my journey, and so I do not blame them for this: it is only the natural law that when a thing is hungry, it must eat.

...However, it is also the way of the world that only the strongest survive. And so, reacting like barbed lightning, I arose, and tore the tongues from my attacker's gizzards, sending them both into uncontrollable, pain-induced free falls. I could immediately tell how well this went over with the other birds, and so I leapt from Auk's wing, pummeting to the ground hundreds of miles below me.

It is never a good idea to let oneself be surrounded by wrathful servants of the Bird King.

Handily, I had learned much from Aquila of the ways of flight, and though I possessed no wings, I used my knowledge to directionally influence myself toward a giant red and white speck, miles below me. As I reached terminal velocity, and the terrible inertia began to peel the very flesh from my bones, I again could not hold out, and I saw black.

When I awoke, I was staring up into the murderous eyes of an enormous African Elephant, or loxodonta africana, as they say in the West. Before he had the chance to gore or trample me, I sprung to my feet and delivered a kick so fierce it could shatter the trunk of a full-grown Redwood tree (and indeed, during my time in the North, it had done so, on several occasions) to the beast's head...but to my complete amazement, it bucked me away but with a brush of it's head! Suddenly and horrifyingly, I knew fear. For the first time in my life, I truly did not know whether I would be the victor of this contest of strength.

...Amazingly, though I no longer held any conception of victory, the thing did not approach me. It merely eyed me up, from head to toe several times, then, deciding something, turned to leave. With this relief, I examined my surroundings for the first time since arriving in this foreign locale. I discovered I had landed on the top of a giant circus tent, which would explain how all my bones were not of dust at this point. But I had little time to ponder the past, as my immortal warrior's soul was calling to me.

Thus, I was trained. My master, Orwell, was a fine teacher indeed. Raised on the barren plains of the Savannah, he had been born weak and alone, much like myself. He had spent most of his time there migrating from herd to herd, never fully accepted, and often physically assaulted for his ignoble origins and lowly station. But through it all, he never gave in, eventually defeating the Bull of a rival tribe in single combat, and thus becoming their herdmaster. For fifty years, he and his tribe roamed the Great Plains, conquering all and sparing none in their paths. He sired countless calves, and those he did not approve of were swiftly exiled. Like me, he held dearly to the Ways of the World. However, one day, while he was away on an expedition, black-suited men with loud, booming sticks and red, maple leaves on their backs came and destroyed his entire clan, stealing their proud tusks, not allowing even for a respectful burial. Enraged, Orwell took to the coast, hounding the men in black. Though they boarded their iron fish before he could catch them, he could see the way they traveled, and so, with a deep breath of the African air he loved more than life itself, he plunged beneath the waves, and ran along the Ocean's floor toward a new, alien world.

Once there, he was tired from his journey, and so laid down beneath a tall tree for rest. But--the fiends!--they ambushed him while he slept! He awoke, and crushed many underfoot, and his tusks were lined with bodies that day, but through sheer numbers and a traitorous tranquilizing poison, they brought him to his knees, and carried him off to their stronghold.

...Thankfully, he escaped: breaking out of the belly of their giant iron snake, he rampaged his way south until he found a lonely, secluded stretch of open land. It reminded him of his homeland, and that was good. For seven days and seven nights he wept for those lost to him. He would never see them again.

And so, when the circus came and erected their giant shelters, Orwell approached them. At first, they panicked, but in time, they came to accept him. Ever since, he had stayed with the group as they toured the country, performing for humans from all walks of life. It was not a dignified life, he told me, but a simple one. One deserving of a man who could not protect those closest to him.



/////


Under his tutelage, I learned much. In the span of a single year, I became a rival even to his great strength, and began to finally integrate myself into the world of man--through my performances in the circus as "The Whild Child", I learned the human tongue, and even made several "friends". In time, though, this was our downfall. Word spread of our famed performances, which eventually attracted the very same forces that had stolen so much from both my and Orwell's lives...

One fateful day, during the highlight act of our performance, Orwell toppled to the ground. I rushed to his side, but he batted me away with his trunk as he regained his footing. It was then I saw the enormous needle protruding from the side of his head. Furthermore, I finally noticed how oddly quiet the crowd had been, and looking out past the glare of the stage lights, I saw not a normal crowd--but the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. They had come to reclaim what was not theirs! I gave a roar that would enrapture even the coldest of puma vixens, and lunged toward my sworn enemies, but my way was suddenly blocked by Orwell's hulking body, which shuddered as a second salvo of poisoned darts punctured his thick hide. I knew what he was doing, but would not accept it--he was all that I had left.

...But, against my dearest wishes, he lifted me, kicking and screaming, in his trunk, trundled outside the tent, with every step being more harried as more and more Canadian venom assaulted his old body...and threw me into the sky with all of his remaining strength.



/////


I spent the following day, and part of the night soaring through the air, tears lashing their way off my face, falling behind me into my windstream. I beat my chest, gnashed my teeth, pulled my hair, and tore my flesh in penitence: once again, I had not been able to stand up and deliver justice, as a man should.


/////

I finally began to lose altitude as I came over the Atlantic Ocean, the same one Orwell had traveled on his road of revenge. After ricocheting off the surface of the waves for several miles, I was finally able to obtain my sea legs...or lack thereof. This was my first experience with the ocean, and I lacked Orwell's powerful elephantine lungs, so had no hope of walking back to shore. I though for sure I would perish, broken and alone, out there in the Great, Uncaring Blue...when something large and smooth wrapped itself around my leg. In a flurry of rushing water and coursing foam, I was pulled under, and found myself face to face with a truly gigantic creature--at least ten times the size of my now-deceased master! It's hundred arms grabbed me from all sides and tore at me, intent on breaking me open like some crude chestnut. But I would not have this. There was still much evil for me to cleanse in this world, and so I held off the monster's fatal embrace, making my body as steel. Apparently surprised at this turn of events, the leviathan brought me to the surface, and, in what seemed the blink of an eye, brought me to a nearby, remote and uninhabited island.

I learned the kraken's name: Jormungandr, and since then (this was roughly four months ago, mind) have been peacefully enjoying my time on the same island, which I have named "Chief Mendez's Island". As I have not yet been able to communicate effectively with Jormungandr (and indeed, he rarely is around to attempt communication with), I have had nothing to do with myself but lie around, tend the fertile land of Chief Mendez's Island, and hang out on SWF with all my pals (using my wind-powered laptop made of sand and hermit crabs).

But one day soon, I will taste revenge. I will hunt down the red-leaf'd demons that stole my parents from me, and I will tear them limb from limb with my bear hands. The Earth will run red with blood. The accumulated filth of all their murder will foam up about their waists and all those *******s will look up and shout "Save us!"...

...and I will look down, and whisper "No."



/////


Aside from the kraken (whom I now reside with), all of my parents have at one point tried to devour me alive. Only constant vigilance and devotion to my martial studies have kept me alive this long.

Yes, it has been a harrowing journey. But I have survived. And I am all the stronger for it.

I was born to a drug-addled mother, who callously tossed me into a nearby dumpster after birthing me. So, alone, riddled with various drugs of all kinds, and cold, I did the only thing I could do: I cried.

I soon realized, however, that crying wasn't helping my situation, and I was rapidly coming ever closer to a cold, frozen death. Knowing this, I proceeded to physically beat the drugs out of my bloodstream with my tiny, yet powerful fists. I then ate my way through the plastic roof of the dumpster I was in, and warmed myself up with a light cross-country jog.

As I reached the Rocky Mountains, I suddenly found myself surrounded by hungry wolves. I managed to crush several of their skulls, but, tired as I was from my voyage, they eventually overpowered me. My still-soft cranium was literally inside the jaws of the pack leader when my first parents: Aslan, Bagheera, and Mufasa. The three mountain lions swiftly drove away the remaining wolves, and were about to claim their reward (my broken, bloody body)...but they sensed the pure, unfiltered greatness present within me, and, rather than consuming me, placed me on their shoulders and carried me back to their mountainside cave.

And so, for the next three years, I was raised in the most wild reaches of the Rocky Mountain Range, learning the ways of the world: hunting and preying on the weak, emitting feral screams to attract a mate, being only active near dusk and dawn, and (perhaps most importantly) being a combat helicopter.

However, it was not meant to be. One day, my adopted parents were all cruelly shot by local hunters. Only Mufasa managed to limp back to our cave, where I cradled him in my small, but already powerful arms, tears of pure love rolling down my cheeks. I believe I gave him some level of solace in his final moments.

The next day, I assassinated every man, woman and child in the area who has or had ever owned a hunting license, a rifle, camouflage pants, or who had in their life used the word "sport" in reference to the cold, inhuman act of taking another living thing's life for nothing but the sheer, barbaric thrill.

And so, with nothing left for me in the Rockies, I continued on in my quest, turning north, and eventually making my way to the Canadian outback.



/////

One day, I was casually eating my fill of the Caribou herd I had, moments before, brought down using nothing but a single pebble, when a large Grizzly Bear approached me, obviously looking for his next meal. I stood my ground, and as he approached, so did I.

During our epic, mortal struggle, the sheer force of will present within me contacted the bear's spirit, and instantly, we knew each other. While tending my fresh gouge wounds in a nearby stream, I learned my new parent's name: Wojtek. He had been the subject of several Canadian Government-funded experiments, resulting in him being bereft in a total, unending state of starvation; no matter how much Wojtek ate, he never could satiate himself. So, compassion filling my tiny, four-year frame, I devoted myself to helping him.

And so I hunted. Over the course of the next seven years, I made myself known across the country as "The Windigo", though of course, I was only a small boy at this time. Of course, I was uneducated in the ways of numbers, so had no notion at the time of how many animals I defeated in single combat for Wojtek's sake, but looking back, I would say...anywhere from five to seventy-eight hundred thousand.

At the end of this bloody, noble trail lay the Canadian Scientist's Headquarters, also known as "Mount Villainy". I climbed the jagged, sulfurous cliffs of that accursed rock for five days, never resting--for below me was Wojtek, barely alive and on his own: I had to do this as fast as possible. I infiltrated their foul lair, and found the anitdote to the illness afflicting my pitiable foster father. However, the Canadians discovered me on my way out, and I was forced into combat against an elite sect of Canada's greatest fighters: the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. When all was said and done, I limped out of the laboratory, bullet and saber wounds all across my battered body. One had even managed to gouge out one of my eyes with a hook mounted on a stump, where I presume a hand once was.

Despite my great cause, I found I could not maintain consciousness any longer. As I crested the summit, I passed out, cursing myself for failing at the task set before me...



/////


...Yet soon, I awoke: a cool breeze awakening me from my rest. I felt beneath me, and my hand touched against enormous, silken feathers. Yes, I was being held aloft on the back of a tremendous golden eagle. I reached out with my pure, most bare of emotions to the creature, telling her of Wojtek's plight.

...But, to my utter despair, she informed me that Wojtek had perished at the base of Mount Villainy. Her name was Aquila, and her nine siblings, Corvus, Flint, Cygnus, Huginn and Muginn, Simurgh, Mynah, and Old Great Auk, were on their way to Wojtek's aid on the command of the Bird King, Phoenix. But alas and alack, they arrived too late. Perhaps due to my leading him around the countryside, he was without the aid of the birdfolk.

I have always...blamed myself for that, I suppose.

With nothing to be done for poor Wojtek, I swore vengeance against the Royal Canadian Mountain Police, and continued East with my new, feathered family.



/////


I did not stay with the eagles for long, though. As we were flying over Tennesee, Huginn and Muginn attempted to steal the eyes from my sockets as I slept atop Old Great Auk's back. They held no alleigance to me or my journey, and so I do not blame them for this: it is only the natural law that when a thing is hungry, it must eat.

...However, it is also the way of the world that only the strongest survive. And so, reacting like barbed lightning, I arose, and tore the tongues from my attacker's gizzards, sending them both into uncontrollable, pain-induced free falls. I could immediately tell how well this went over with the other birds, and so I leapt from Auk's wing, pummeting to the ground hundreds of miles below me.

It is never a good idea to let oneself be surrounded by wrathful servants of the Bird King.

Handily, I had learned much from Aquila of the ways of flight, and though I possessed no wings, I used my knowledge to directionally influence myself toward a giant red and white speck, miles below me. As I reached terminal velocity, and the terrible inertia began to peel the very flesh from my bones, I again could not hold out, and I saw black.

When I awoke, I was staring up into the murderous eyes of an enormous African Elephant, or loxodonta africana, as they say in the West. Before he had the chance to gore or trample me, I sprung to my feet and delivered a kick so fierce it could shatter the trunk of a full-grown Redwood tree (and indeed, during my time in the North, it had done so, on several occasions) to the beast's head...but to my complete amazement, it bucked me away but with a brush of it's head! Suddenly and horrifyingly, I knew fear. For the first time in my life, I truly did not know whether I would be the victor of this contest of strength.

...Amazingly, though I no longer held any conception of victory, the thing did not approach me. It merely eyed me up, from head to toe several times, then, deciding something, turned to leave. With this relief, I examined my surroundings for the first time since arriving in this foreign locale. I discovered I had landed on the top of a giant circus tent, which would explain how all my bones were not of dust at this point. But I had little time to ponder the past, as my immortal warrior's soul was calling to me.

Thus, I was trained. My master, Orwell, was a fine teacher indeed. Raised on the barren plains of the Savannah, he had been born weak and alone, much like myself. He had spent most of his time there migrating from herd to herd, never fully accepted, and often physically assaulted for his ignoble origins and lowly station. But through it all, he never gave in, eventually defeating the Bull of a rival tribe in single combat, and thus becoming their herdmaster. For fifty years, he and his tribe roamed the Great Plains, conquering all and sparing none in their paths. He sired countless calves, and those he did not approve of were swiftly exiled. Like me, he held dearly to the Ways of the World. However, one day, while he was away on an expedition, black-suited men with loud, booming sticks and red, maple leaves on their backs came and destroyed his entire clan, stealing their proud tusks, not allowing even for a respectful burial. Enraged, Orwell took to the coast, hounding the men in black. Though they boarded their iron fish before he could catch them, he could see the way they traveled, and so, with a deep breath of the African air he loved more than life itself, he plunged beneath the waves, and ran along the Ocean's floor toward a new, alien world.

Once there, he was tired from his journey, and so laid down beneath a tall tree for rest. But--the fiends!--they ambushed him while he slept! He awoke, and crushed many underfoot, and his tusks were lined with bodies that day, but through sheer numbers and a traitorous tranquilizing poison, they brought him to his knees, and carried him off to their stronghold.

...Thankfully, he escaped: breaking out of the belly of their giant iron snake, he rampaged his way south until he found a lonely, secluded stretch of open land. It reminded him of his homeland, and that was good. For seven days and seven nights he wept for those lost to him. He would never see them again.

And so, when the circus came and erected their giant shelters, Orwell approached them. At first, they panicked, but in time, they came to accept him. Ever since, he had stayed with the group as they toured the country, performing for humans from all walks of life. It was not a dignified life, he told me, but a simple one. One deserving of a man who could not protect those closest to him.



/////


Under his tutelage, I learned much. In the span of a single year, I became a rival even to his great strength, and began to finally integrate myself into the world of man--through my performances in the circus as "The Whild Child", I learned the human tongue, and even made several "friends". In time, though, this was our downfall. Word spread of our famed performances, which eventually attracted the very same forces that had stolen so much from both my and Orwell's lives...

One fateful day, during the highlight act of our performance, Orwell toppled to the ground. I rushed to his side, but he batted me away with his trunk as he regained his footing. It was then I saw the enormous needle protruding from the side of his head. Furthermore, I finally noticed how oddly quiet the crowd had been, and looking out past the glare of the stage lights, I saw not a normal crowd--but the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. They had come to reclaim what was not theirs! I gave a roar that would enrapture even the coldest of puma vixens, and lunged toward my sworn enemies, but my way was suddenly blocked by Orwell's hulking body, which shuddered as a second salvo of poisoned darts punctured his thick hide. I knew what he was doing, but would not accept it--he was all that I had left.

...But, against my dearest wishes, he lifted me, kicking and screaming, in his trunk, trundled outside the tent, with every step being more harried as more and more Canadian venom assaulted his old body...and threw me into the sky with all of his remaining strength.



/////


I spent the following day, and part of the night soaring through the air, tears lashing their way off my face, falling behind me into my windstream. I beat my chest, gnashed my teeth, pulled my hair, and tore my flesh in penitence: once again, I had not been able to stand up and deliver justice, as a man should.


/////

I finally began to lose altitude as I came over the Atlantic Ocean, the same one Orwell had traveled on his road of revenge. After ricocheting off the surface of the waves for several miles, I was finally able to obtain my sea legs...or lack thereof. This was my first experience with the ocean, and I lacked Orwell's powerful elephantine lungs, so had no hope of walking back to shore. I though for sure I would perish, broken and alone, out there in the Great, Uncaring Blue...when something large and smooth wrapped itself around my leg. In a flurry of rushing water and coursing foam, I was pulled under, and found myself face to face with a truly gigantic creature--at least ten times the size of my now-deceased master! It's hundred arms grabbed me from all sides and tore at me, intent on breaking me open like some crude chestnut. But I would not have this. There was still much evil for me to cleanse in this world, and so I held off the monster's fatal embrace, making my body as steel. Apparently surprised at this turn of events, the leviathan brought me to the surface, and, in what seemed the blink of an eye, brought me to a nearby, remote and uninhabited island.

I learned the kraken's name: Jormungandr, and since then (this was roughly four months ago, mind) have been peacefully enjoying my time on the same island, which I have named "Chief Mendez's Island". As I have not yet been able to communicate effectively with Jormungandr (and indeed, he rarely is around to attempt communication with), I have had nothing to do with myself but lie around, tend the fertile land of Chief Mendez's Island, and hang out on SWF with all my pals (using my wind-powered laptop made of sand and hermit crabs).

But one day soon, I will taste revenge. I will hunt down the red-leaf'd demons that stole my parents from me, and I will tear them limb from limb with my bear hands. The Earth will run red with blood. The accumulated filth of all their murder will foam up about their waists and all those *******s will look up and shout "Save us!"...

...and I will look down, and whisper "No."



/////


Aside from the kraken (whom I now reside with), all of my parents have at one point tried to devour me alive. Only constant vigilance and devotion to my martial studies have kept me alive this long.

Yes, it has been a harrowing journey. But I have survived. And I am all the stronger for it.

I was born to a drug-addled mother, who callously tossed me into a nearby dumpster after birthing me. So, alone, riddled with various drugs of all kinds, and cold, I did the only thing I could do: I cried.

I soon realized, however, that crying wasn't helping my situation, and I was rapidly coming ever closer to a cold, frozen death. Knowing this, I proceeded to physically beat the drugs out of my bloodstream with my tiny, yet powerful fists. I then ate my way through the plastic roof of the dumpster I was in, and warmed myself up with a light cross-country jog.

