monster butts: a modern crisis

The time. Check the watch. Double check it again.

You missed something? Yeah, you require much needed yo-yoing of your head to your wrist.

Uh huh. This is it. The BIG ONE.

This is a certain moment. Year: 2129, January 1st, 12:00 AM IN TIME.
It is the exactimation of our invokements for the procurement of the null vortex flight fighters kinetic-wolf force. A hybrid mix both deadly and soft, simultaneous in its flacidity and erectness.

Long anticipated Post-Neolithic-Canada's hegemon hegemonies the Croatian-liminal assblasta-extravaganza that is all of both cosmic ethos and epochs

Mere singularity within the faux-cyberian wastes that mark socio-cults of westphilia formulate against the techno-barbaric cliques of New Tajikistan. Roaming bands of nano-boner-death squadrons make anti-semitic grocery runs out of the computerscience-ethics of internet spacetime. No dividual is spare from the faltering of said thugs; both spiritually and both freakily.

I guide you, and I supply you. Textbooks fear the unknown knowledge of inter-planetary gravibutt 5. But, don't let them deny you.
Freakiphiles scour and skirmish beheading around networking interwebs; seeking connection through self-emulated salt water ice cubes.

All is unwell under the solar-sphere.

Except, the war, the war is the dark crusade that shall eliminate the betrayful; and that is what will happen whether it happens or not. You will too.

The moon gas of tundra planets will outlive us by miles, so who will get it once cyber-cyprus goes capoot? No one (won?), that's who! The natural energy exerted from the friction put inside noodle holsters (formerly known as; noodular back-busting-blasters) made up of preservative-coolant sharp ice gas will go un-sodomed. Tomagachis will die, whole famlies; gone, exploded.

So.
Be patient for what comes next: