Fuck, Marry, Kill.

Why the fuck did I even play this game? Dammit, I think I meant to delete this thread!

I should probably really be concerned about this thread… 1, the fact that I bothered to answer it in an attempt at the funny, and 2, the fact that only three of us are stupid enough to post in it.

Yeah, except that even with the dildo, I think fucking yourself falls outside the parameters of the game. So basically, that’s just recreation and a way to pass the time during our hollow shell of a marriage.

SOMEONE has to share in my shame. It’s part of marriage Rob… I didn’t say “I Do” because I was fucking bored. Now getchurass in the kitchen and make me a ham.

The supervillain Distastro has a superweapon called the Catastophetron and a dastardly plan to wipe North American off the map and is ensconced in an impenetrable fortress headquarters deep in the misty lands of the East (probably Outer Mongolia) and only one man can stop him. Jerry Markham, musical superstar extraordinaire and Top Secret agent, aka “The Best Of The Best Of The Best Of The Best” aka “JerMar”, fights his way through the most hi-tech security and 23,700 of the most well-trained and deadly goons in the world, finally confronting and smacking the everliving bejebus out of Disastro.

But Disastro had already rigged the Catastrophetron to fire even if he was defeated in battle, so that he may still gain his victory even after death. Upon discovering this desperate situation JerMar orders superfighterpilot Major Commander Admiral General Private Benjamin “Bucho” Hansen to launch all of his missiles, torpedoes, lasers and arrows into the exhaust duct of the fortress.

Swelling heroic Hans Zimmer music plays.

“No, you’ll never get clear in time … wait for the chopper to pick you up.”
“Tell the chopper to turn back, there is no time! You have to fire now!”
“But you’ll die!”
“But the world … will live …”
“But Jeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrryyyyyyyyyyyy …”
“FIRE GODDAMMIT!!!”
“Roger that …” Bucho salutes toward Jerry’s position and pushes every weapon launch button and trigger.
“Hey Bucho …”
“What is it Jerry?”
“I just heard the noise …”
“You mean the noise you hear before you die?”
“That’s the one.”
“God dammit Jerry.”
“Hey Bucho …”
“Yeah Jerry …”
“ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCK OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO …”

KAMOTHERFUCKINBLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!

Statues of Jerry Markham are erected in every city in North America, even Juarez, and Canada puts his face in their newly minted $1,000 bill. Obama declares the entire week of Jerry’s birthday to be a public holiday in remembrance of America’s greatest hero. In the following two decades three out of every four North American boys and a quarter of girls are named Jerry. When America begins the colonisation of Mars in 2022 the planet is renamed Jerry Markham.

Jerry’s music outsells Michael Jackson, The Beatles, The Stones, Led Zep, Pink Foyd and Celine Dion combined until the end of time.

One evening soon after Bryan, Robby and I are consoling each other and drinking toasts of flask wine in honour of Jerry. We get superdrunk and wake up the next morning in bed together in a threeway spoon. We know something unplanned has happened but aren’t sure what, so after some guessing and speculation it’s decided Robby and I should do the decent thing and get married. We live a blissful life mostly consisting of playing video games and watching every movie ever made and only years later, when an early time travel technology allows people to view the past, do we find out that it was actually Bryan and me who got down to business while Robby had been vomitting outside on the varanda.

Robby likes the part where he didn’t get fucked. Come to think of it, that’s been all of these so far. Some of you guys better step up and fuck Robby right now!