As I reached the Rocky Mountains, I suddenly found myself surrounded by hungry wolves. I managed to crush several of their skulls, but, tired as I was from my voyage, they eventually overpowered me. My still-soft cranium was literally inside the jaws of the pack leader when my first parents: Aslan, Bagheera, and Mufasa. The three mountain lions swiftly drove away the remaining wolves, and were about to claim their reward (my broken, bloody body)...but they sensed the pure, unfiltered greatness present within me, and, rather than consuming me, placed me on their shoulders and carried me back to their mountainside cave.

And so, for the next three years, I was raised in the most wild reaches of the Rocky Mountain Range, learning the ways of the world: hunting and preying on the weak, emitting feral screams to attract a mate, being only active near dusk and dawn, and (perhaps most importantly) being a combat helicopter.

However, it was not meant to be. One day, my adopted parents were all cruelly shot by local hunters. Only Mufasa managed to limp back to our cave, where I cradled him in my small, but already powerful arms, tears of pure love rolling down my cheeks. I believe I gave him some level of solace in his final moments.

The next day, I assassinated every man, woman and child in the area who has or had ever owned a hunting license, a rifle, camouflage pants, or who had in their life used the word "sport" in reference to the cold, inhuman act of taking another living thing's life for nothing but the sheer, barbaric thrill.

And so, with nothing left for me in the Rockies, I continued on in my quest, turning north, and eventually making my way to the Canadian outback.



/////

One day, I was casually eating my fill of the Caribou herd I had, moments before, brought down using nothing but a single pebble, when a large Grizzly Bear approached me, obviously looking for his next meal. I stood my ground, and as he approached, so did I.

During our epic, mortal struggle, the sheer force of will present within me contacted the bear's spirit, and instantly, we knew each other. While tending my fresh gouge wounds in a nearby stream, I learned my new parent's name: Wojtek. He had been the subject of several Canadian Government-funded experiments, resulting in him being bereft in a total, unending state of starvation; no matter how much Wojtek ate, he never could satiate himself. So, compassion filling my tiny, four-year frame, I devoted myself to helping him.

And so I hunted. Over the course of the next seven years, I made myself known across the country as "The Windigo", though of course, I was only a small boy at this time. Of course, I was uneducated in the ways of numbers, so had no notion at the time of how many animals I defeated in single combat for Wojtek's sake, but looking back, I would say...anywhere from five to seventy-eight hundred thousand.

At the end of this bloody, noble trail lay the Canadian Scientist's Headquarters, also known as "Mount Villainy". I climbed the jagged, sulfurous cliffs of that accursed rock for five days, never resting--for below me was Wojtek, barely alive and on his own: I had to do this as fast as possible. I infiltrated their foul lair, and found the anitdote to the illness afflicting my pitiable foster father. However, the Canadians discovered me on my way out, and I was forced into combat against an elite sect of Canada's greatest fighters: the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. When all was said and done, I limped out of the laboratory, bullet and saber wounds all across my battered body. One had even managed to gouge out one of my eyes with a hook mounted on a stump, where I presume a hand once was.

Despite my great cause, I found I could not maintain consciousness any longer. As I crested the summit, I passed out, cursing myself for failing at the task set before me...



/////


...Yet soon, I awoke: a cool breeze awakening me from my rest. I felt beneath me, and my hand touched against enormous, silken feathers. Yes, I was being held aloft on the back of a tremendous golden eagle. I reached out with my pure, most bare of emotions to the creature, telling her of Wojtek's plight.

...But, to my utter despair, she informed me that Wojtek had perished at the base of Mount Villainy. Her name was Aquila, and her nine siblings, Corvus, Flint, Cygnus, Huginn and Muginn, Simurgh, Mynah, and Old Great Auk, were on their way to Wojtek's aid on the command of the Bird King, Phoenix. But alas and alack, they arrived too late. Perhaps due to my leading him around the countryside, he was without the aid of the birdfolk.

I have always...blamed myself for that, I suppose.

With nothing to be done for poor Wojtek, I swore vengeance against the Royal Canadian Mountain Police, and continued East with my new, feathered family.



/////


I did not stay with the eagles for long, though. As we were flying over Tennesee, Huginn and Muginn attempted to steal the eyes from my sockets as I slept atop Old Great Auk's back. They held no alleigance to me or my journey, and so I do not blame them for this: it is only the natural law that when a thing is hungry, it must eat.

...However, it is also the way of the world that only the strongest survive. And so, reacting like barbed lightning, I arose, and tore the tongues from my attacker's gizzards, sending them both into uncontrollable, pain-induced free falls. I could immediately tell how well this went over with the other birds, and so I leapt from Auk's wing, pummeting to the ground hundreds of miles below me.

It is never a good idea to let oneself be surrounded by wrathful servants of the Bird King.

Handily, I had learned much from Aquila of the ways of flight, and though I possessed no wings, I used my knowledge to directionally influence myself toward a giant red and white speck, miles below me. As I reached terminal velocity, and the terrible inertia began to peel the very flesh from my bones, I again could not hold out, and I saw black.

When I awoke, I was staring up into the murderous eyes of an enormous African Elephant, or loxodonta africana, as they say in the West. Before he had the chance to gore or trample me, I sprung to my feet and delivered a kick so fierce it could shatter the trunk of a full-grown Redwood tree (and indeed, during my time in the North, it had done so, on several occasions) to the beast's head...but to my complete amazement, it bucked me away but with a brush of it's head! Suddenly and horrifyingly, I knew fear. For the first time in my life, I truly did not know whether I would be the victor of this contest of strength.

...Amazingly, though I no longer held any conception of victory, the thing did not approach me. It merely eyed me up, from head to toe several times, then, deciding something, turned to leave. With this relief, I examined my surroundings for the first time since arriving in this foreign locale. I discovered I had landed on the top of a giant circus tent, which would explain how all my bones were not of dust at this point. But I had little time to ponder the past, as my immortal warrior's soul was calling to me.

Thus, I was trained. My master, Orwell, was a fine teacher indeed. Raised on the barren plains of the Savannah, he had been born weak and alone, much like myself. He had spent most of his time there migrating from herd to herd, never fully accepted, and often physically assaulted for his ignoble origins and lowly station. But through it all, he never gave in, eventually defeating the Bull of a rival tribe in single combat, and thus becoming their herdmaster. For fifty years, he and his tribe roamed the Great Plains, conquering all and sparing none in their paths. He sired countless calves, and those he did not approve of were swiftly exiled. Like me, he held dearly to the Ways of the World. However, one day, while he was away on an expedition, black-suited men with loud, booming sticks and red, maple leaves on their backs came and destroyed his entire clan, stealing their proud tusks, not allowing even for a respectful burial. Enraged, Orwell took to the coast, hounding the men in black. Though they boarded their iron fish before he could catch them, he could see the way they traveled, and so, with a deep breath of the African air he loved more than life itself, he plunged beneath the waves, and ran along the Ocean's floor toward a new, alien world.

Once there, he was tired from his journey, and so laid down beneath a tall tree for rest. But--the fiends!--they ambushed him while he slept! He awoke, and crushed many underfoot, and his tusks were lined with bodies that day, but through sheer numbers and a traitorous tranquilizing poison, they brought him to his knees, and carried him off to their stronghold.

...Thankfully, he escaped: breaking out of the belly of their giant iron snake, he rampaged his way south until he found a lonely, secluded stretch of open land. It reminded him of his homeland, and that was good. For seven days and seven nights he wept for those lost to him. He would never see them again.

And so, when the circus came and erected their giant shelters, Orwell approached them. At first, they panicked, but in time, they came to accept him. Ever since, he had stayed with the group as they toured the country, performing for humans from all walks of life. It was not a dignified life, he told me, but a simple one. One deserving of a man who could not protect those closest to him.



/////


Under his tutelage, I learned much. In the span of a single year, I became a rival even to his great strength, and began to finally integrate myself into the world of man--through my performances in the circus as "The Whild Child", I learned the human tongue, and even made several "friends". In time, though, this was our downfall. Word spread of our famed performances, which eventually attracted the very same forces that had stolen so much from both my and Orwell's lives...

One fateful day, during the highlight act of our performance, Orwell toppled to the ground. I rushed to his side, but he batted me away with his trunk as he regained his footing. It was then I saw the enormous needle protruding from the side of his head. Furthermore, I finally noticed how oddly quiet the crowd had been, and looking out past the glare of the stage lights, I saw not a normal crowd--but the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. They had come to reclaim what was not theirs! I gave a roar that would enrapture even the coldest of puma vixens, and lunged toward my sworn enemies, but my way was suddenly blocked by Orwell's hulking body, which shuddered as a second salvo of poisoned darts punctured his thick hide. I knew what he was doing, but would not accept it--he was all that I had left.

...But, against my dearest wishes, he lifted me, kicking and screaming, in his trunk, trundled outside the tent, with every step being more harried as more and more Canadian venom assaulted his old body...and threw me into the sky with all of his remaining strength.



/////


I spent the following day, and part of the night soaring through the air, tears lashing their way off my face, falling behind me into my windstream. I beat my chest, gnashed my teeth, pulled my hair, and tore my flesh in penitence: once again, I had not been able to stand up and deliver justice, as a man should.


/////

I finally began to lose altitude as I came over the Atlantic Ocean, the same one Orwell had traveled on his road of revenge. After ricocheting off the surface of the waves for several miles, I was finally able to obtain my sea legs...or lack thereof. This was my first experience with the ocean, and I lacked Orwell's powerful elephantine lungs, so had no hope of walking back to shore. I though for sure I would perish, broken and alone, out there in the Great, Uncaring Blue...when something large and smooth wrapped itself around my leg. In a flurry of rushing water and coursing foam, I was pulled under, and found myself face to face with a truly gigantic creature--at least ten times the size of my now-deceased master! It's hundred arms grabbed me from all sides and tore at me, intent on breaking me open like some crude chestnut. But I would not have this. There was still much evil for me to cleanse in this world, and so I held off the monster's fatal embrace, making my body as steel. Apparently surprised at this turn of events, the leviathan brought me to the surface, and, in what seemed the blink of an eye, brought me to a nearby, remote and uninhabited island.

I learned the kraken's name: Jormungandr, and since then (this was roughly four months ago, mind) have been peacefully enjoying my time on the same island, which I have named "Chief Mendez's Island". As I have not yet been able to communicate effectively with Jormungandr (and indeed, he rarely is around to attempt communication with), I have had nothing to do with myself but lie around, tend the fertile land of Chief Mendez's Island, and hang out on SWF with all my pals (using my wind-powered laptop made of sand and hermit crabs).

But one day soon, I will taste revenge. I will hunt down the red-leaf'd demons that stole my parents from me, and I will tear them limb from limb with my bear hands. The Earth will run red with blood. The accumulated filth of all their murder will foam up about their waists and all those *******s will look up and shout "Save us!"...

...and I will look down, and whisper "No."



/////


Aside from the kraken (whom I now reside with), all of my parents have at one point tried to devour me alive. Only constant vigilance and devotion to my martial studies have kept me alive this long.

Yes, it has been a harrowing journey. But I have survived. And I am all the stronger for it.

I was born to a drug-addled mother, who callously tossed me into a nearby dumpster after birthing me. So, alone, riddled with various drugs of all kinds, and cold, I did the only thing I could do: I cried.

I soon realized, however, that crying wasn't helping my situation, and I was rapidly coming ever closer to a cold, frozen death. Knowing this, I proceeded to physically beat the drugs out of my bloodstream with my tiny, yet powerful fists. I then ate my way through the plastic roof of the dumpster I was in, and warmed myself up with a light cross-country jog.

As I reached the Rocky Mountains, I suddenly found myself surrounded by hungry wolves. I managed to crush several of their skulls, but, tired as I was from my voyage, they eventually overpowered me. My still-soft cranium was literally inside the jaws of the pack leader when my first parents: Aslan, Bagheera, and Mufasa. The three mountain lions swiftly drove away the remaining wolves, and were about to claim their reward (my broken, bloody body)...but they sensed the pure, unfiltered greatness present within me, and, rather than consuming me, placed me on their shoulders and carried me back to their mountainside cave.

And so, for the next three years, I was raised in the most wild reaches of the Rocky Mountain Range, learning the ways of the world: hunting and preying on the weak, emitting feral screams to attract a mate, being only active near dusk and dawn, and (perhaps most importantly) being a combat helicopter.

However, it was not meant to be. One day, my adopted parents were all cruelly shot by local hunters. Only Mufasa managed to limp back to our cave, where I cradled him in my small, but already powerful arms, tears of pure love rolling down my cheeks. I believe I gave him some level of solace in his final moments.

The next day, I assassinated every man, woman and child in the area who has or had ever owned a hunting license, a rifle, camouflage pants, or who had in their life used the word "sport" in reference to the cold, inhuman act of taking another living thing's life for nothing but the sheer, barbaric thrill.

And so, with nothing left for me in the Rockies, I continued on in my quest, turning north, and eventually making my way to the Canadian outback.



/////

One day, I was casually eating my fill of the Caribou herd I had, moments before, brought down using nothing but a single pebble, when a large Grizzly Bear approached me, obviously looking for his next meal. I stood my ground, and as he approached, so did I.

During our epic, mortal struggle, the sheer force of will present within me contacted the bear's spirit, and instantly, we knew each other. While tending my fresh gouge wounds in a nearby stream, I learned my new parent's name: Wojtek. He had been the subject of several Canadian Government-funded experiments, resulting in him being bereft in a total, unending state of starvation; no matter how much Wojtek ate, he never could satiate himself. So, compassion filling my tiny, four-year frame, I devoted myself to helping him.

And so I hunted. Over the course of the next seven years, I made myself known across the country as "The Windigo", though of course, I was only a small boy at this time. Of course, I was uneducated in the ways of numbers, so had no notion at the time of how many animals I defeated in single combat for Wojtek's sake, but looking back, I would say...anywhere from five to seventy-eight hundred thousand.

At the end of this bloody, noble trail lay the Canadian Scientist's Headquarters, also known as "Mount Villainy". I climbed the jagged, sulfurous cliffs of that accursed rock for five days, never resting--for below me was Wojtek, barely alive and on his own: I had to do this as fast as possible. I infiltrated their foul lair, and found the anitdote to the illness afflicting my pitiable foster father. However, the Canadians discovered me on my way out, and I was forced into combat against an elite sect of Canada's greatest fighters: the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. When all was said and done, I limped out of the laboratory, bullet and saber wounds all across my battered body. One had even managed to gouge out one of my eyes with a hook mounted on a stump, where I presume a hand once was.

Despite my great cause, I found I could not maintain consciousness any longer. As I crested the summit, I passed out, cursing myself for failing at the task set before me...



/////


...Yet soon, I awoke: a cool breeze awakening me from my rest. I felt beneath me, and my hand touched against enormous, silken feathers. Yes, I was being held aloft on the back of a tremendous golden eagle. I reached out with my pure, most bare of emotions to the creature, telling her of Wojtek's plight.

...But, to my utter despair, she informed me that Wojtek had perished at the base of Mount Villainy. Her name was Aquila, and her nine siblings, Corvus, Flint, Cygnus, Huginn and Muginn, Simurgh, Mynah, and Old Great Auk, were on their way to Wojtek's aid on the command of the Bird King, Phoenix. But alas and alack, they arrived too late. Perhaps due to my leading him around the countryside, he was without the aid of the birdfolk.

I have always...blamed myself for that, I suppose.

With nothing to be done for poor Wojtek, I swore vengeance against the Royal Canadian Mountain Police, and continued East with my new, feathered family.



/////


I did not stay with the eagles for long, though. As we were flying over Tennesee, Huginn and Muginn attempted to steal the eyes from my sockets as I slept atop Old Great Auk's back. They held no alleigance to me or my journey, and so I do not blame them for this: it is only the natural law that when a thing is hungry, it must eat.

...However, it is also the way of the world that only the strongest survive. And so, reacting like barbed lightning, I arose, and tore the tongues from my attacker's gizzards, sending them both into uncontrollable, pain-induced free falls. I could immediately tell how well this went over with the other birds, and so I leapt from Auk's wing, pummeting to the ground hundreds of miles below me.

It is never a good idea to let oneself be surrounded by wrathful servants of the Bird King.

Handily, I had learned much from Aquila of the ways of flight, and though I possessed no wings, I used my knowledge to directionally influence myself toward a giant red and white speck, miles below me. As I reached terminal velocity, and the terrible inertia began to peel the very flesh from my bones, I again could not hold out, and I saw black.

When I awoke, I was staring up into the murderous eyes of an enormous African Elephant, or loxodonta africana, as they say in the West. Before he had the chance to gore or trample me, I sprung to my feet and delivered a kick so fierce it could shatter the trunk of a full-grown Redwood tree (and indeed, during my time in the North, it had done so, on several occasions) to the beast's head...but to my complete amazement, it bucked me away but with a brush of it's head! Suddenly and horrifyingly, I knew fear. For the first time in my life, I truly did not know whether I would be the victor of this contest of strength.

...Amazingly, though I no longer held any conception of victory, the thing did not approach me. It merely eyed me up, from head to toe several times, then, deciding something, turned to leave. With this relief, I examined my surroundings for the first time since arriving in this foreign locale. I discovered I had landed on the top of a giant circus tent, which would explain how all my bones were not of dust at this point. But I had little time to ponder the past, as my immortal warrior's soul was calling to me.

Thus, I was trained. My master, Orwell, was a fine teacher indeed. Raised on the barren plains of the Savannah, he had been born weak and alone, much like myself. He had spent most of his time there migrating from herd to herd, never fully accepted, and often physically assaulted for his ignoble origins and lowly station. But through it all, he never gave in, eventually defeating the Bull of a rival tribe in single combat, and thus becoming their herdmaster. For fifty years, he and his tribe roamed the Great Plains, conquering all and sparing none in their paths. He sired countless calves, and those he did not approve of were swiftly exiled. Like me, he held dearly to the Ways of the World. However, one day, while he was away on an expedition, black-suited men with loud, booming sticks and red, maple leaves on their backs came and destroyed his entire clan, stealing their proud tusks, not allowing even for a respectful burial. Enraged, Orwell took to the coast, hounding the men in black. Though they boarded their iron fish before he could catch them, he could see the way they traveled, and so, with a deep breath of the African air he loved more than life itself, he plunged beneath the waves, and ran along the Ocean's floor toward a new, alien world.

Once there, he was tired from his journey, and so laid down beneath a tall tree for rest. But--the fiends!--they ambushed him while he slept! He awoke, and crushed many underfoot, and his tusks were lined with bodies that day, but through sheer numbers and a traitorous tranquilizing poison, they brought him to his knees, and carried him off to their stronghold.

...Thankfully, he escaped: breaking out of the belly of their giant iron snake, he rampaged his way south until he found a lonely, secluded stretch of open land. It reminded him of his homeland, and that was good. For seven days and seven nights he wept for those lost to him. He would never see them again.

And so, when the circus came and erected their giant shelters, Orwell approached them. At first, they panicked, but in time, they came to accept him. Ever since, he had stayed with the group as they toured the country, performing for humans from all walks of life. It was not a dignified life, he told me, but a simple one. One deserving of a man who could not protect those closest to him.



