SUBWAY EAT FRESH

Subway : Eat Fresh ( prince of belair)


THERE IS NEWS OF SUBWAY HAVING KIDNAPPED THE FRESH PRINCE OF BELAIR AND ARE NOW MAKING CLONES OF HIM AND SELLING HIM AS HAM AND TURKEY BACON.

So I heard mudkips like you.

that was the case when i visited soviet russia in 1943.

i tried to buy a piece of bread but the bread said,

you can't buy me!
i have an reservation!


i was surprised but it wasnt as surprising to have a bread talking to me like that, you know! I am, after all, a highly superior intellectual being with a higher purpose, such as eating to stay alive.


suffice to say, i was angry for being spoken so rudely by a lowly non- living lifeform, and hence, i ate him.
with his last dying breath, it screamed.

I'LL BE BACK!



i was about to express my doubt at this statement when suddenly, a red car that looks like a red star (or its covered in red starz) crashed through the shop glass window, mowing me down, and crashing into a stairs leading upstairs before getting out



fortunately, nobody told me that being run over by a car causes nearly instantaneous death, and hence, i survived.


a man got out of the salubriously painted vehicle. it was a soviet with a gun that was unsafed and aimed in my general direction, not that he wasn't sure i was dead.

I COULDNT BELIEVE IT! TO SEE A REAL, RUSSIAN, SOVIET IN REAL LIFE. I COULDNT HAVE WISHED FOR A BETTER CHANCE TO TAKE A PHOTOGRAPH WITH HIM, AND SO I DID.



Can i have your photograph sir?

i asked. he replied,

sorry, do you have an reservation?



of course, i didnt, but i soon found out it was a rheotical question as he cocked his gun for the about 36th time since he got out of the car.


he pulled the trigger. i closed my eyes.



I WAS ALIVE!


i looked around me and i found out he has already ejected all his bullets out of the chamber due to his excessive cocking of his gun and the last has jammed.


the soviet dropped his gun. he took a menacing step towards me, about to beat me up, i suppose. i was still lying on the floor.


i chided myself for not thinking of getting up before.


suddenly, the soviet screamed.




i looked on in awe as he fell down the flight of steps leading down to me and onto a bullet.

there was a muffled bang sound and i knew he was dead by accident.




and with that, i concluded my defence to the soviet attorney.

stalin was sitting in the judge's seat.

he declared me guilty after wiping the drool from his mouth after he woke up.


i was bundled into a car, handcuffed and surrounded by giant security bears.

i asked one of them where we were going.

he said 'You're movin' with your auntie and uncle in Bel Air'
i said alright and
I whistled for a cab and when it came near
The license plate said 'FRESH' and it had dice in the mirror
If anything I can say this cab is rare
But I thought 'Now forget it' - 'Yo homes to Bel Air'

I pulled up to the house about 7 or 8
And I yelled to the cabbie 'Yo homes smell ya later'
I looked at my kingdom
I was finally there
To settle my throne as the Prince of Bel Air

I refer to your Suggestions.

I refer to your latest discharge of plebeian verbiage; in which, you have proven, once again, that there is no such thing as unutterable nonsense. You should offer your posting style to hospital operating theatres as a highly-effective alternative to unconsciousness-inducing medications.

If there's an idea in your head, it's in solitary confinement. You could type every thing you know on the subject on back of a microscopic postage stamp and still have room leftover for a shopping list. A long period of non-posting would be most welcome on your part. To quote Thomas Brackett Reed: "They never open their mouths without subtracting from the sum of human knowledge."

What possessed you to think that you were capable of being entertaining or interesting to read? Do yourself and everyone else a favor: take a fatal overdose of your medication. Maybe you wouldn't read like such a pathetic loser if you weren't living proof that stupid people should not breed; if your weren't so fat that when you stand on the Speaking Scale, it screams, or if you didn't have a face like a bulldog chewing a stinging nettle while taking a constipated dump in a heat wave. No, come to think of it, you would.



It sounds like English; it even looks like English, but I can't understand a word you're blabbering. Clearly, you spend way too much time in darkened rooms in front of your seven-year-old computer turning a whiter shade of pale. Go outside once in a while and breathe, before your brain starts to rot from all that festering stagnation and cognitive dysfunction.

If brains were gasoline, you wouldn't have enough to drive an ant's Go-cart around the inside of a bottle cap. It's truly amazing the way you never let an idea interrupt the flow of your typing, but then, making sense isn't your area of expertise, is it? Have you ever noticed that whenever you sit behind a keyboard, some idiot starts typing? To quote Martin Luther King, Jr.: "Nothing in the world is more dangerous than a sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity."

You have that certain nothing. Truly, you are about as interesting as watching a slug move slowly across a large rock. Looking at you, Darwin would NOT be pleased to see how inefficiently evolution sometimes works. Maybe you wouldn't come across as such a jellyfish-sucking mental midget if your brain cells weren't on the Endangered Species list; if your weren't so fat that your clothes come in three sizes: Extra Large, Jumbo, and Oh-My-God-It's-Coming-Towards-Us!, or if you didn't have a face that is registered as a biological weapon. Who am I kidding? You would.

In future, wake up the dozy peglegged hamster operating that wheel-powered brain of yours before you start typing.

In conclusion, thank you. We were all refreshed and challenged by your unique point of view. Now get the hell out of here!

/Anon

Aha! To be Astounded, an army of assholes, an association armed with an arsenal of ambiguously adult antics. This antiquated armada, more mere attack force, is an astounding assembly of articulate aristocrats. Assuming the collective affliction has not abruptly atrophied, another day of ardent internet argument arises. Under the ambiguous aegis of anonymity all annoying assertions maybe be announced with reckless abandon. Apology? Do not forgive. Alas, I am all aflutter. After the anticipation.... You may call me Anonymous.

The internet makes you stupid

In a recent study made by renowned scientists who declined to be named in this article, it has been proven that the internet decreases your IQ by a WHOPPING number of 1.0 x 10^-9000
every day. this may seem insignificant but thats what THE INTERNET WANTS YOU TO BELIEVE.

this recent study has disproven the widely propogated belief that the internet is for porn.


why?

we will discuss after the below article.

this man was a internet addict who lived in his mother's basement. he bathed once a week, ate 5 times a day, had acne, fapped to pr0nz daily, and has an oily face. also an accidentally-ed face.

Henry Rouwendal was packing his car up one night for a business trip the following morning, sharing his tranquil moonlit driveway with an Italian hoagie (his wife was inside, presumably shedding tears of jealous rage).


Pretty soon the kids will be calling it "mom."

Suddenly, the peaceful evening was shattered by a crushing blow to Henry's back. He crumpled forward to the ground and rolled over to see a black bear deflowering his beloved three meat ciabatta mistress.

Thinking quickly (and with the theme song from The Karate Kid Part Two flowing in his veins), he stomp kicked the bear in the face and neck until it retreated back into the darkness, hoagie in tow.


When asked to describe his assailant, Henry simply said, "He was smarter than the average bear."

Henry managed to crawl back to his front door in just a shade under an hour (the formula for travel after a bear attack is something like 10 minutes per foot for every inch of your ass the bear kicks). His wife, a nurse, tended to the extensive bruising and dislocated shoulder he had suffered, no doubt while the husband demanded she get him back into a shape that would let him plunge into the night to retrieve his sandwich.