Strange issue number 3. Well it is over and done and that’s that. We press on regardless toward improved things to come with number 4, but dear readers there are no guarantees ‘in this best of all possible worlds.’ So once again, the captain implores you readers to get the word out to friends, relatives, strangers, and most importantly, not so friendly friends. Remember this gazette is the best time waster of any other blog site anywhere and anytime; we do not shy away from sordide interminatis (i.e. disgustingly endless) self-promotion. Perge legentibus (i.e. onward readers)!
The Good Captain very recently joined “The Royal Order of Middle Age Fat Men” a most august organization.
This organization will rival the Masons in quick time. The fragrant perfume of wafting flatulence, inexcusable belching, and the pungent scent of acrid testosterone all make for one heady elixir to calm the most savage middle age Fat Bastard amongst the group.
Captain hears a rumor that all Fat Men will receive especially made toddler taxis to ride around in at all local Festive events. Make way Shriners! Macys’ Thanksgiving Day Parade and NBC here we come!
Have you wet your pants enthralled at the prospect of joining “The Royal Order of Fat Men?” Captain Quinlan did; and the rest of the staff? They were furiously typing my fitness plan.com and becoming a member. They then went to groups and found “The Royal Order of Fat Men.” “The Royal Order…” has no secret handshakes, no peeing contests, no secret incantations, or gestures, just a place for middle age fat men to grunt and groan.
In the words of the illustrious Fat Bastard,
“Of course I’m not happy! Look at me, I’m a big fat slob. I’ve got bigger titties than you do. I’ve got more chins than a Chinese phonebook. I’ve not seen my willie in two years, which is long enough to declare it legally dead.”
So join us won’t you.You’re Good Captain certainly did. You be Happy!
Captain Q. et al.
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