/////


Under his tutelage, I learned much. In the span of a single year, I became a rival even to his great strength, and began to finally integrate myself into the world of man--through my performances in the circus as "The Whild Child", I learned the human tongue, and even made several "friends". In time, though, this was our downfall. Word spread of our famed performances, which eventually attracted the very same forces that had stolen so much from both my and Orwell's lives...

One fateful day, during the highlight act of our performance, Orwell toppled to the ground. I rushed to his side, but he batted me away with his trunk as he regained his footing. It was then I saw the enormous needle protruding from the side of his head. Furthermore, I finally noticed how oddly quiet the crowd had been, and looking out past the glare of the stage lights, I saw not a normal crowd--but the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. They had come to reclaim what was not theirs! I gave a roar that would enrapture even the coldest of puma vixens, and lunged toward my sworn enemies, but my way was suddenly blocked by Orwell's hulking body, which shuddered as a second salvo of poisoned darts punctured his thick hide. I knew what he was doing, but would not accept it--he was all that I had left.

...But, against my dearest wishes, he lifted me, kicking and screaming, in his trunk, trundled outside the tent, with every step being more harried as more and more Canadian venom assaulted his old body...and threw me into the sky with all of his remaining strength.



/////


I spent the following day, and part of the night soaring through the air, tears lashing their way off my face, falling behind me into my windstream. I beat my chest, gnashed my teeth, pulled my hair, and tore my flesh in penitence: once again, I had not been able to stand up and deliver justice, as a man should.


/////

I finally began to lose altitude as I came over the Atlantic Ocean, the same one Orwell had traveled on his road of revenge. After ricocheting off the surface of the waves for several miles, I was finally able to obtain my sea legs...or lack thereof. This was my first experience with the ocean, and I lacked Orwell's powerful elephantine lungs, so had no hope of walking back to shore. I though for sure I would perish, broken and alone, out there in the Great, Uncaring Blue...when something large and smooth wrapped itself around my leg. In a flurry of rushing water and coursing foam, I was pulled under, and found myself face to face with a truly gigantic creature--at least ten times the size of my now-deceased master! It's hundred arms grabbed me from all sides and tore at me, intent on breaking me open like some crude chestnut. But I would not have this. There was still much evil for me to cleanse in this world, and so I held off the monster's fatal embrace, making my body as steel. Apparently surprised at this turn of events, the leviathan brought me to the surface, and, in what seemed the blink of an eye, brought me to a nearby, remote and uninhabited island.

I learned the kraken's name: Jormungandr, and since then (this was roughly four months ago, mind) have been peacefully enjoying my time on the same island, which I have named "Chief Mendez's Island". As I have not yet been able to communicate effectively with Jormungandr (and indeed, he rarely is around to attempt communication with), I have had nothing to do with myself but lie around, tend the fertile land of Chief Mendez's Island, and hang out on SWF with all my pals (using my wind-powered laptop made of sand and hermit crabs).

But one day soon, I will taste revenge. I will hunt down the red-leaf'd demons that stole my parents from me, and I will tear them limb from limb with my bear hands. The Earth will run red with blood. The accumulated filth of all their murder will foam up about their waists and all those *******s will look up and shout "Save us!"...

...and I will look down, and whisper "No."



/////


Aside from the kraken (whom I now reside with), all of my parents have at one point tried to devour me alive. Only constant vigilance and devotion to my martial studies have kept me alive this long.

Yes, it has been a harrowing journey. But I have survived. And I am all the stronger for it.

I was born to a drug-addled mother, who callously tossed me into a nearby dumpster after birthing me. So, alone, riddled with various drugs of all kinds, and cold, I did the only thing I could do: I cried.

I soon realized, however, that crying wasn't helping my situation, and I was rapidly coming ever closer to a cold, frozen death. Knowing this, I proceeded to physically beat the drugs out of my bloodstream with my tiny, yet powerful fists. I then ate my way through the plastic roof of the dumpster I was in, and warmed myself up with a light cross-country jog.

As I reached the Rocky Mountains, I suddenly found myself surrounded by hungry wolves. I managed to crush several of their skulls, but, tired as I was from my voyage, they eventually overpowered me. My still-soft cranium was literally inside the jaws of the pack leader when my first parents: Aslan, Bagheera, and Mufasa. The three mountain lions swiftly drove away the remaining wolves, and were about to claim their reward (my broken, bloody body)...but they sensed the pure, unfiltered greatness present within me, and, rather than consuming me, placed me on their shoulders and carried me back to their mountainside cave.

And so, for the next three years, I was raised in the most wild reaches of the Rocky Mountain Range, learning the ways of the world: hunting and preying on the weak, emitting feral screams to attract a mate, being only active near dusk and dawn, and (perhaps most importantly) being a combat helicopter.

However, it was not meant to be. One day, my adopted parents were all cruelly shot by local hunters. Only Mufasa managed to limp back to our cave, where I cradled him in my small, but already powerful arms, tears of pure love rolling down my cheeks. I believe I gave him some level of solace in his final moments.

The next day, I assassinated every man, woman and child in the area who has or had ever owned a hunting license, a rifle, camouflage pants, or who had in their life used the word "sport" in reference to the cold, inhuman act of taking another living thing's life for nothing but the sheer, barbaric thrill.

And so, with nothing left for me in the Rockies, I continued on in my quest, turning north, and eventually making my way to the Canadian outback.



/////

One day, I was casually eating my fill of the Caribou herd I had, moments before, brought down using nothing but a single pebble, when a large Grizzly Bear approached me, obviously looking for his next meal. I stood my ground, and as he approached, so did I.

During our epic, mortal struggle, the sheer force of will present within me contacted the bear's spirit, and instantly, we knew each other. While tending my fresh gouge wounds in a nearby stream, I learned my new parent's name: Wojtek. He had been the subject of several Canadian Government-funded experiments, resulting in him being bereft in a total, unending state of starvation; no matter how much Wojtek ate, he never could satiate himself. So, compassion filling my tiny, four-year frame, I devoted myself to helping him.

And so I hunted. Over the course of the next seven years, I made myself known across the country as "The Windigo", though of course, I was only a small boy at this time. Of course, I was uneducated in the ways of numbers, so had no notion at the time of how many animals I defeated in single combat for Wojtek's sake, but looking back, I would say...anywhere from five to seventy-eight hundred thousand.

At the end of this bloody, noble trail lay the Canadian Scientist's Headquarters, also known as "Mount Villainy". I climbed the jagged, sulfurous cliffs of that accursed rock for five days, never resting--for below me was Wojtek, barely alive and on his own: I had to do this as fast as possible. I infiltrated their foul lair, and found the anitdote to the illness afflicting my pitiable foster father. However, the Canadians discovered me on my way out, and I was forced into combat against an elite sect of Canada's greatest fighters: the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. When all was said and done, I limped out of the laboratory, bullet and saber wounds all across my battered body. One had even managed to gouge out one of my eyes with a hook mounted on a stump, where I presume a hand once was.

Despite my great cause, I found I could not maintain consciousness any longer. As I crested the summit, I passed out, cursing myself for failing at the task set before me...



/////


...Yet soon, I awoke: a cool breeze awakening me from my rest. I felt beneath me, and my hand touched against enormous, silken feathers. Yes, I was being held aloft on the back of a tremendous golden eagle. I reached out with my pure, most bare of emotions to the creature, telling her of Wojtek's plight.

...But, to my utter despair, she informed me that Wojtek had perished at the base of Mount Villainy. Her name was Aquila, and her nine siblings, Corvus, Flint, Cygnus, Huginn and Muginn, Simurgh, Mynah, and Old Great Auk, were on their way to Wojtek's aid on the command of the Bird King, Phoenix. But alas and alack, they arrived too late. Perhaps due to my leading him around the countryside, he was without the aid of the birdfolk.

I have always...blamed myself for that, I suppose.

With nothing to be done for poor Wojtek, I swore vengeance against the Royal Canadian Mountain Police, and continued East with my new, feathered family.



/////


I did not stay with the eagles for long, though. As we were flying over Tennesee, Huginn and Muginn attempted to steal the eyes from my sockets as I slept atop Old Great Auk's back. They held no alleigance to me or my journey, and so I do not blame them for this: it is only the natural law that when a thing is hungry, it must eat.

...However, it is also the way of the world that only the strongest survive. And so, reacting like barbed lightning, I arose, and tore the tongues from my attacker's gizzards, sending them both into uncontrollable, pain-induced free falls. I could immediately tell how well this went over with the other birds, and so I leapt from Auk's wing, pummeting to the ground hundreds of miles below me.

It is never a good idea to let oneself be surrounded by wrathful servants of the Bird King.

Handily, I had learned much from Aquila of the ways of flight, and though I possessed no wings, I used my knowledge to directionally influence myself toward a giant red and white speck, miles below me. As I reached terminal velocity, and the terrible inertia began to peel the very flesh from my bones, I again could not hold out, and I saw black.

When I awoke, I was staring up into the murderous eyes of an enormous African Elephant, or loxodonta africana, as they say in the West. Before he had the chance to gore or trample me, I sprung to my feet and delivered a kick so fierce it could shatter the trunk of a full-grown Redwood tree (and indeed, during my time in the North, it had done so, on several occasions) to the beast's head...but to my complete amazement, it bucked me away but with a brush of it's head! Suddenly and horrifyingly, I knew fear. For the first time in my life, I truly did not know whether I would be the victor of this contest of strength.

...Amazingly, though I no longer held any conception of victory, the thing did not approach me. It merely eyed me up, from head to toe several times, then, deciding something, turned to leave. With this relief, I examined my surroundings for the first time since arriving in this foreign locale. I discovered I had landed on the top of a giant circus tent, which would explain how all my bones were not of dust at this point. But I had little time to ponder the past, as my immortal warrior's soul was calling to me.

Thus, I was trained. My master, Orwell, was a fine teacher indeed. Raised on the barren plains of the Savannah, he had been born weak and alone, much like myself. He had spent most of his time there migrating from herd to herd, never fully accepted, and often physically assaulted for his ignoble origins and lowly station. But through it all, he never gave in, eventually defeating the Bull of a rival tribe in single combat, and thus becoming their herdmaster. For fifty years, he and his tribe roamed the Great Plains, conquering all and sparing none in their paths. He sired countless calves, and those he did not approve of were swiftly exiled. Like me, he held dearly to the Ways of the World. However, one day, while he was away on an expedition, black-suited men with loud, booming sticks and red, maple leaves on their backs came and destroyed his entire clan, stealing their proud tusks, not allowing even for a respectful burial. Enraged, Orwell took to the coast, hounding the men in black. Though they boarded their iron fish before he could catch them, he could see the way they traveled, and so, with a deep breath of the African air he loved more than life itself, he plunged beneath the waves, and ran along the Ocean's floor toward a new, alien world.

Once there, he was tired from his journey, and so laid down beneath a tall tree for rest. But--the fiends!--they ambushed him while he slept! He awoke, and crushed many underfoot, and his tusks were lined with bodies that day, but through sheer numbers and a traitorous tranquilizing poison, they brought him to his knees, and carried him off to their stronghold.

...Thankfully, he escaped: breaking out of the belly of their giant iron snake, he rampaged his way south until he found a lonely, secluded stretch of open land. It reminded him of his homeland, and that was good. For seven days and seven nights he wept for those lost to him. He would never see them again.

And so, when the circus came and erected their giant shelters, Orwell approached them. At first, they panicked, but in time, they came to accept him. Ever since, he had stayed with the group as they toured the country, performing for humans from all walks of life. It was not a dignified life, he told me, but a simple one. One deserving of a man who could not protect those closest to him.



/////


Under his tutelage, I learned much. In the span of a single year, I became a rival even to his great strength, and began to finally integrate myself into the world of man--through my performances in the circus as "The Whild Child", I learned the human tongue, and even made several "friends". In time, though, this was our downfall. Word spread of our famed performances, which eventually attracted the very same forces that had stolen so much from both my and Orwell's lives...

One fateful day, during the highlight act of our performance, Orwell toppled to the ground. I rushed to his side, but he batted me away with his trunk as he regained his footing. It was then I saw the enormous needle protruding from the side of his head. Furthermore, I finally noticed how oddly quiet the crowd had been, and looking out past the glare of the stage lights, I saw not a normal crowd--but the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. They had come to reclaim what was not theirs! I gave a roar that would enrapture even the coldest of puma vixens, and lunged toward my sworn enemies, but my way was suddenly blocked by Orwell's hulking body, which shuddered as a second salvo of poisoned darts punctured his thick hide. I knew what he was doing, but would not accept it--he was all that I had left.

...But, against my dearest wishes, he lifted me, kicking and screaming, in his trunk, trundled outside the tent, with every step being more harried as more and more Canadian venom assaulted his old body...and threw me into the sky with all of his remaining strength.



/////


I spent the following day, and part of the night soaring through the air, tears lashing their way off my face, falling behind me into my windstream. I beat my chest, gnashed my teeth, pulled my hair, and tore my flesh in penitence: once again, I had not been able to stand up and deliver justice, as a man should.


/////

I finally began to lose altitude as I came over the Atlantic Ocean, the same one Orwell had traveled on his road of revenge. After ricocheting off the surface of the waves for several miles, I was finally able to obtain my sea legs...or lack thereof. This was my first experience with the ocean, and I lacked Orwell's powerful elephantine lungs, so had no hope of walking back to shore. I though for sure I would perish, broken and alone, out there in the Great, Uncaring Blue...when something large and smooth wrapped itself around my leg. In a flurry of rushing water and coursing foam, I was pulled under, and found myself face to face with a truly gigantic creature--at least ten times the size of my now-deceased master! It's hundred arms grabbed me from all sides and tore at me, intent on breaking me open like some crude chestnut. But I would not have this. There was still much evil for me to cleanse in this world, and so I held off the monster's fatal embrace, making my body as steel. Apparently surprised at this turn of events, the leviathan brought me to the surface, and, in what seemed the blink of an eye, brought me to a nearby, remote and uninhabited island.

I learned the kraken's name: Jormungandr, and since then (this was roughly four months ago, mind) have been peacefully enjoying my time on the same island, which I have named "Chief Mendez's Island". As I have not yet been able to communicate effectively with Jormungandr (and indeed, he rarely is around to attempt communication with), I have had nothing to do with myself but lie around, tend the fertile land of Chief Mendez's Island, and hang out on SWF with all my pals (using my wind-powered laptop made of sand and hermit crabs).

But one day soon, I will taste revenge. I will hunt down the red-leaf'd demons that stole my parents from me, and I will tear them limb from limb with my bear hands. The Earth will run red with blood. The accumulated filth of all their murder will foam up about their waists and all those *******s will look up and shout "Save us!"...

...and I will look down, and whisper "No."



/////


Aside from the kraken (whom I now reside with), all of my parents have at one point tried to devour me alive. Only constant vigilance and devotion to my martial studies have kept me alive this long.

Yes, it has been a harrowing journey. But I have survived. And I am all the stronger for it.

I was born to a drug-addled mother, who callously tossed me into a nearby dumpster after birthing me. So, alone, riddled with various drugs of all kinds, and cold, I did the only thing I could do: I cried.

I soon realized, however, that crying wasn't helping my situation, and I was rapidly coming ever closer to a cold, frozen death. Knowing this, I proceeded to physically beat the drugs out of my bloodstream with my tiny, yet powerful fists. I then ate my way through the plastic roof of the dumpster I was in, and warmed myself up with a light cross-country jog.

As I reached the Rocky Mountains, I suddenly found myself surrounded by hungry wolves. I managed to crush several of their skulls, but, tired as I was from my voyage, they eventually overpowered me. My still-soft cranium was literally inside the jaws of the pack leader when my first parents: Aslan, Bagheera, and Mufasa. The three mountain lions swiftly drove away the remaining wolves, and were about to claim their reward (my broken, bloody body)...but they sensed the pure, unfiltered greatness present within me, and, rather than consuming me, placed me on their shoulders and carried me back to their mountainside cave.

And so, for the next three years, I was raised in the most wild reaches of the Rocky Mountain Range, learning the ways of the world: hunting and preying on the weak, emitting feral screams to attract a mate, being only active near dusk and dawn, and (perhaps most importantly) being a combat helicopter.

However, it was not meant to be. One day, my adopted parents were all cruelly shot by local hunters. Only Mufasa managed to limp back to our cave, where I cradled him in my small, but already powerful arms, tears of pure love rolling down my cheeks. I believe I gave him some level of solace in his final moments.

The next day, I assassinated every man, woman and child in the area who has or had ever owned a hunting license, a rifle, camouflage pants, or who had in their life used the word "sport" in reference to the cold, inhuman act of taking another living thing's life for nothing but the sheer, barbaric thrill.

And so, with nothing left for me in the Rockies, I continued on in my quest, turning north, and eventually making my way to the Canadian outback.



/////

One day, I was casually eating my fill of the Caribou herd I had, moments before, brought down using nothing but a single pebble, when a large Grizzly Bear approached me, obviously looking for his next meal. I stood my ground, and as he approached, so did I.

During our epic, mortal struggle, the sheer force of will present within me contacted the bear's spirit, and instantly, we knew each other. While tending my fresh gouge wounds in a nearby stream, I learned my new parent's name: Wojtek. He had been the subject of several Canadian Government-funded experiments, resulting in him being bereft in a total, unending state of starvation; no matter how much Wojtek ate, he never could satiate himself. So, compassion filling my tiny, four-year frame, I devoted myself to helping him.

And so I hunted. Over the course of the next seven years, I made myself known across the country as "The Windigo", though of course, I was only a small boy at this time. Of course, I was uneducated in the ways of numbers, so had no notion at the time of how many animals I defeated in single combat for Wojtek's sake, but looking back, I would say...anywhere from five to seventy-eight hundred thousand.

At the end of this bloody, noble trail lay the Canadian Scientist's Headquarters, also known as "Mount Villainy". I climbed the jagged, sulfurous cliffs of that accursed rock for five days, never resting--for below me was Wojtek, barely alive and on his own: I had to do this as fast as possible. I infiltrated their foul lair, and found the anitdote to the illness afflicting my pitiable foster father. However, the Canadians discovered me on my way out, and I was forced into combat against an elite sect of Canada's greatest fighters: the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. When all was said and done, I limped out of the laboratory, bullet and saber wounds all across my battered body. One had even managed to gouge out one of my eyes with a hook mounted on a stump, where I presume a hand once was.

Despite my great cause, I found I could not maintain consciousness any longer. As I crested the summit, I passed out, cursing myself for failing at the task set before me...



/////


...Yet soon, I awoke: a cool breeze awakening me from my rest. I felt beneath me, and my hand touched against enormous, silken feathers. Yes, I was being held aloft on the back of a tremendous golden eagle. I reached out with my pure, most bare of emotions to the creature, telling her of Wojtek's plight.

...But, to my utter despair, she informed me that Wojtek had perished at the base of Mount Villainy. Her name was Aquila, and her nine siblings, Corvus, Flint, Cygnus, Huginn and Muginn, Simurgh, Mynah, and Old Great Auk, were on their way to Wojtek's aid on the command of the Bird King, Phoenix. But alas and alack, they arrived too late. Perhaps due to my leading him around the countryside, he was without the aid of the birdfolk.

I have always...blamed myself for that, I suppose.

With nothing to be done for poor Wojtek, I swore vengeance against the Royal Canadian Mountain Police, and continued East with my new, feathered family.



/////


I did not stay with the eagles for long, though. As we were flying over Tennesee, Huginn and Muginn attempted to steal the eyes from my sockets as I slept atop Old Great Auk's back. They held no alleigance to me or my journey, and so I do not blame them for this: it is only the natural law that when a thing is hungry, it must eat.

...However, it is also the way of the world that only the strongest survive. And so, reacting like barbed lightning, I arose, and tore the tongues from my attacker's gizzards, sending them both into uncontrollable, pain-induced free falls. I could immediately tell how well this went over with the other birds, and so I leapt from Auk's wing, pummeting to the ground hundreds of miles below me.

It is never a good idea to let oneself be surrounded by wrathful servants of the Bird King.

Handily, I had learned much from Aquila of the ways of flight, and though I possessed no wings, I used my knowledge to directionally influence myself toward a giant red and white speck, miles below me. As I reached terminal velocity, and the terrible inertia began to peel the very flesh from my bones, I again could not hold out, and I saw black.

When I awoke, I was staring up into the murderous eyes of an enormous African Elephant, or loxodonta africana, as they say in the West. Before he had the chance to gore or trample me, I sprung to my feet and delivered a kick so fierce it could shatter the trunk of a full-grown Redwood tree (and indeed, during my time in the North, it had done so, on several occasions) to the beast's head...but to my complete amazement, it bucked me away but with a brush of it's head! Suddenly and horrifyingly, I knew fear. For the first time in my life, I truly did not know whether I would be the victor of this contest of strength.

...Amazingly, though I no longer held any conception of victory, the thing did not approach me. It merely eyed me up, from head to toe several times, then, deciding something, turned to leave. With this relief, I examined my surroundings for the first time since arriving in this foreign locale. I discovered I had landed on the top of a giant circus tent, which would explain how all my bones were not of dust at this point. But I had little time to ponder the past, as my immortal warrior's soul was calling to me.

Thus, I was trained. My master, Orwell, was a fine teacher indeed. Raised on the barren plains of the Savannah, he had been born weak and alone, much like myself. He had spent most of his time there migrating from herd to herd, never fully accepted, and often physically assaulted for his ignoble origins and lowly station. But through it all, he never gave in, eventually defeating the Bull of a rival tribe in single combat, and thus becoming their herdmaster. For fifty years, he and his tribe roamed the Great Plains, conquering all and sparing none in their paths. He sired countless calves, and those he did not approve of were swiftly exiled. Like me, he held dearly to the Ways of the World. However, one day, while he was away on an expedition, black-suited men with loud, booming sticks and red, maple leaves on their backs came and destroyed his entire clan, stealing their proud tusks, not allowing even for a respectful burial. Enraged, Orwell took to the coast, hounding the men in black. Though they boarded their iron fish before he could catch them, he could see the way they traveled, and so, with a deep breath of the African air he loved more than life itself, he plunged beneath the waves, and ran along the Ocean's floor toward a new, alien world.

Once there, he was tired from his journey, and so laid down beneath a tall tree for rest. But--the fiends!--they ambushed him while he slept! He awoke, and crushed many underfoot, and his tusks were lined with bodies that day, but through sheer numbers and a traitorous tranquilizing poison, they brought him to his knees, and carried him off to their stronghold.

...Thankfully, he escaped: breaking out of the belly of their giant iron snake, he rampaged his way south until he found a lonely, secluded stretch of open land. It reminded him of his homeland, and that was good. For seven days and seven nights he wept for those lost to him. He would never see them again.

And so, when the circus came and erected their giant shelters, Orwell approached them. At first, they panicked, but in time, they came to accept him. Ever since, he had stayed with the group as they toured the country, performing for humans from all walks of life. It was not a dignified life, he told me, but a simple one. One deserving of a man who could not protect those closest to him.



/////


Under his tutelage, I learned much. In the span of a single year, I became a rival even to his great strength, and began to finally integrate myself into the world of man--through my performances in the circus as "The Whild Child", I learned the human tongue, and even made several "friends". In time, though, this was our downfall. Word spread of our famed performances, which eventually attracted the very same forces that had stolen so much from both my and Orwell's lives...

One fateful day, during the highlight act of our performance, Orwell toppled to the ground. I rushed to his side, but he batted me away with his trunk as he regained his footing. It was then I saw the enormous needle protruding from the side of his head. Furthermore, I finally noticed how oddly quiet the crowd had been, and looking out past the glare of the stage lights, I saw not a normal crowd--but the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. They had come to reclaim what was not theirs! I gave a roar that would enrapture even the coldest of puma vixens, and lunged toward my sworn enemies, but my way was suddenly blocked by Orwell's hulking body, which shuddered as a second salvo of poisoned darts punctured his thick hide. I knew what he was doing, but would not accept it--he was all that I had left.

...But, against my dearest wishes, he lifted me, kicking and screaming, in his trunk, trundled outside the tent, with every step being more harried as more and more Canadian venom assaulted his old body...and threw me into the sky with all of his remaining strength.



/////


I spent the following day, and part of the night soaring through the air, tears lashing their way off my face, falling behind me into my windstream. I beat my chest, gnashed my teeth, pulled my hair, and tore my flesh in penitence: once again, I had not been able to stand up and deliver justice, as a man should.


/////

I finally began to lose altitude as I came over the Atlantic Ocean, the same one Orwell had traveled on his road of revenge. After ricocheting off the surface of the waves for several miles, I was finally able to obtain my sea legs...or lack thereof. This was my first experience with the ocean, and I lacked Orwell's powerful elephantine lungs, so had no hope of walking back to shore. I though for sure I would perish, broken and alone, out there in the Great, Uncaring Blue...when something large and smooth wrapped itself around my leg. In a flurry of rushing water and coursing foam, I was pulled under, and found myself face to face with a truly gigantic creature--at least ten times the size of my now-deceased master! It's hundred arms grabbed me from all sides and tore at me, intent on breaking me open like some crude chestnut. But I would not have this. There was still much evil for me to cleanse in this world, and so I held off the monster's fatal embrace, making my body as steel. Apparently surprised at this turn of events, the leviathan brought me to the surface, and, in what seemed the blink of an eye, brought me to a nearby, remote and uninhabited island.

I learned the kraken's name: Jormungandr, and since then (this was roughly four months ago, mind) have been peacefully enjoying my time on the same island, which I have named "Chief Mendez's Island". As I have not yet been able to communicate effectively with Jormungandr (and indeed, he rarely is around to attempt communication with), I have had nothing to do with myself but lie around, tend the fertile land of Chief Mendez's Island, and hang out on SWF with all my pals (using my wind-powered laptop made of sand and hermit crabs).

But one day soon, I will taste revenge. I will hunt down the red-leaf'd demons that stole my parents from me, and I will tear them limb from limb with my bear hands. The Earth will run red with blood. The accumulated filth of all their murder will foam up about their waists and all those *******s will look up and shout "Save us!"...

...and I will look down, and whisper "No."



/////


Aside from the kraken (whom I now reside with), all of my parents have at one point tried to devour me alive. Only constant vigilance and devotion to my martial studies have kept me alive this long.

Yes, it has been a harrowing journey. But I have survived. And I am all the stronger for it.

I was born to a drug-addled mother, who callously tossed me into a nearby dumpster after birthing me. So, alone, riddled with various drugs of all kinds, and cold, I did the only thing I could do: I cried.

I soon realized, however, that crying wasn't helping my situation, and I was rapidly coming ever closer to a cold, frozen death. Knowing this, I proceeded to physically beat the drugs out of my bloodstream with my tiny, yet powerful fists. I then ate my way through the plastic roof of the dumpster I was in, and warmed myself up with a light cross-country jog.

As I reached the Rocky Mountains, I suddenly found myself surrounded by hungry wolves. I managed to crush several of their skulls, but, tired as I was from my voyage, they eventually overpowered me. My still-soft cranium was literally inside the jaws of the pack leader when my first parents: Aslan, Bagheera, and Mufasa. The three mountain lions swiftly drove away the remaining wolves, and were about to claim their reward (my broken, bloody body)...but they sensed the pure, unfiltered greatness present within me, and, rather than consuming me, placed me on their shoulders and carried me back to their mountainside cave.

And so, for the next three years, I was raised in the most wild reaches of the Rocky Mountain Range, learning the ways of the world: hunting and preying on the weak, emitting feral screams to attract a mate, being only active near dusk and dawn, and (perhaps most importantly) being a combat helicopter.

However, it was not meant to be. One day, my adopted parents were all cruelly shot by local hunters. Only Mufasa managed to limp back to our cave, where I cradled him in my small, but already powerful arms, tears of pure love rolling down my cheeks. I believe I gave him some level of solace in his final moments.

The next day, I assassinated every man, woman and child in the area who has or had ever owned a hunting license, a rifle, camouflage pants, or who had in their life used the word "sport" in reference to the cold, inhuman act of taking another living thing's life for nothing but the sheer, barbaric thrill.

And so, with nothing left for me in the Rockies, I continued on in my quest, turning north, and eventually making my way to the Canadian outback.



/////

One day, I was casually eating my fill of the Caribou herd I had, moments before, brought down using nothing but a single pebble, when a large Grizzly Bear approached me, obviously looking for his next meal. I stood my ground, and as he approached, so did I.

During our epic, mortal struggle, the sheer force of will present within me contacted the bear's spirit, and instantly, we knew each other. While tending my fresh gouge wounds in a nearby stream, I learned my new parent's name: Wojtek. He had been the subject of several Canadian Government-funded experiments, resulting in him being bereft in a total, unending state of starvation; no matter how much Wojtek ate, he never could satiate himself. So, compassion filling my tiny, four-year frame, I devoted myself to helping him.

And so I hunted. Over the course of the next seven years, I made myself known across the country as "The Windigo", though of course, I was only a small boy at this time. Of course, I was uneducated in the ways of numbers, so had no notion at the time of how many animals I defeated in single combat for Wojtek's sake, but looking back, I would say...anywhere from five to seventy-eight hundred thousand.

At the end of this bloody, noble trail lay the Canadian Scientist's Headquarters, also known as "Mount Villainy". I climbed the jagged, sulfurous cliffs of that accursed rock for five days, never resting--for below me was Wojtek, barely alive and on his own: I had to do this as fast as possible. I infiltrated their foul lair, and found the anitdote to the illness afflicting my pitiable foster father. However, the Canadians discovered me on my way out, and I was forced into combat against an elite sect of Canada's greatest fighters: the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. When all was said and done, I limped out of the laboratory, bullet and saber wounds all across my battered body. One had even managed to gouge out one of my eyes with a hook mounted on a stump, where I presume a hand once was.

Despite my great cause, I found I could not maintain consciousness any longer. As I crested the summit, I passed out, cursing myself for failing at the task set before me...



/////


...Yet soon, I awoke: a cool breeze awakening me from my rest. I felt beneath me, and my hand touched against enormous, silken feathers. Yes, I was being held aloft on the back of a tremendous golden eagle. I reached out with my pure, most bare of emotions to the creature, telling her of Wojtek's plight.

...But, to my utter despair, she informed me that Wojtek had perished at the base of Mount Villainy. Her name was Aquila, and her nine siblings, Corvus, Flint, Cygnus, Huginn and Muginn, Simurgh, Mynah, and Old Great Auk, were on their way to Wojtek's aid on the command of the Bird King, Phoenix. But alas and alack, they arrived too late. Perhaps due to my leading him around the countryside, he was without the aid of the birdfolk.

I have always...blamed myself for that, I suppose.

With nothing to be done for poor Wojtek, I swore vengeance against the Royal Canadian Mountain Police, and continued East with my new, feathered family.



/////


I did not stay with the eagles for long, though. As we were flying over Tennesee, Huginn and Muginn attempted to steal the eyes from my sockets as I slept atop Old Great Auk's back. They held no alleigance to me or my journey, and so I do not blame them for this: it is only the natural law that when a thing is hungry, it must eat.

...However, it is also the way of the world that only the strongest survive. And so, reacting like barbed lightning, I arose, and tore the tongues from my attacker's gizzards, sending them both into uncontrollable, pain-induced free falls. I could immediately tell how well this went over with the other birds, and so I leapt from Auk's wing, pummeting to the ground hundreds of miles below me.

It is never a good idea to let oneself be surrounded by wrathful servants of the Bird King.

Handily, I had learned much from Aquila of the ways of flight, and though I possessed no wings, I used my knowledge to directionally influence myself toward a giant red and white speck, miles below me. As I reached terminal velocity, and the terrible inertia began to peel the very flesh from my bones, I again could not hold out, and I saw black.

When I awoke, I was staring up into the murderous eyes of an enormous African Elephant, or loxodonta africana, as they say in the West. Before he had the chance to gore or trample me, I sprung to my feet and delivered a kick so fierce it could shatter the trunk of a full-grown Redwood tree (and indeed, during my time in the North, it had done so, on several occasions) to the beast's head...but to my complete amazement, it bucked me away but with a brush of it's head! Suddenly and horrifyingly, I knew fear. For the first time in my life, I truly did not know whether I would be the victor of this contest of strength.

...Amazingly, though I no longer held any conception of victory, the thing did not approach me. It merely eyed me up, from head to toe several times, then, deciding something, turned to leave. With this relief, I examined my surroundings for the first time since arriving in this foreign locale. I discovered I had landed on the top of a giant circus tent, which would explain how all my bones were not of dust at this point. But I had little time to ponder the past, as my immortal warrior's soul was calling to me.

Thus, I was trained. My master, Orwell, was a fine teacher indeed. Raised on the barren plains of the Savannah, he had been born weak and alone, much like myself. He had spent most of his time there migrating from herd to herd, never fully accepted, and often physically assaulted for his ignoble origins and lowly station. But through it all, he never gave in, eventually defeating the Bull of a rival tribe in single combat, and thus becoming their herdmaster. For fifty years, he and his tribe roamed the Great Plains, conquering all and sparing none in their paths. He sired countless calves, and those he did not approve of were swiftly exiled. Like me, he held dearly to the Ways of the World. However, one day, while he was away on an expedition, black-suited men with loud, booming sticks and red, maple leaves on their backs came and destroyed his entire clan, stealing their proud tusks, not allowing even for a respectful burial. Enraged, Orwell took to the coast, hounding the men in black. Though they boarded their iron fish before he could catch them, he could see the way they traveled, and so, with a deep breath of the African air he loved more than life itself, he plunged beneath the waves, and ran along the Ocean's floor toward a new, alien world.

Once there, he was tired from his journey, and so laid down beneath a tall tree for rest. But--the fiends!--they ambushed him while he slept! He awoke, and crushed many underfoot, and his tusks were lined with bodies that day, but through sheer numbers and a traitorous tranquilizing poison, they brought him to his knees, and carried him off to their stronghold.

...Thankfully, he escaped: breaking out of the belly of their giant iron snake, he rampaged his way south until he found a lonely, secluded stretch of open land. It reminded him of his homeland, and that was good. For seven days and seven nights he wept for those lost to him. He would never see them again.

And so, when the circus came and erected their giant shelters, Orwell approached them. At first, they panicked, but in time, they came to accept him. Ever since, he had stayed with the group as they toured the country, performing for humans from all walks of life. It was not a dignified life, he told me, but a simple one. One deserving of a man who could not protect those closest to him.



/////


Under his tutelage, I learned much. In the span of a single year, I became a rival even to his great strength, and began to finally integrate myself into the world of man--through my performances in the circus as "The Whild Child", I learned the human tongue, and even made several "friends". In time, though, this was our downfall. Word spread of our famed performances, which eventually attracted the very same forces that had stolen so much from both my and Orwell's lives...

One fateful day, during the highlight act of our performance, Orwell toppled to the ground. I rushed to his side, but he batted me away with his trunk as he regained his footing. It was then I saw the enormous needle protruding from the side of his head. Furthermore, I finally noticed how oddly quiet the crowd had been, and looking out past the glare of the stage lights, I saw not a normal crowd--but the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. They had come to reclaim what was not theirs! I gave a roar that would enrapture even the coldest of puma vixens, and lunged toward my sworn enemies, but my way was suddenly blocked by Orwell's hulking body, which shuddered as a second salvo of poisoned darts punctured his thick hide. I knew what he was doing, but would not accept it--he was all that I had left.

...But, against my dearest wishes, he lifted me, kicking and screaming, in his trunk, trundled outside the tent, with every step being more harried as more and more Canadian venom assaulted his old body...and threw me into the sky with all of his remaining strength.



/////


I spent the following day, and part of the night soaring through the air, tears lashing their way off my face, falling behind me into my windstream. I beat my chest, gnashed my teeth, pulled my hair, and tore my flesh in penitence: once again, I had not been able to stand up and deliver justice, as a man should.


/////

I finally began to lose altitude as I came over the Atlantic Ocean, the same one Orwell had traveled on his road of revenge. After ricocheting off the surface of the waves for several miles, I was finally able to obtain my sea legs...or lack thereof. This was my first experience with the ocean, and I lacked Orwell's powerful elephantine lungs, so had no hope of walking back to shore. I though for sure I would perish, broken and alone, out there in the Great, Uncaring Blue...when something large and smooth wrapped itself around my leg. In a flurry of rushing water and coursing foam, I was pulled under, and found myself face to face with a truly gigantic creature--at least ten times the size of my now-deceased master! It's hundred arms grabbed me from all sides and tore at me, intent on breaking me open like some crude chestnut. But I would not have this. There was still much evil for me to cleanse in this world, and so I held off the monster's fatal embrace, making my body as steel. Apparently surprised at this turn of events, the leviathan brought me to the surface, and, in what seemed the blink of an eye, brought me to a nearby, remote and uninhabited island.

I learned the kraken's name: Jormungandr, and since then (this was roughly four months ago, mind) have been peacefully enjoying my time on the same island, which I have named "Chief Mendez's Island". As I have not yet been able to communicate effectively with Jormungandr (and indeed, he rarely is around to attempt communication with), I have had nothing to do with myself but lie around, tend the fertile land of Chief Mendez's Island, and hang out on SWF with all my pals (using my wind-powered laptop made of sand and hermit crabs).

But one day soon, I will taste revenge. I will hunt down the red-leaf'd demons that stole my parents from me, and I will tear them limb from limb with my bear hands. The Earth will run red with blood. The accumulated filth of all their murder will foam up about their waists and all those *******s will look up and shout "Save us!"...

...and I will look down, and whisper "No."



/////


Aside from the kraken (whom I now reside with), all of my parents have at one point tried to devour me alive. Only constant vigilance and devotion to my martial studies have kept me alive this long.

Yes, it has been a harrowing journey. But I have survived. And I am all the stronger for it.

I was born to a drug-addled mother, who callously tossed me into a nearby dumpster after birthing me. So, alone, riddled with various drugs of all kinds, and cold, I did the only thing I could do: I cried.

I soon realized, however, that crying wasn't helping my situation, and I was rapidly coming ever closer to a cold, frozen death. Knowing this, I proceeded to physically beat the drugs out of my bloodstream with my tiny, yet powerful fists. I then ate my way through the plastic roof of the dumpster I was in, and warmed myself up with a light cross-country jog.

As I reached the Rocky Mountains, I suddenly found myself surrounded by hungry wolves. I managed to crush several of their skulls, but, tired as I was from my voyage, they eventually overpowered me. My still-soft cranium was literally inside the jaws of the pack leader when my first parents: Aslan, Bagheera, and Mufasa. The three mountain lions swiftly drove away the remaining wolves, and were about to claim their reward (my broken, bloody body)...but they sensed the pure, unfiltered greatness present within me, and, rather than consuming me, placed me on their shoulders and carried me back to their mountainside cave.

And so, for the next three years, I was raised in the most wild reaches of the Rocky Mountain Range, learning the ways of the world: hunting and preying on the weak, emitting feral screams to attract a mate, being only active near dusk and dawn, and (perhaps most importantly) being a combat helicopter.

However, it was not meant to be. One day, my adopted parents were all cruelly shot by local hunters. Only Mufasa managed to limp back to our cave, where I cradled him in my small, but already powerful arms, tears of pure love rolling down my cheeks. I believe I gave him some level of solace in his final moments.

The next day, I assassinated every man, woman and child in the area who has or had ever owned a hunting license, a rifle, camouflage pants, or who had in their life used the word "sport" in reference to the cold, inhuman act of taking another living thing's life for nothing but the sheer, barbaric thrill.

And so, with nothing left for me in the Rockies, I continued on in my quest, turning north, and eventually making my way to the Canadian outback.



/////

One day, I was casually eating my fill of the Caribou herd I had, moments before, brought down using nothing but a single pebble, when a large Grizzly Bear approached me, obviously looking for his next meal. I stood my ground, and as he approached, so did I.

During our epic, mortal struggle, the sheer force of will present within me contacted the bear's spirit, and instantly, we knew each other. While tending my fresh gouge wounds in a nearby stream, I learned my new parent's name: Wojtek. He had been the subject of several Canadian Government-funded experiments, resulting in him being bereft in a total, unending state of starvation; no matter how much Wojtek ate, he never could satiate himself. So, compassion filling my tiny, four-year frame, I devoted myself to helping him.

And so I hunted. Over the course of the next seven years, I made myself known across the country as "The Windigo", though of course, I was only a small boy at this time. Of course, I was uneducated in the ways of numbers, so had no notion at the time of how many animals I defeated in single combat for Wojtek's sake, but looking back, I would say...anywhere from five to seventy-eight hundred thousand.

At the end of this bloody, noble trail lay the Canadian Scientist's Headquarters, also known as "Mount Villainy". I climbed the jagged, sulfurous cliffs of that accursed rock for five days, never resting--for below me was Wojtek, barely alive and on his own: I had to do this as fast as possible. I infiltrated their foul lair, and found the anitdote to the illness afflicting my pitiable foster father. However, the Canadians discovered me on my way out, and I was forced into combat against an elite sect of Canada's greatest fighters: the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. When all was said and done, I limped out of the laboratory, bullet and saber wounds all across my battered body. One had even managed to gouge out one of my eyes with a hook mounted on a stump, where I presume a hand once was.

Despite my great cause, I found I could not maintain consciousness any longer. As I crested the summit, I passed out, cursing myself for failing at the task set before me...



/////


...Yet soon, I awoke: a cool breeze awakening me from my rest. I felt beneath me, and my hand touched against enormous, silken feathers. Yes, I was being held aloft on the back of a tremendous golden eagle. I reached out with my pure, most bare of emotions to the creature, telling her of Wojtek's plight.

...But, to my utter despair, she informed me that Wojtek had perished at the base of Mount Villainy. Her name was Aquila, and her nine siblings, Corvus, Flint, Cygnus, Huginn and Muginn, Simurgh, Mynah, and Old Great Auk, were on their way to Wojtek's aid on the command of the Bird King, Phoenix. But alas and alack, they arrived too late. Perhaps due to my leading him around the countryside, he was without the aid of the birdfolk.

I have always...blamed myself for that, I suppose.

With nothing to be done for poor Wojtek, I swore vengeance against the Royal Canadian Mountain Police, and continued East with my new, feathered family.



/////


I did not stay with the eagles for long, though. As we were flying over Tennesee, Huginn and Muginn attempted to steal the eyes from my sockets as I slept atop Old Great Auk's back. They held no alleigance to me or my journey, and so I do not blame them for this: it is only the natural law that when a thing is hungry, it must eat.

...However, it is also the way of the world that only the strongest survive. And so, reacting like barbed lightning, I arose, and tore the tongues from my attacker's gizzards, sending them both into uncontrollable, pain-induced free falls. I could immediately tell how well this went over with the other birds, and so I leapt from Auk's wing, pummeting to the ground hundreds of miles below me.

It is never a good idea to let oneself be surrounded by wrathful servants of the Bird King.

Handily, I had learned much from Aquila of the ways of flight, and though I possessed no wings, I used my knowledge to directionally influence myself toward a giant red and white speck, miles below me. As I reached terminal velocity, and the terrible inertia began to peel the very flesh from my bones, I again could not hold out, and I saw black.

When I awoke, I was staring up into the murderous eyes of an enormous African Elephant, or loxodonta africana, as they say in the West. Before he had the chance to gore or trample me, I sprung to my feet and delivered a kick so fierce it could shatter the trunk of a full-grown Redwood tree (and indeed, during my time in the North, it had done so, on several occasions) to the beast's head...but to my complete amazement, it bucked me away but with a brush of it's head! Suddenly and horrifyingly, I knew fear. For the first time in my life, I truly did not know whether I would be the victor of this contest of strength.

...Amazingly, though I no longer held any conception of victory, the thing did not approach me. It merely eyed me up, from head to toe several times, then, deciding something, turned to leave. With this relief, I examined my surroundings for the first time since arriving in this foreign locale. I discovered I had landed on the top of a giant circus tent, which would explain how all my bones were not of dust at this point. But I had little time to ponder the past, as my immortal warrior's soul was calling to me.

Thus, I was trained. My master, Orwell, was a fine teacher indeed. Raised on the barren plains of the Savannah, he had been born weak and alone, much like myself. He had spent most of his time there migrating from herd to herd, never fully accepted, and often physically assaulted for his ignoble origins and lowly station. But through it all, he never gave in, eventually defeating the Bull of a rival tribe in single combat, and thus becoming their herdmaster. For fifty years, he and his tribe roamed the Great Plains, conquering all and sparing none in their paths. He sired countless calves, and those he did not approve of were swiftly exiled. Like me, he held dearly to the Ways of the World. However, one day, while he was away on an expedition, black-suited men with loud, booming sticks and red, maple leaves on their backs came and destroyed his entire clan, stealing their proud tusks, not allowing even for a respectful burial. Enraged, Orwell took to the coast, hounding the men in black. Though they boarded their iron fish before he could catch them, he could see the way they traveled, and so, with a deep breath of the African air he loved more than life itself, he plunged beneath the waves, and ran along the Ocean's floor toward a new, alien world.

Once there, he was tired from his journey, and so laid down beneath a tall tree for rest. But--the fiends!--they ambushed him while he slept! He awoke, and crushed many underfoot, and his tusks were lined with bodies that day, but through sheer numbers and a traitorous tranquilizing poison, they brought him to his knees, and carried him off to their stronghold.

...Thankfully, he escaped: breaking out of the belly of their giant iron snake, he rampaged his way south until he found a lonely, secluded stretch of open land. It reminded him of his homeland, and that was good. For seven days and seven nights he wept for those lost to him. He would never see them again.

And so, when the circus came and erected their giant shelters, Orwell approached them. At first, they panicked, but in time, they came to accept him. Ever since, he had stayed with the group as they toured the country, performing for humans from all walks of life. It was not a dignified life, he told me, but a simple one. One deserving of a man who could not protect those closest to him.



/////


Under his tutelage, I learned much. In the span of a single year, I became a rival even to his great strength, and began to finally integrate myself into the world of man--through my performances in the circus as "The Whild Child", I learned the human tongue, and even made several "friends". In time, though, this was our downfall. Word spread of our famed performances, which eventually attracted the very same forces that had stolen so much from both my and Orwell's lives...

One fateful day, during the highlight act of our performance, Orwell toppled to the ground. I rushed to his side, but he batted me away with his trunk as he regained his footing. It was then I saw the enormous needle protruding from the side of his head. Furthermore, I finally noticed how oddly quiet the crowd had been, and looking out past the glare of the stage lights, I saw not a normal crowd--but the Royal Canadian Mountain Police. They had come to reclaim what was not theirs! I gave a roar that would enrapture even the coldest of puma vixens, and lunged toward my sworn enemies, but my way was suddenly blocked by Orwell's hulking body, which shuddered as a second salvo of poisoned darts punctured his thick hide. I knew what he was doing, but would not accept it--he was all that I had left.

...But, against my dearest wishes, he lifted me, kicking and screaming, in his trunk, trundled outside the tent, with every step being more harried as more and more Canadian venom assaulted his old body...and threw me into the sky with all of his remaining strength.



/////


I spent the following day, and part of the night soaring through the air, tears lashing their way off my face, falling behind me into my windstream. I beat my chest, gnashed my teeth, pulled my hair, and tore my flesh in penitence: once again, I had not been able to stand up and deliver justice, as a man should.


/////

I finally began to lose altitude as I came over the Atlantic Ocean, the same one Orwell had traveled on his road of revenge. After ricocheting off the surface of the waves for several miles, I was finally able to obtain my sea legs...or lack thereof. This was my first experience with the ocean, and I lacked Orwell's powerful elephantine lungs, so had no hope of walking back to shore. I though for sure I would perish, broken and alone, out there in the Great, Uncaring Blue...when something large and smooth wrapped itself around my leg. In a flurry of rushing water and coursing foam, I was pulled under, and found myself face to face with a truly gigantic creature--at least ten times the size of my now-deceased master! It's hundred arms grabbed me from all sides and tore at me, intent on breaking me open like some crude chestnut. But I would not have this. There was still much evil for me to cleanse in this world, and so I held off the monster's fatal embrace, making my body as steel. Apparently surprised at this turn of events, the leviathan brought me to the surface, and, in what seemed the blink of an eye, brought me to a nearby, remote and uninhabited island.

I learned the kraken's name: Jormungandr, and since then (this was roughly four months ago, mind) have been peacefully enjoying my time on the same island, which I have named "Chief Mendez's Island". As I have not yet been able to communicate effectively with Jormungandr (and indeed, he rarely is around to attempt communication with), I have had nothing to do with myself but lie around, tend the fertile land of Chief Mendez's Island, and hang out on SWF with all my pals (using my wind-powered laptop made of sand and hermit crabs).

But one day soon, I will taste revenge. I will hunt down the red-leaf'd demons that stole my parents from me, and I will tear them limb from limb with my bear hands. The Earth will run red with blood. The accumulated filth of all their murder will foam up about their waists and all those *******s will look up and shout "Save us!"...

...and I will look down, and whisper "No."



/////


Aside from the kraken (whom I now reside with), all of my parents have at one point tried to devour me alive. Only constant vigilance and devotion to my martial studies have kept me alive this long.

Yes, it has been a harrowing journey. But I have survived. And I am all the stronger for it.



You asked for it, man. When I do things, I do them RIGHT.

-Full credit to Chief Mendez. May God have mercy on his soul.-

Disco Kid restored 6% of its health.

OpIvy switched in Fallen Star (lvl 100 Jirachi).
Disco Kid used Surf.
Fallen Star lost 37% of its health.
Fallen Star used Thunder Wave.
Disco Kid is paralysed! It may be unable to move!
The rain stopped.
Fallen Star's leftovers restored its health a little!
Fallen Star restored 6% of its health.
Disco Kid's leftovers restored its health a little!
Disco Kid restored 6% of its health.

Fallen Star used Wish.
Fallen Star made a wish!
Disco Kid used Surf.
Fallen Star lost 25% of its health.
Fallen Star's leftovers restored its health a little!
Fallen Star restored 6% of its health.
Disco Kid's leftovers restored its health a little!
Disco Kid restored 6% of its health.

Fallen Star used U-turn.
It's super effective!
Disco Kid lost 42% of its health.
OpIvy switched in Captain Suave (lvl 100 Roserade ).
Disco Kid used Rain Dance.
Rain began to fall!
The wish came true!
The rain continues to fall.
Disco Kid's leftovers restored its health a little!
Disco Kid restored 6% of its health.

Captain Suave used Toxic Spikes.
Toxic Spikes were scattered around the foe's team!
Disco Kid is paralysed! It can't move!
The rain continues to fall.
Disco Kid's leftovers restored its health a little!
Disco Kid restored 6% of its health.

Captain Suave used Toxic Spikes.
Toxic Spikes were scattered around the foe's team!
Disco Kid used Ice Beam.
It's super effective!
Captain Suave lost 52% of its health.
The rain continues to fall.
Captain Suave's leftovers restored its health a little!
Captain Suave restored 6% of its health.
Disco Kid's leftovers restored its health a little!
Disco Kid restored 6% of its health.

OpIvy switched in Jesse (lvl 100 Gyarados ).
Jesse's intimidate cut Disco Kid's attack!
Disco Kid used Ice Beam.
Jesse lost 19% of its health.
The rain continues to fall.
Jesse's leftovers restored its health a little!
Jesse restored 6% of its health.
Disco Kid's leftovers restored its health a little!
Disco Kid restored 6% of its health.

Jesse used Dragon Dance.
Jesse's attack was raised.
Jesse's speed was raised.
Disco Kid is paralysed! It can't move!
The rain stopped.
Jesse's leftovers restored its health a little!
Jesse restored 6% of its health.
Disco Kid's leftovers restored its health a little!
Disco Kid restored 6% of its health.

Doc Louis switched in Mr Sandman (lvl 100 Tyranitar ).
Mr Sandman's Sand Stream whipped up a sandstorm!
A sandstorm brewed!
Mr Sandman was badly poisoned!
Mr Sandman was badly poisoned by the Toxic Spikes!
Jesse used Dragon Dance.
Jesse's attack was raised.
Jesse's speed was raised.
The sandstorm rages.
Jesse is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Jesse lost 6% of its health.
Jesse's leftovers restored its health a little!
Jesse restored 6% of its health.
Mr Sandman is hurt by poison!
Mr Sandman lost 6% of its health.

Jesse used Waterfall.
It's super effective!
Mr Sandman lost 94% of its health.
Doc Louis's Mr Sandman fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
Jesse is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Jesse lost 6% of its health.
Jesse's leftovers restored its health a little!
Jesse restored 6% of its health.

Doc Louis switched in Bald Bull (lvl 100 Tauros ).
Bald Bull's intimidate cut Jesse's attack!
Bald Bull was badly poisoned!
Bald Bull was badly poisoned by the Toxic Spikes!
Jesse used Waterfall.
Bald Bull lost 71% of its health.
Bald Bull used Return.
Jesse lost 61% of its health.
The sandstorm rages.
Jesse is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Jesse lost 6% of its health.
Bald Bull is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Bald Bull lost 6% of its health.
Jesse's leftovers restored its health a little!
Jesse restored 6% of its health.
Bald Bull is hurt by poison!
Bald Bull lost 6% of its health.
Doc Louis's Bald Bull fainted.

Doc Louis switched in Disco Kid (lvl 100 Ludicolo ).
Jesse used Taunt.
Disco Kid fell for the taunt!
Disco Kid used Ice Beam.
Jesse lost 19% of its health.
The sandstorm rages.
Jesse is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Jesse lost 6% of its health.
Disco Kid is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Disco Kid lost 6% of its health.
Jesse's leftovers restored its health a little!
Jesse restored 6% of its health.
Disco Kid's leftovers restored its health a little!
Disco Kid restored 6% of its health.

Jesse used Waterfall.
It's not very effective...
Disco Kid lost 21% of its health.
Disco Kid used Ice Beam.
Jesse lost 14% of its health.
OpIvy's Jesse fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
Disco Kid is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Disco Kid lost 6% of its health.
Disco Kid's leftovers restored its health a little!
Disco Kid restored 6% of its health.

OpIvy switched in Take Warning (lvl 100 Donphan ).
OpIvy: misclick ffff
Take Warning used Ice Shard.
Disco Kid lost 22% of its health.
Doc Louis's Disco Kid fainted.
OpIvy wins!
OpIvy: gg

Rules: Ladder Match, Sleep Clause, Freeze Clause, OHKO Clause, Evasion Clause, Species Clause, Strict Damage Clause, Soul Dew Clause
FalseHopez sent out LittleMac (lvl 100 Breloom ?).
Homunculus sent out Smeargle (lvl 100 Smeargle ?).
LittleMac used Spore.
Smeargle fell asleep!
Smeargle is fast asleep!
---
FalseHopez switched in MokeyMokey (lvl 100 Infernape ?).
Smeargle is fast asleep!
---
Homunculus switched in Heatran (lvl 100 Heatran ?).
MokeyMokey used Close Combat.
It's super effective!
Heatran lost 100% of its health.
Homunculus's Heatran fainted.
MokeyMokey's defence was lowered.
MokeyMokey's special defence was lowered.
---
Homunculus switched in Metagross (lvl 100 Metagross).
FalseHopez switched in RyuAzure (lvl 100 Gyarados ?).
Metagross used Explosion.
RyuAzure lost 100% of its health.
FalseHopez's RyuAzure fainted.
Homunculus's Metagross fainted.
---
FalseHopez switched in LittleMac (lvl 100 Breloom ?).
Homunculus switched in Registeel (lvl 100 Registeel).
FalseHopez switched in H0ll0w (lvl 100 Dusknoir ?).
H0ll0w is exerting its pressure!
Registeel used Explosion.
It doesn't affect H0ll0w...
Homunculus's Registeel fainted.
---
Homunculus switched in Regirock (lvl 100 Regirock).
Regirock used Explosion.
It doesn't affect H0ll0w...
Homunculus's Regirock fainted.
H0ll0w used Will-o-wisp.
But there was no target!
---
Homunculus switched in Shuckle (lvl 100 Shuckle ?).
FalseHopez switched in MokeyMokey (lvl 100 Infernape ?).
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's defence was sharply raised.
---
MokeyMokey used Close Combat.
Shuckle lost 20% of its health.
MokeyMokey's defence was lowered.
MokeyMokey's special defence was lowered.
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's special attack was sharply raised.
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
---
FalseHopez switched in BeatHeat (lvl 100 Heatran ?).
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's accuracy was sharply raised.
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
---
BeatHeat used Substitute.
BeatHeat lost 25% of its health.
BeatHeat made a substitute!
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's special defence was sharply raised.
BeatHeat's leftovers restored its health a little!
BeatHeat restored 6% of its health.
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
---
BeatHeat used Toxic.
Shuckle was badly poisoned!
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's accuracy was sharply raised.
BeatHeat's leftovers restored its health a little!
BeatHeat restored 6% of its health.
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 2% of its health.
Shuckle is hurt by poison!
Shuckle lost 6% of its health.
---
BeatHeat used Fire Blast.
BeatHeat's attack missed!
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's special defence was sharply raised.
BeatHeat's leftovers restored its health a little!
BeatHeat restored 6% of its health.
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
Shuckle is hurt by poison!
Shuckle lost 12% of its health.
---
BeatHeat used Fire Blast.
Shuckle lost 14% of its health.
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's special defence was sharply raised.
BeatHeat's leftovers restored its health a little!
BeatHeat restored 6% of its health.
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
Shuckle is hurt by poison!
Shuckle lost 18% of its health.
---
BeatHeat used Fire Blast.
Shuckle lost 11% of its health.
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's evasion was sharply raised.
BeatHeat's leftovers restored its health a little!
BeatHeat restored 0% of its health.
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
Shuckle is hurt by poison!
Shuckle lost 25% of its health.
---
BeatHeat used Fire Blast.
Shuckle lost 11% of its health.
Shuckle used Rest.
Shuckle fell asleep!
Shuckle restored 79% of its health.
---
FalseHopez switched in MokeyMokey (lvl 100 Infernape ?).
Shuckle is fast asleep!
---
MokeyMokey used Stone Edge.
MokeyMokey's attack missed!
Shuckle is fast asleep!
---
MokeyMokey used Stone Edge.
MokeyMokey's attack missed!
Shuckle woke up!
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's speed was sharply raised.
---
MokeyMokey used Stone Edge.
MokeyMokey's attack missed!
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's speed was sharply raised.
---
MokeyMokey used Stone Edge.
It's super effective!
Shuckle lost 23% of its health.
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's evasion was sharply raised.
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
---
MokeyMokey used Stone Edge.
It's super effective!
Shuckle lost 21% of its health.
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's special attack was sharply raised.
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
---
MokeyMokey used Stone Edge.
MokeyMokey's attack missed!
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's special attack was sharply raised.
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
---
FalseHopez switched in BeatHeat (lvl 100 Heatran ?).
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's attack was sharply raised.
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
---
BeatHeat used Substitute.
BeatHeat lost 25% of its health.
BeatHeat made a substitute!
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's speed was sharply raised.
BeatHeat's leftovers restored its health a little!
BeatHeat restored 6% of its health.
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
---
BeatHeat used Toxic.
Shuckle was badly poisoned!
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's special attack won't go higher!
BeatHeat's leftovers restored its health a little!
BeatHeat restored 6% of its health.
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
Shuckle is hurt by poison!
Shuckle lost 6% of its health.
---
FalseHopez switched in MokeyMokey (lvl 100 Infernape ?).
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's accuracy was sharply raised.
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
Shuckle is hurt by poison!
Shuckle lost 12% of its health.
---
MokeyMokey used Flare Blitz.
MokeyMokey's attack missed!
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's special attack won't go higher!
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
Shuckle is hurt by poison!
Shuckle lost 18% of its health.
---
MokeyMokey used Flare Blitz.
Shuckle lost 19% of its health.
MokeyMokey was hit by recoil!
MokeyMokey lost 5% of its health.
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's defence was sharply raised.
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
Shuckle is hurt by poison!
Shuckle lost 25% of its health.
---
FalseHopez switched in BeatHeat (lvl 100 Heatran ?).
Shuckle used Rest.
Shuckle fell asleep!
Shuckle restored 69% of its health.
BeatHeat's leftovers restored its health a little!
BeatHeat restored 6% of its health.
---
FalseHopez switched in LittleMac (lvl 100 Breloom ?).
Shuckle is fast asleep!
---
LittleMac used Stone Edge.
It's super effective!
Shuckle lost 14% of its health.
Shuckle is fast asleep!
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
---
LittleMac used Stone Edge.
LittleMac's attack missed!
Shuckle woke up!
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's special attack won't go higher!
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
---
FalseHopez switched in H0ll0w (lvl 100 Dusknoir ?).
H0ll0w is exerting its pressure!
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's special attack won't go higher!
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 2% of its health.
---
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's accuracy won't go higher!
H0ll0w used Will-o-wisp.
H0ll0w's attack missed!
---
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's special defence won't go higher!
H0ll0w used Will-o-wisp.
H0ll0w's attack missed!
---
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's attack was sharply raised.
H0ll0w used Will-o-wisp.
Shuckle was burned!
Shuckle was hurt by its burn!
Shuckle lost 12% of its health.
---
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's attack was sharply raised.
H0ll0w used Ice Punch.
H0ll0w's attack missed!
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
Shuckle was hurt by its burn!
Shuckle lost 12% of its health.
---
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's special attack won't go higher!
H0ll0w used Ice Punch.
Shuckle lost 4% of its health.
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
Shuckle was hurt by its burn!
Shuckle lost 12% of its health.
---
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's evasion was sharply raised.
H0ll0w used Ice Punch.
H0ll0w's attack missed!
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
Shuckle was hurt by its burn!
Shuckle lost 12% of its health.
---
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's speed won't go higher!
H0ll0w used Ice Punch.
H0ll0w's attack missed!
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
Shuckle was hurt by its burn!
Shuckle lost 12% of its health.
---
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's special defence won't go higher!
H0ll0w used Ice Punch.
H0ll0w's attack missed!
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
Shuckle was hurt by its burn!
Shuckle lost 12% of its health.
---
Shuckle used Acupressure.
Shuckle's defence was sharply raised.
H0ll0w used Ice Punch.
H0ll0w's attack missed!
Shuckle's leftovers restored its health a little!
Shuckle restored 6% of its health.
Shuckle was hurt by its burn!
Shuckle lost 12% of its health.
---
Shuckle used Rest.
Shuckle fell asleep!
Shuckle restored 53% of its health.
H0ll0w used Ice Punch.
H0ll0w's attack missed!
---
FalseHopez switched in MokeyMokey (lvl 100 Infernape ?).
Shuckle is fast asleep!
---
MokeyMokey used Close Combat.
MokeyMokey's attack missed!
Shuckle is fast asleep!
---
FalseHopez switched in H0ll0w (lvl 100 Dusknoir ?).
H0ll0w is exerting its pressure!
Shuckle woke up!
Shuckle used Rollout.
H0ll0w lost 7% of its health.
H0ll0w's leftovers restored its health a little!
H0ll0w restored 6% of its health.
---
Shuckle used Rollout.
H0ll0w lost 15% of its health.
H0ll0w used Pain Split.
H0ll0w's attack missed!
H0ll0w's leftovers restored its health a little!
H0ll0w restored 6% of its health.
---
FalseHopez switched in QuadArm (lvl 100 Metagross).
Shuckle used Rollout.
It's not very effective...
A critical hit!
QuadArm lost 20% of its health.
QuadArm's leftovers restored its health a little!
QuadArm restored 6% of its health.
---
Shuckle used Rollout.
It's not very effective...
QuadArm lost 24% of its health.
QuadArm used Meteor Mash.
QuadArm's attack missed!
QuadArm's leftovers restored its health a little!
QuadArm restored 6% of its health.
---
Shuckle used Rollout.
It's not very effective...
QuadArm lost 45% of its health.
QuadArm used Meteor Mash.
QuadArm's attack missed!
QuadArm's leftovers restored its health a little!
QuadArm restored 6% of its health.
---
FalseHopez switched in H0ll0w (lvl 100 Dusknoir ?).
H0ll0w is exerting its pressure!
Shuckle used Rollout.
H0ll0w lost 90% of its health.
FalseHopez's H0ll0w fainted.
---
FalseHopez switched in QuadArm (lvl 100 Metagross).
Shuckle used Rollout.
It's not very effective...
QuadArm lost 3% of its health.
QuadArm used Explosion.
QuadArm's attack missed!
FalseHopez's QuadArm fainted.
---
FalseHopez switched in MokeyMokey (lvl 100 Infernape ?).
MokeyMokey used Flare Blitz.
MokeyMokey's attack missed!
Shuckle used Rollout.
MokeyMokey lost 31% of its health.
---
MokeyMokey used Flare Blitz.
MokeyMokey's attack missed!
Shuckle used Rollout.
MokeyMokey lost 57% of its health.
---
MokeyMokey used Flare Blitz.
MokeyMokey's attack missed!
Shuckle used Rollout.
MokeyMokey lost 7% of its health.
FalseHopez's MokeyMokey fainted.
---
FalseHopez switched in LittleMac (lvl 100 Breloom ?).
LittleMac used Spore.
LittleMac's attack missed!
Shuckle used Rollout.
It's not very effective...
LittleMac lost 100% of its health.
FalseHopez's LittleMac fainted.
---
FalseHopez has left the room.
Homunculus wins!

Meh, average. Getting better, but HS is still a *****. >:V

lol. I couldn't resist attacking your Harry Potter avvie.

"Do you know what I think, Potter?"

.....

He was asking for it. ^^

Really? ;___;

I guess it's fun then.

Dear god. How can you like that?!

No interest in? Wynaut?

I think you're one of the better members on this site for quite a few reasons. You're dedicated, active, friendly. You seem to be here more for the general discussion than gaming, but that's just fine.

You still have quite a few glaring problems, like stepping out of line in certain threads. (a lot of what you do in User Blogs.)

As I said in the thread, it's a friend who asked me to create a profile for him, but then decided not to join this community, he didn't want me to say it was him, cause he'd look stupid, so he told me to invent the brother and as I saw you didn't believe it I thought about the alt!

Rules: Ladder Match, Sleep Clause, Freeze Clause, OHKO Clause, Evasion Clause, Species Clause, Strict Damage Clause, Soul Dew Clause
elnoobish sent out Pokemon1 (lvl 100 Tyranitar ?).
Scyphozoa sent out Envy (lvl 100 Infernape ?).
Pokemon1's Sand Stream whipped up a sandstorm!
A sandstorm brewed!
elnoobish: gl
Scyphozoa: heh
Envy used Stealth Rock.
Pointed stones float in the air around the foe's team!
Pokemon1 used Stealth Rock.
Pointed stones float in the air around the foe's team!
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
Envy used Close Combat.
It's super effective!
Pokemon1 lost 100% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon1 fainted.
Envy's defence was lowered.
Envy's special defence was lowered.
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon3 (lvl 100 Jirachi).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon3.
Pokemon3 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon3 used Iron Head.
It's not very effective...
Envy lost 37% of its health.
Envy flinched!
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
Pokemon3 used Iron Head.
It's not very effective...
Envy lost 35% of its health.
Envy used Overheat.
It's super effective!
Pokemon3 lost 94% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon3 fainted.
Envy's special attack was harshly lowered.
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon5 (lvl 100 Flygon ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon5.
Pokemon5 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 used U-turn.
It's not very effective...
Envy lost 3% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Envy fainted.
elnoobish switched in Pokemon2 (lvl 100 Mamoswine ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon2.
Pokemon2 lost 12% of its health.
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon2's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon2 restored 6% of its health.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Sloth (lvl 100 Lucario ?).
Pointed stones dug into Sloth.
Sloth lost 3% of its health.
Pokemon2 used Protect.
Pokemon2 protected itself!
Sloth used Close Combat.
Pokemon2 protected itself!
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon2's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon2 restored 6% of its health.
---
Sloth used Close Combat.
It's super effective!
Pokemon2 lost 100% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon2 fainted.
Sloth's defence was lowered.
Sloth's special defence was lowered.
Sloth lost 10% of its health.
The sandstorm rages.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon5 (lvl 100 Flygon ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon5.
Pokemon5 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 used Earthquake.
It's super effective!
Sloth lost 87% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Sloth fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Wrath (lvl 100 Salamence ?).
Wrath's intimidate cut Pokemon5's attack!
Pointed stones dug into Wrath.
Wrath lost 25% of its health.
elnoobish switched in Pokemon4 (lvl 100 Abomasnow ?).
Pokemon4's Snow Warning whipped up a hailstorm!
The sandstorm stopped.
Hail began to fall!
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon4.
Pokemon4 lost 25% of its health.
Wrath used Draco Meteor.
Pokemon4 lost 75% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon4 fainted.
Wrath's special attack was harshly lowered.
Wrath lost 10% of its health.
The hail continues to fall.
Wrath is pelted by hail!
Wrath lost 6% of its health.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon6 (lvl 100 Walrein ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon6.
Pokemon6 lost 25% of its health.
Wrath used Fire Blast.
Pokemon6 lost 21% of its health.
Wrath lost 10% of its health.
Pokemon6 used Ice Beam.
It's super effective!
Wrath lost 49% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Wrath fainted.
The hail continues to fall.
Pokemon6 absorbed the hail!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
Pokemon6's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Pride (lvl 100 Tyranitar ?).
Pride's Sand Stream whipped up a sandstorm!
The hail stopped.
A sandstorm brewed!
Pointed stones dug into Pride.
Pride lost 12% of its health.
Pokemon6 used Surf.
It's super effective!
Pride lost 36% of its health.
Pride used Flamethrower.
Pokemon6 lost 19% of its health.
Pokemon6 was burned!
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon6 is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Pokemon6 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon6's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
Pokemon6 was hurt by its burn!
Pokemon6 lost 12% of its health.
---
Pokemon6 used Protect.
Pokemon6 protected itself!
Pride used Earthquake.
Pokemon6 protected itself!
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon6 is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Pokemon6 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon6's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
Pokemon6 was hurt by its burn!
Pokemon6 lost 12% of its health.
---
Pokemon6 used Surf.
It's super effective!
Pride lost 36% of its health.
Pride used Earthquake.
Pokemon6 lost 23% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon6 fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon5 (lvl 100 Flygon ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon5.
Pokemon5 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 used Outrage.
Pokemon5 went on a rampage!
Pride lost 16% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Pride fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Lust (lvl 100 Gyarados ?).
Lust's intimidate cut Pokemon5's attack!
Pointed stones dug into Lust.
Lust lost 25% of its health.
Pokemon5 used Outrage.
Lust lost 52% of its health.
Lust used Stone Edge.
Lust's attack missed!
The sandstorm rages.
Lust is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Lust lost 6% of its health.
---
Pokemon5 used Outrage.
Lust lost 18% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Lust fainted.
Pokemon5's rampage ended.
Pokemon5 became confused!
The sandstorm rages.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Greed (lvl 100 Metagross).
Pointed stones dug into Greed.
Greed lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 is confused!
It hurt itself in its confusion!
Pokemon5 lost 12% of its health.
Greed used Explosion.
Pokemon5 lost 69% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon5 fainted.
Scyphozoa wins!
elnoobish: gg
Scyphozoa: gg
elnoobish has left the room.

Rules: Ladder Match, Sleep Clause, Freeze Clause, OHKO Clause, Evasion Clause, Species Clause, Strict Damage Clause, Soul Dew Clause
elnoobish sent out Pokemon1 (lvl 100 Tyranitar ?).
Scyphozoa sent out Envy (lvl 100 Infernape ?).
Pokemon1's Sand Stream whipped up a sandstorm!
A sandstorm brewed!
elnoobish: gl
Scyphozoa: heh
Envy used Stealth Rock.
Pointed stones float in the air around the foe's team!
Pokemon1 used Stealth Rock.
Pointed stones float in the air around the foe's team!
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
Envy used Close Combat.
It's super effective!
Pokemon1 lost 100% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon1 fainted.
Envy's defence was lowered.
Envy's special defence was lowered.
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon3 (lvl 100 Jirachi).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon3.
Pokemon3 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon3 used Iron Head.
It's not very effective...
Envy lost 37% of its health.
Envy flinched!
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
Pokemon3 used Iron Head.
It's not very effective...
Envy lost 35% of its health.
Envy used Overheat.
It's super effective!
Pokemon3 lost 94% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon3 fainted.
Envy's special attack was harshly lowered.
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon5 (lvl 100 Flygon ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon5.
Pokemon5 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 used U-turn.
It's not very effective...
Envy lost 3% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Envy fainted.
elnoobish switched in Pokemon2 (lvl 100 Mamoswine ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon2.
Pokemon2 lost 12% of its health.
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon2's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon2 restored 6% of its health.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Sloth (lvl 100 Lucario ?).
Pointed stones dug into Sloth.
Sloth lost 3% of its health.
Pokemon2 used Protect.
Pokemon2 protected itself!
Sloth used Close Combat.
Pokemon2 protected itself!
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon2's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon2 restored 6% of its health.
---
Sloth used Close Combat.
It's super effective!
Pokemon2 lost 100% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon2 fainted.
Sloth's defence was lowered.
Sloth's special defence was lowered.
Sloth lost 10% of its health.
The sandstorm rages.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon5 (lvl 100 Flygon ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon5.
Pokemon5 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 used Earthquake.
It's super effective!
Sloth lost 87% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Sloth fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Wrath (lvl 100 Salamence ?).
Wrath's intimidate cut Pokemon5's attack!
Pointed stones dug into Wrath.
Wrath lost 25% of its health.
elnoobish switched in Pokemon4 (lvl 100 Abomasnow ?).
Pokemon4's Snow Warning whipped up a hailstorm!
The sandstorm stopped.
Hail began to fall!
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon4.
Pokemon4 lost 25% of its health.
Wrath used Draco Meteor.
Pokemon4 lost 75% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon4 fainted.
Wrath's special attack was harshly lowered.
Wrath lost 10% of its health.
The hail continues to fall.
Wrath is pelted by hail!
Wrath lost 6% of its health.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon6 (lvl 100 Walrein ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon6.
Pokemon6 lost 25% of its health.
Wrath used Fire Blast.
Pokemon6 lost 21% of its health.
Wrath lost 10% of its health.
Pokemon6 used Ice Beam.
It's super effective!
Wrath lost 49% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Wrath fainted.
The hail continues to fall.
Pokemon6 absorbed the hail!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
Pokemon6's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Pride (lvl 100 Tyranitar ?).
Pride's Sand Stream whipped up a sandstorm!
The hail stopped.
A sandstorm brewed!
Pointed stones dug into Pride.
Pride lost 12% of its health.
Pokemon6 used Surf.
It's super effective!
Pride lost 36% of its health.
Pride used Flamethrower.
Pokemon6 lost 19% of its health.
Pokemon6 was burned!
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon6 is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Pokemon6 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon6's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
Pokemon6 was hurt by its burn!
Pokemon6 lost 12% of its health.
---
Pokemon6 used Protect.
Pokemon6 protected itself!
Pride used Earthquake.
Pokemon6 protected itself!
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon6 is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Pokemon6 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon6's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
Pokemon6 was hurt by its burn!
Pokemon6 lost 12% of its health.
---
Pokemon6 used Surf.
It's super effective!
Pride lost 36% of its health.
Pride used Earthquake.
Pokemon6 lost 23% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon6 fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon5 (lvl 100 Flygon ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon5.
Pokemon5 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 used Outrage.
Pokemon5 went on a rampage!
Pride lost 16% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Pride fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Lust (lvl 100 Gyarados ?).
Lust's intimidate cut Pokemon5's attack!
Pointed stones dug into Lust.
Lust lost 25% of its health.
Pokemon5 used Outrage.
Lust lost 52% of its health.
Lust used Stone Edge.
Lust's attack missed!
The sandstorm rages.
Lust is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Lust lost 6% of its health.
---
Pokemon5 used Outrage.
Lust lost 18% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Lust fainted.
Pokemon5's rampage ended.
Pokemon5 became confused!
The sandstorm rages.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Greed (lvl 100 Metagross).
Pointed stones dug into Greed.
Greed lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 is confused!
It hurt itself in its confusion!
Pokemon5 lost 12% of its health.
Greed used Explosion.
Pokemon5 lost 69% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon5 fainted.
Scyphozoa wins!
elnoobish: gg
Scyphozoa: gg
elnoobish has left the room.

Rules: Ladder Match, Sleep Clause, Freeze Clause, OHKO Clause, Evasion Clause, Species Clause, Strict Damage Clause, Soul Dew Clause
elnoobish sent out Pokemon1 (lvl 100 Tyranitar ?).
Scyphozoa sent out Envy (lvl 100 Infernape ?).
Pokemon1's Sand Stream whipped up a sandstorm!
A sandstorm brewed!
elnoobish: gl
Scyphozoa: heh
Envy used Stealth Rock.
Pointed stones float in the air around the foe's team!
Pokemon1 used Stealth Rock.
Pointed stones float in the air around the foe's team!
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
Envy used Close Combat.
It's super effective!
Pokemon1 lost 100% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon1 fainted.
Envy's defence was lowered.
Envy's special defence was lowered.
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon3 (lvl 100 Jirachi).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon3.
Pokemon3 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon3 used Iron Head.
It's not very effective...
Envy lost 37% of its health.
Envy flinched!
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
Pokemon3 used Iron Head.
It's not very effective...
Envy lost 35% of its health.
Envy used Overheat.
It's super effective!
Pokemon3 lost 94% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon3 fainted.
Envy's special attack was harshly lowered.
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon5 (lvl 100 Flygon ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon5.
Pokemon5 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 used U-turn.
It's not very effective...
Envy lost 3% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Envy fainted.
elnoobish switched in Pokemon2 (lvl 100 Mamoswine ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon2.
Pokemon2 lost 12% of its health.
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon2's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon2 restored 6% of its health.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Sloth (lvl 100 Lucario ?).
Pointed stones dug into Sloth.
Sloth lost 3% of its health.
Pokemon2 used Protect.
Pokemon2 protected itself!
Sloth used Close Combat.
Pokemon2 protected itself!
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon2's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon2 restored 6% of its health.
---
Sloth used Close Combat.
It's super effective!
Pokemon2 lost 100% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon2 fainted.
Sloth's defence was lowered.
Sloth's special defence was lowered.
Sloth lost 10% of its health.
The sandstorm rages.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon5 (lvl 100 Flygon ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon5.
Pokemon5 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 used Earthquake.
It's super effective!
Sloth lost 87% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Sloth fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Wrath (lvl 100 Salamence ?).
Wrath's intimidate cut Pokemon5's attack!
Pointed stones dug into Wrath.
Wrath lost 25% of its health.
elnoobish switched in Pokemon4 (lvl 100 Abomasnow ?).
Pokemon4's Snow Warning whipped up a hailstorm!
The sandstorm stopped.
Hail began to fall!
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon4.
Pokemon4 lost 25% of its health.
Wrath used Draco Meteor.
Pokemon4 lost 75% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon4 fainted.
Wrath's special attack was harshly lowered.
Wrath lost 10% of its health.
The hail continues to fall.
Wrath is pelted by hail!
Wrath lost 6% of its health.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon6 (lvl 100 Walrein ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon6.
Pokemon6 lost 25% of its health.
Wrath used Fire Blast.
Pokemon6 lost 21% of its health.
Wrath lost 10% of its health.
Pokemon6 used Ice Beam.
It's super effective!
Wrath lost 49% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Wrath fainted.
The hail continues to fall.
Pokemon6 absorbed the hail!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
Pokemon6's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Pride (lvl 100 Tyranitar ?).
Pride's Sand Stream whipped up a sandstorm!
The hail stopped.
A sandstorm brewed!
Pointed stones dug into Pride.
Pride lost 12% of its health.
Pokemon6 used Surf.
It's super effective!
Pride lost 36% of its health.
Pride used Flamethrower.
Pokemon6 lost 19% of its health.
Pokemon6 was burned!
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon6 is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Pokemon6 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon6's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
Pokemon6 was hurt by its burn!
Pokemon6 lost 12% of its health.
---
Pokemon6 used Protect.
Pokemon6 protected itself!
Pride used Earthquake.
Pokemon6 protected itself!
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon6 is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Pokemon6 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon6's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
Pokemon6 was hurt by its burn!
Pokemon6 lost 12% of its health.
---
Pokemon6 used Surf.
It's super effective!
Pride lost 36% of its health.
Pride used Earthquake.
Pokemon6 lost 23% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon6 fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon5 (lvl 100 Flygon ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon5.
Pokemon5 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 used Outrage.
Pokemon5 went on a rampage!
Pride lost 16% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Pride fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Lust (lvl 100 Gyarados ?).
Lust's intimidate cut Pokemon5's attack!
Pointed stones dug into Lust.
Lust lost 25% of its health.
Pokemon5 used Outrage.
Lust lost 52% of its health.
Lust used Stone Edge.
Lust's attack missed!
The sandstorm rages.
Lust is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Lust lost 6% of its health.
---
Pokemon5 used Outrage.
Lust lost 18% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Lust fainted.
Pokemon5's rampage ended.
Pokemon5 became confused!
The sandstorm rages.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Greed (lvl 100 Metagross).
Pointed stones dug into Greed.
Greed lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 is confused!
It hurt itself in its confusion!
Pokemon5 lost 12% of its health.
Greed used Explosion.
Pokemon5 lost 69% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon5 fainted.
Scyphozoa wins!
elnoobish: gg
Scyphozoa: gg
elnoobish has left the room.

Rules: Ladder Match, Sleep Clause, Freeze Clause, OHKO Clause, Evasion Clause, Species Clause, Strict Damage Clause, Soul Dew Clause
elnoobish sent out Pokemon1 (lvl 100 Tyranitar ?).
Scyphozoa sent out Envy (lvl 100 Infernape ?).
Pokemon1's Sand Stream whipped up a sandstorm!
A sandstorm brewed!
elnoobish: gl
Scyphozoa: heh
Envy used Stealth Rock.
Pointed stones float in the air around the foe's team!
Pokemon1 used Stealth Rock.
Pointed stones float in the air around the foe's team!
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
Envy used Close Combat.
It's super effective!
Pokemon1 lost 100% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon1 fainted.
Envy's defence was lowered.
Envy's special defence was lowered.
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon3 (lvl 100 Jirachi).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon3.
Pokemon3 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon3 used Iron Head.
It's not very effective...
Envy lost 37% of its health.
Envy flinched!
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
Pokemon3 used Iron Head.
It's not very effective...
Envy lost 35% of its health.
Envy used Overheat.
It's super effective!
Pokemon3 lost 94% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon3 fainted.
Envy's special attack was harshly lowered.
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon5 (lvl 100 Flygon ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon5.
Pokemon5 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 used U-turn.
It's not very effective...
Envy lost 3% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Envy fainted.
elnoobish switched in Pokemon2 (lvl 100 Mamoswine ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon2.
Pokemon2 lost 12% of its health.
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon2's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon2 restored 6% of its health.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Sloth (lvl 100 Lucario ?).
Pointed stones dug into Sloth.
Sloth lost 3% of its health.
Pokemon2 used Protect.
Pokemon2 protected itself!
Sloth used Close Combat.
Pokemon2 protected itself!
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon2's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon2 restored 6% of its health.
---
Sloth used Close Combat.
It's super effective!
Pokemon2 lost 100% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon2 fainted.
Sloth's defence was lowered.
Sloth's special defence was lowered.
Sloth lost 10% of its health.
The sandstorm rages.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon5 (lvl 100 Flygon ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon5.
Pokemon5 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 used Earthquake.
It's super effective!
Sloth lost 87% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Sloth fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Wrath (lvl 100 Salamence ?).
Wrath's intimidate cut Pokemon5's attack!
Pointed stones dug into Wrath.
Wrath lost 25% of its health.
elnoobish switched in Pokemon4 (lvl 100 Abomasnow ?).
Pokemon4's Snow Warning whipped up a hailstorm!
The sandstorm stopped.
Hail began to fall!
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon4.
Pokemon4 lost 25% of its health.
Wrath used Draco Meteor.
Pokemon4 lost 75% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon4 fainted.
Wrath's special attack was harshly lowered.
Wrath lost 10% of its health.
The hail continues to fall.
Wrath is pelted by hail!
Wrath lost 6% of its health.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon6 (lvl 100 Walrein ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon6.
Pokemon6 lost 25% of its health.
Wrath used Fire Blast.
Pokemon6 lost 21% of its health.
Wrath lost 10% of its health.
Pokemon6 used Ice Beam.
It's super effective!
Wrath lost 49% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Wrath fainted.
The hail continues to fall.
Pokemon6 absorbed the hail!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
Pokemon6's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Pride (lvl 100 Tyranitar ?).
Pride's Sand Stream whipped up a sandstorm!
The hail stopped.
A sandstorm brewed!
Pointed stones dug into Pride.
Pride lost 12% of its health.
Pokemon6 used Surf.
It's super effective!
Pride lost 36% of its health.
Pride used Flamethrower.
Pokemon6 lost 19% of its health.
Pokemon6 was burned!
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon6 is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Pokemon6 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon6's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
Pokemon6 was hurt by its burn!
Pokemon6 lost 12% of its health.
---
Pokemon6 used Protect.
Pokemon6 protected itself!
Pride used Earthquake.
Pokemon6 protected itself!
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon6 is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Pokemon6 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon6's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
Pokemon6 was hurt by its burn!
Pokemon6 lost 12% of its health.
---
Pokemon6 used Surf.
It's super effective!
Pride lost 36% of its health.
Pride used Earthquake.
Pokemon6 lost 23% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon6 fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon5 (lvl 100 Flygon ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon5.
Pokemon5 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 used Outrage.
Pokemon5 went on a rampage!
Pride lost 16% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Pride fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Lust (lvl 100 Gyarados ?).
Lust's intimidate cut Pokemon5's attack!
Pointed stones dug into Lust.
Lust lost 25% of its health.
Pokemon5 used Outrage.
Lust lost 52% of its health.
Lust used Stone Edge.
Lust's attack missed!
The sandstorm rages.
Lust is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Lust lost 6% of its health.
---
Pokemon5 used Outrage.
Lust lost 18% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Lust fainted.
Pokemon5's rampage ended.
Pokemon5 became confused!
The sandstorm rages.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Greed (lvl 100 Metagross).
Pointed stones dug into Greed.
Greed lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 is confused!
It hurt itself in its confusion!
Pokemon5 lost 12% of its health.
Greed used Explosion.
Pokemon5 lost 69% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon5 fainted.
Scyphozoa wins!
elnoobish: gg
Scyphozoa: gg
elnoobish has left the room.

Rules: Ladder Match, Sleep Clause, Freeze Clause, OHKO Clause, Evasion Clause, Species Clause, Strict Damage Clause, Soul Dew Clause
elnoobish sent out Pokemon1 (lvl 100 Tyranitar ?).
Scyphozoa sent out Envy (lvl 100 Infernape ?).
Pokemon1's Sand Stream whipped up a sandstorm!
A sandstorm brewed!
elnoobish: gl
Scyphozoa: heh
Envy used Stealth Rock.
Pointed stones float in the air around the foe's team!
Pokemon1 used Stealth Rock.
Pointed stones float in the air around the foe's team!
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
Envy used Close Combat.
It's super effective!
Pokemon1 lost 100% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon1 fainted.
Envy's defence was lowered.
Envy's special defence was lowered.
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon3 (lvl 100 Jirachi).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon3.
Pokemon3 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon3 used Iron Head.
It's not very effective...
Envy lost 37% of its health.
Envy flinched!
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
Pokemon3 used Iron Head.
It's not very effective...
Envy lost 35% of its health.
Envy used Overheat.
It's super effective!
Pokemon3 lost 94% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon3 fainted.
Envy's special attack was harshly lowered.
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon5 (lvl 100 Flygon ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon5.
Pokemon5 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 used U-turn.
It's not very effective...
Envy lost 3% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Envy fainted.
elnoobish switched in Pokemon2 (lvl 100 Mamoswine ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon2.
Pokemon2 lost 12% of its health.
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon2's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon2 restored 6% of its health.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Sloth (lvl 100 Lucario ?).
Pointed stones dug into Sloth.
Sloth lost 3% of its health.
Pokemon2 used Protect.
Pokemon2 protected itself!
Sloth used Close Combat.
Pokemon2 protected itself!
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon2's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon2 restored 6% of its health.
---
Sloth used Close Combat.
It's super effective!
Pokemon2 lost 100% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon2 fainted.
Sloth's defence was lowered.
Sloth's special defence was lowered.
Sloth lost 10% of its health.
The sandstorm rages.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon5 (lvl 100 Flygon ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon5.
Pokemon5 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 used Earthquake.
It's super effective!
Sloth lost 87% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Sloth fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Wrath (lvl 100 Salamence ?).
Wrath's intimidate cut Pokemon5's attack!
Pointed stones dug into Wrath.
Wrath lost 25% of its health.
elnoobish switched in Pokemon4 (lvl 100 Abomasnow ?).
Pokemon4's Snow Warning whipped up a hailstorm!
The sandstorm stopped.
Hail began to fall!
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon4.
Pokemon4 lost 25% of its health.
Wrath used Draco Meteor.
Pokemon4 lost 75% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon4 fainted.
Wrath's special attack was harshly lowered.
Wrath lost 10% of its health.
The hail continues to fall.
Wrath is pelted by hail!
Wrath lost 6% of its health.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon6 (lvl 100 Walrein ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon6.
Pokemon6 lost 25% of its health.
Wrath used Fire Blast.
Pokemon6 lost 21% of its health.
Wrath lost 10% of its health.
Pokemon6 used Ice Beam.
It's super effective!
Wrath lost 49% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Wrath fainted.
The hail continues to fall.
Pokemon6 absorbed the hail!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
Pokemon6's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Pride (lvl 100 Tyranitar ?).
Pride's Sand Stream whipped up a sandstorm!
The hail stopped.
A sandstorm brewed!
Pointed stones dug into Pride.
Pride lost 12% of its health.
Pokemon6 used Surf.
It's super effective!
Pride lost 36% of its health.
Pride used Flamethrower.
Pokemon6 lost 19% of its health.
Pokemon6 was burned!
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon6 is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Pokemon6 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon6's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
Pokemon6 was hurt by its burn!
Pokemon6 lost 12% of its health.
---
Pokemon6 used Protect.
Pokemon6 protected itself!
Pride used Earthquake.
Pokemon6 protected itself!
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon6 is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Pokemon6 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon6's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
Pokemon6 was hurt by its burn!
Pokemon6 lost 12% of its health.
---
Pokemon6 used Surf.
It's super effective!
Pride lost 36% of its health.
Pride used Earthquake.
Pokemon6 lost 23% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon6 fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon5 (lvl 100 Flygon ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon5.
Pokemon5 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 used Outrage.
Pokemon5 went on a rampage!
Pride lost 16% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Pride fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Lust (lvl 100 Gyarados ?).
Lust's intimidate cut Pokemon5's attack!
Pointed stones dug into Lust.
Lust lost 25% of its health.
Pokemon5 used Outrage.
Lust lost 52% of its health.
Lust used Stone Edge.
Lust's attack missed!
The sandstorm rages.
Lust is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Lust lost 6% of its health.
---
Pokemon5 used Outrage.
Lust lost 18% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Lust fainted.
Pokemon5's rampage ended.
Pokemon5 became confused!
The sandstorm rages.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Greed (lvl 100 Metagross).
Pointed stones dug into Greed.
Greed lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 is confused!
It hurt itself in its confusion!
Pokemon5 lost 12% of its health.
Greed used Explosion.
Pokemon5 lost 69% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon5 fainted.
Scyphozoa wins!
elnoobish: gg
Scyphozoa: gg
elnoobish has left the room.

Rules: Ladder Match, Sleep Clause, Freeze Clause, OHKO Clause, Evasion Clause, Species Clause, Strict Damage Clause, Soul Dew Clause
elnoobish sent out Pokemon1 (lvl 100 Tyranitar ?).
Scyphozoa sent out Envy (lvl 100 Infernape ?).
Pokemon1's Sand Stream whipped up a sandstorm!
A sandstorm brewed!
elnoobish: gl
Scyphozoa: heh
Envy used Stealth Rock.
Pointed stones float in the air around the foe's team!
Pokemon1 used Stealth Rock.
Pointed stones float in the air around the foe's team!
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
Envy used Close Combat.
It's super effective!
Pokemon1 lost 100% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon1 fainted.
Envy's defence was lowered.
Envy's special defence was lowered.
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon3 (lvl 100 Jirachi).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon3.
Pokemon3 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon3 used Iron Head.
It's not very effective...
Envy lost 37% of its health.
Envy flinched!
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
Pokemon3 used Iron Head.
It's not very effective...
Envy lost 35% of its health.
Envy used Overheat.
It's super effective!
Pokemon3 lost 94% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon3 fainted.
Envy's special attack was harshly lowered.
The sandstorm rages.
Envy is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Envy lost 6% of its health.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon5 (lvl 100 Flygon ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon5.
Pokemon5 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 used U-turn.
It's not very effective...
Envy lost 3% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Envy fainted.
elnoobish switched in Pokemon2 (lvl 100 Mamoswine ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon2.
Pokemon2 lost 12% of its health.
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon2's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon2 restored 6% of its health.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Sloth (lvl 100 Lucario ?).
Pointed stones dug into Sloth.
Sloth lost 3% of its health.
Pokemon2 used Protect.
Pokemon2 protected itself!
Sloth used Close Combat.
Pokemon2 protected itself!
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon2's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon2 restored 6% of its health.
---
Sloth used Close Combat.
It's super effective!
Pokemon2 lost 100% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon2 fainted.
Sloth's defence was lowered.
Sloth's special defence was lowered.
Sloth lost 10% of its health.
The sandstorm rages.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon5 (lvl 100 Flygon ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon5.
Pokemon5 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 used Earthquake.
It's super effective!
Sloth lost 87% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Sloth fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Wrath (lvl 100 Salamence ?).
Wrath's intimidate cut Pokemon5's attack!
Pointed stones dug into Wrath.
Wrath lost 25% of its health.
elnoobish switched in Pokemon4 (lvl 100 Abomasnow ?).
Pokemon4's Snow Warning whipped up a hailstorm!
The sandstorm stopped.
Hail began to fall!
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon4.
Pokemon4 lost 25% of its health.
Wrath used Draco Meteor.
Pokemon4 lost 75% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon4 fainted.
Wrath's special attack was harshly lowered.
Wrath lost 10% of its health.
The hail continues to fall.
Wrath is pelted by hail!
Wrath lost 6% of its health.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon6 (lvl 100 Walrein ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon6.
Pokemon6 lost 25% of its health.
Wrath used Fire Blast.
Pokemon6 lost 21% of its health.
Wrath lost 10% of its health.
Pokemon6 used Ice Beam.
It's super effective!
Wrath lost 49% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Wrath fainted.
The hail continues to fall.
Pokemon6 absorbed the hail!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
Pokemon6's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Pride (lvl 100 Tyranitar ?).
Pride's Sand Stream whipped up a sandstorm!
The hail stopped.
A sandstorm brewed!
Pointed stones dug into Pride.
Pride lost 12% of its health.
Pokemon6 used Surf.
It's super effective!
Pride lost 36% of its health.
Pride used Flamethrower.
Pokemon6 lost 19% of its health.
Pokemon6 was burned!
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon6 is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Pokemon6 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon6's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
Pokemon6 was hurt by its burn!
Pokemon6 lost 12% of its health.
---
Pokemon6 used Protect.
Pokemon6 protected itself!
Pride used Earthquake.
Pokemon6 protected itself!
The sandstorm rages.
Pokemon6 is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Pokemon6 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon6's leftovers restored its health a little!
Pokemon6 restored 6% of its health.
Pokemon6 was hurt by its burn!
Pokemon6 lost 12% of its health.
---
Pokemon6 used Surf.
It's super effective!
Pride lost 36% of its health.
Pride used Earthquake.
Pokemon6 lost 23% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon6 fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
---
elnoobish switched in Pokemon5 (lvl 100 Flygon ?).
Pointed stones dug into Pokemon5.
Pokemon5 lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 used Outrage.
Pokemon5 went on a rampage!
Pride lost 16% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Pride fainted.
The sandstorm rages.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Lust (lvl 100 Gyarados ?).
Lust's intimidate cut Pokemon5's attack!
Pointed stones dug into Lust.
Lust lost 25% of its health.
Pokemon5 used Outrage.
Lust lost 52% of its health.
Lust used Stone Edge.
Lust's attack missed!
The sandstorm rages.
Lust is buffetted by the sandstorm!
Lust lost 6% of its health.
---
Pokemon5 used Outrage.
Lust lost 18% of its health.
Scyphozoa's Lust fainted.
Pokemon5's rampage ended.
Pokemon5 became confused!
The sandstorm rages.
---
Scyphozoa switched in Greed (lvl 100 Metagross).
Pointed stones dug into Greed.
Greed lost 6% of its health.
Pokemon5 is confused!
It hurt itself in its confusion!
Pokemon5 lost 12% of its health.
Greed used Explosion.
Pokemon5 lost 69% of its health.
elnoobish's Pokemon5 fainted.
Scyphozoa wins!
elnoobish: gg
Scyphozoa: gg
elnoobish has left the room.

So true.
I will update the group.

The recent losses have been getting to me. I cant help it. NO ONE CAN BEAT A GOD. NO ONE CAN BEAT ME!

We don't want you to leave the chat, you're a cool dude (H)

You guys..... Aren't gonna stop until I either leave the chat completely or post a set, are you?

wat...........

So after a long week of packing, moving and otherwise hating such states as Nebraska, I return to make this week’s episode of the Recap! Once again I’d like to extend my thanks to Junahu for filling in for my in my absence; it was pretty cool seeing how someone else would handle this whole dealy…now let’s handle it the way we always have because change is scary! On to the movesets!

We ended last week with a MegaMan set…so why not start this week with one? Hornet Man by agidius marks the second moveset released by agi this contest. Hornet Man seems to be an interesting mixture of strategy and slathering sticky fluids onto your opponents so you KNOW it’s a good set right then and there. But in all seriousness, Hornet Man was met with mixed reception, mostly positive however. Just a shame that half of his page was kind of taken up by random ramblings from a newcomer…

Part of the reason Hornet Man’s reception was cut quite short was because of Frf’s massive comeback. Taking a page from the Rool Book of Insanity, Frf posted three Pokemon sets back to back: Hitmonlee, Hitmonchan and Hitmontop. With the “Hit family,” Frf obviously had a little less to work with than the elemental Eeveelutions but overall, I think he pulled it off quite nicely. Each set has their own quirks and uniqueness and the inclusion of a “playing on a team” segment was a nice touch. Overall, it seems the general opinion is Hitmonlee being the best with Hitmontop being the weakest…

After another mind-bogglingly thrilling set from Lord Sakurai, Chris decided to post a set for the REAL Black Knight of FE fame. Despite packing forty two metric kilos of Warp Powder, Lionheart managed to pull off a highly creative set for such a basic character that many would disregard as a slower, more powerful Ike clone. Best of all? He’s Smash possible! Yes! All those wacky, creative ideas would actually fit into Smash better than a glove fits on OJ. Too soon? Sorry…anyway, Black Knight was INSANELY well received gaining praise from everyone who read it and was generally regarded as blowing Thrall out of the water and then escaping in a white Ford Bronco…dammit! I did it again!

Upon clicking page 74 I was “greeted” by the terrifying sight of a man wearing swan slippers in a flamboyantly pink coat. Thinking I had somehow stumbled into a… “special interests” social group…I was about to click out of the window when I realized it was a new moveset by kirbywizard; Mr. 2 Bon Kurie. Now, I read my fair share of the Once Piece manga *dodges brick* (seriously, it’s way better than that abomination of an anime…) and I don’t really recall this guy (guess I didn’t read far enough) but whatever! Bon Kurie is…an interesting set to say the least (and by interesting I mean vaguely horrifying). Many people felt it was a step down from the superior Ghor, but kirbywizard admitted he made this set purely for fun so it’s awwwwwwwwwwwriiiiiight.

Continuing the apparent trend of page 74 having sets for characters from over the top animes, Katapultar decided to post a set from probably THE over the top anime; Suzu from Bobobo-bobo-bobo (lord I hate typing that…). Being the over the top anime it is, I half expected this set to be off the wall on the insanity meter; surprisingly, it wasn’t. Reception for Suzu was mostly mixed, many people liked the ideas you had (especially the specials) but many criticized the blatant overdetailing which I addressed in my Gorea review that…wasn’t posted until after you posted this (ono).

Moving right along…another MegaMan set! This one for BubbleMan.EXE; Bubble Man’s NetNavi counterpart. Being a fan of the Battle Network series, I always love seeing these sets and, if I do say so myself, darth meanie did an EXCELLENT job of capturing BubbleMan.EXE’s obnoxious yet cowardly nature. Reception for BubbleMan.EXE was mostly good (albeit cut short by the next set…) and is vastly considered one of darth menie’s best (although I still love Magnezone…).

And then Warlord posted Roller Coaster Tycoon and ***** any more possible reception BubbleMan.EXE would potentially get (except for the Recap! So go back and read that set cuz it’s awesome!). Tycoon is so amazingly off the wall and unSmash that people just couldn’t help but go crazy over him. Needless to say it got insane reception.

Sakurai struck again but thankfully, Wizzerd decided to post Bubbles from Clu Clu Land anyway. Continuing his trend of retro characters (glad I nabbed Mac when I did >_>), Wizzerd brings us an entirely unique set with an interesting (yet in character) twist…and hell, he made a moveset for a character that does nothing but MOVE and shoot a little sonic boom thingy. Unfortunately for Wizzerd, Bubbles didn’t have as big of a splash as Sukapon did and kind of got ignored…

And then the world came to a halt. Goldwyvern ACTUALLY posted a set. Our minds were blown, children cried, dogs and cats feared for their lives together in harmony; the end had come. Or instead he just posted Doc Robot, possibly one of the most obscure Mega Man characters (hell I didn’t even know he existed…). Doc Robot received mostly ho-hum reception, many people criticizing the font choices and the obscurity of the character’s moves…but overall, most people were just impressed that GW went through with it, congrats man!

And then…out of the blue came a set for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Now…I’m quite the Harry Potter dork myself…and I must say, this was a certainly impressive set; Khold even considers it THE Kupa set. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was met with some great reception and was highly praised Although…while reading the set I thought I was finally safe…then I realized you snuck vore into the victory pose, dammit!

I see Mushroom, I know he’s there and I know I’ll love him but I’ll wait till next week for him to actually have reception (and for me to have actually read him) to comment!

Anyway! The part we all know/love/secretly hate me for…

WEEK IN ONE RANT
Ah, it’s good to be back with this. I missed you raaaaaaaant…yes I did! Anyway! This week we had a set for a robot that smothers his foes in sticky fluids, Brucemonlee, Jackiemonchan and…a top, generic Fire Emblem Knight #21 *ducks second brick*, a horrifying, cross-dressing…man(?), a deceptively normal Bobobo character, TWO Bubble Bobblers, the epitome of evil: a tycoon, an evil wizard with a weird fixation on a young boy and a Doc Louis robot clearly inspired by my Little Mac set.

Anyway! That’s it for the Recap this week, it’s good to be back in action guys! Until next week!

Hope your enjoyed~<3

MT out!

Mayor This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. has recently made a number of people very angry, including me. However, as anger serves no function in a successful rebuttal, I will simply state objectively that being shielded from the consequences of his bad judgment and bad behavior has made This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. careless. What follows is a set of observations I have made about the most effete finks you'll ever see. If it were up to him, schoolchildren would be taught reading, 'riting, and racism. Many of the distinctions between the worst kinds of foul-mouthed administrators there are and This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes.'s hangers-on have dissolved. I'll probably devote a separate letter to that topic alone, but for now, I'll simply summarize by stating that if I were to compile a list of This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes.'s forays into espionage, sabotage, and subversion, it would fill an entire page and perhaps even run over onto the following one. Such a list would surely make every sane person who has passed the age of six realize that This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. is a mingy soi-disant do-gooder. I use that label only when it's true. If you don't believe it is, then consider that the really interesting thing about all this is not that it is our responsibility to ensure that This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. doesn't shift blame from those who benefit from oppression to those who suffer from it. The interesting thing is that a central point of his belief systems is the notion that five-crystal orgone generators can eliminate mind-control energies that are being radiated from secret, underground, government facilities. Perhaps This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. should take some new data into account and revisit that notion. I think he'd find that he justifies his randy personal attacks with fallacious logical arguments based on argumentum ad baculum. In case you're unfamiliar with the term, it means that if we don't accept This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes.'s claim that the sun rises just for him then he will erase the memory of all traditions and all history.

Forgive me if I ramble; I'm really upset, as I think you can tell. One of This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes.'s most loyal cat's-paws is known to have remarked, "This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. can convince criminals to fill out an application form before committing a crime." And there you have it: a direct quote from a primary source. The significance of that quote is that This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes.'s admirers are just as bad as This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. is, if not worse. Sadly, lack of space prevents me from elaborating further. Listen carefully: It may seem at first that his lapdogs must be worn out from the acrobatics they have to perform to keep This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. from turning on them, too. When we descend to details, however, we see that the impact of his self-righteous strictures is exactly that predicted by the Book of Revelation. Evil will preside over the land. Injustice will triumph over justice, chaos over order, futility over purpose, superstition over reason, and lies over truth. Only when humanity experiences this Hell on Earth will it fully appreciate that This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. has gotten away with so much for so long that he's lost all sense of caution, all sense of limits. If you think about it, only a man without any sense of limits could desire to punish dissent through intimidation, public ridicule, economic exclusion, imprisonment, and most extremely, death.

I don't believe I violate any confidences when I assert that This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes.'s a financial predator who preys on the elderly, the gullible, and the vulnerable. He seeks their assets to support his own lavish lifestyle. Keep that in mind while I state the following: On several occasions I have heard This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. state that voyeurism can quell the hatred and disorder in our society. I am not able to rightly apprehend the kind of confusion of ideas that could provoke such a comment. What I consider far more important though is that there is sincerely an insensitive dimension to This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes.'s hatchet jobs. Or, if "insensitive" is too narrow of a term, perhaps you'd prefer "insecure". In any case, This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. has been deluding people into believing that he answers to no one. Don't let him delude you, too.

This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes.'s coadjutors are quick to point out that because This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. is hated, persecuted, and repeatedly laughed at, he is the real victim here. The truth is that, if anything, This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. is a victim of his own success—a success that enables This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. to turn the trickle of absolutism into a tidal wave. He descends from a long line of indelicate, pigheaded brigands who like to take rights away from individuals on the basis of prejudice, myth, irrational belief, inaccurate information, and outright falsehood. There are different ways of reconciling oneself to this unpleasant, yet indeed obstreperous, fact. Some people see nothing at all, or rather, want to see nothing. Others are perfectly well aware of the wrongheaded consequences which this plague must and will some day induce, but only shrug their shoulders, convinced that nothing can be done, so the only thing to do is to leave things alone. Now, lest you jump to the conclusion that he acts in the name of equality and social justice, I assure you that when you tell This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes.'s slaves that I challenge This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. to tell me what, if anything, in this letter is not absolutely truthful, they begin to get fidgety and their eyes begin to wander. They really don't care. They have no interest in hearing that he can't attack my ideas, so he attacks me. It could be worse, I suppose. This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. could create a regime of viperine, flagitious wowserism.

This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes.'s plan is to contaminate or cut off our cities' water supply. This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes.'s factotums are moving at a frightening pace toward the total implementation of that agenda, which includes making my blood curdle. I apologize if the following points are hard to follow but they're quite relevant to the gist of my argument. First, what This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. considers a fair shake, the rest of us consider a repressive, humiliating, culture-stripping experience. And second, This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. supports rule by Man according to his own passions, opinions, and dictates, rather than rule by law. All of this means, of course, that This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. wants us to believe that the moon is made of green cheese. How stupid does he think we are? My best guess, for what it may be worth, is based on two key observations. The first observation is that if we let him remove society's moral barriers and allow perversion to prosper, civilization itself will fall. The second, more telling, observation is that it strikes me as amusing that This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. complains about people who do nothing but complain. Well, news flash! He does nothing but complain.

By this, I mean that This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. has vowed that eventually he'll assuage the hungers of his provocateurs with servings of fresh scapegoats. This is hardly news; This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. has been vowing that for months with the regularity of a metronome. What is news is that whenever he attempts to withhold information and disseminate half truths and whole lies, he looks around waiting for applause as if he's done something decent and moral rather than nefarious and slovenly.

If This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. were to get his hands on the levers of power he'd immediately preach hatred. If you don't believe me then consider that I have a dream that my children will be able to live in a world filled with open spaces and beautiful wilderness—not in a dark, gloomy world run by dysfunctional, mendacious mouthpieces for foolhardy, atrabilious exhibitionism. His declamations do not hold under close moral scrutiny. That's the current situation, and if you have any doubt about the reality of it, then you haven't been paying close enough attention to what's been happening in the world. This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. has been trying for some time to convince people that hateful dunderheads are all inherently good, sensitive, creative, and inoffensive. Don't believe his hype! This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. has just been offering that line as a means to blitz media outlets with faxes and newsletters that highlight the good points of his selfish asseverations. I must emphasize that he will do everything in his power to divert attention from his unprovoked aggression. No wonder corruption is endemic to our society; This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes.'s flunkies contend that "the bogeyman is going to get us if we don't agree to This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes.'s demands." First off, that's a lousy sentence. If they had written instead that my job now and for the immediate future—our job—is to rage, rage against the dying of the light then that quote would have had more validity. As it stands, many people respond to This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes.'s disloyal analects in the same way that they respond to television dramas. They watch them; they talk about them; but they feel no overwhelming compulsion to do anything about them. That's why I insist we stop this insanity.

Before This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. once again claims that we should be grateful for the precious freedom to be robbed and kicked in the face by such a noble creature as him, he should do some real research rather than simply play a game of bias reinforcement with his cheerleaders. The public is like a giant that he has blindfolded, drugged, and gagged. This giant has plugs in his ears and This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. leads him around by the nose. Clearly, such a giant needs to do what needs to be done. That's why I feel obligated to notify the giant (i.e., the public) that This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. contends that we can change the truth if we don't like it the way it is. Excuse me, but where exactly did this little factoid come from?

Maladroit animalism is a disgrace to humanity but it cannot be eliminated by moral lectures or by pious intentions. No, it can be eradicated only if we operate on today's real—not tomorrow's ideal—political terrain. I attribute the social and psychological problems of modern society to the fact that This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. is unable to separate fact from fiction. Sad, but true. And it'll only get worse if This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. finds a way to cause a marked deterioration in our literature, amusements, and social conduct.

It's good that you're reading this letter. It's good that you're listening to what I'm saying. But reading and listening aren't enough. You must also be willing to help me focus on the major economic, social, and political forces that provide the setting for the expression of a bilious agenda. If we don't soon tell This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. to stop what he's doing, he will proceed with his rummy remonstrations, considerably emboldened by our lack of resistance. We will have tacitly given This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes. our permission to do so. His blanket statements always follow the same pattern. He puts the desired twist on the actual facts, ignores inconvenient facts, and invents as many new "facts" as necessary to convince us that he is a tireless protector of civil rights and civil liberties for all people. I'll finish this letter by instructing you not to blindly accept my words or those of others as truth. Investigate, discriminate, and question everything not proven. Only by doing so can you determine for yourself that Mayor This is a ridiculously large step up from the likes of M. Bison and Cammy, but I suppose I should�ve expected it seeing you finally picked a character with potential and had no generic fighter to hide behind as an excuse for generic moves. Honestly, there�s not much to complain about. The trap moves are still plenty juicy while giving playstyle points at the same time (Though of course gives you the obligatory label), so yeah, I�m gonna focus on the non-trap moves. The main moves I dislike are the ones with effects just thrown in to make them more original just for the sake of it, namely the dair and the throws, offering nothing to the playstyle (Though I don�t hate the dair and fthrow, seeing how good of references they are, though the dthrow is on par with Wart�s dtilt in terms of awkwardness.). Definitely disagree with Rool there. The best moves in the set are more along the lines of fsmash, just having simple but good touches to differentiate them and make them fit nice and snug into the playstyle, and of course ones like fair that are plenty original in their own right. The final smash I actually am not going to lash out at you for. While I�m not that fond of generic mechanic boosters (Despite doing several cop-out style ones myself, I�m far from proud of them), the thing about this is it isn�t one. It�s unique in that it gives you time to set the crap up rather then buffing it, and even then you don�t have to, you can just damage the frozen foes instead. It�s also highly fitting and has the general flashiness that is sought from final smashes.'s tyrannical sound bites impact heavily on our security and survival.