- Joined
- Apr 8, 2018
- Highlight
- #10,261
Ashokan Farewell plays in the background
Dearest Mother,
It has been three days since I marched to war, and two days since I was captured by the savage Chuds. They refuse to provide me with a Nintendo emulator in shameless defiance of the Geneva Conventions. My foot smells of almonds and my captors have taken their pleasure of me so often that I am now fecally-incontinent. But I know that President Biden has not forgotten us, and on Sunday I offered my ice cream ration to his effigy.
General Wu has kept up the spirits of most of the Massachusetts regiment. I have volunteered many times to help her dilate, but my name has yet to be called. We entertain ourselves by re-enacting old episodes of the Super Mario Bros. Super Show. My Mario is a great favorite among the troops, but too few stay for my lectures afterwards. Even in the midst of all war’s horrors I am repulsed by the lack of intellect here. The Southie conscripts say I talk like a fag. I fear that in their hearts they have gone over to our captors. When we win and achieve the Superior Future, I will not hesitate to place these traitors against the wall.
I must go now, Mother. Know that when the tears threaten to fall I steel myself by remembering your good home cooking and imagining I can hear the strains of the World 1-2 theme. Don’t worry about us, Mother. We’ll be home by next Pride Month to enjoy Banquet frozen meals in front of the television as Pa would have wanted.
Lovingly yours,
Bob
From the diary of the Last King of Boston, the Lord of Lynn, The Moviebob
August 17th, the two thousandth and twenty-fifth year of the Common Era
The Ohioans have broken through Pennsylvania. That lumpy headed, Uncle Fester looking dolt could not hold them back 2 days, let alone the week we needed so we could withdraw forces from the stalemate in Vermont. Tweets have been coming in saying that they are already half a day into Connecticut. Hartford will offer those bastard Buckeyes no challenge. From there they will strike at Springfield and then...
When tales of Ohio first stirred on the web I thought it nothing more than fantastical memery, existential horror of the Midwest. We could not have been more wrong. The Ohioan is a fearful mongrel race. They fight each other just as much as they fight those they're at war with. They live on nothing more than hotdogs, Frostop, and chocolate dipped peanut butter balls. I curse the god I don't believe in for putting such a monster on this once paradise. To make matters dire, reddit reports that Ohio has sent out it's most vile brigade to the front. They hail from the science forsaken land that is neither truly Ohio nor truly Michigan: They have sent Toledo company. THOSE DAMNABLE DOGS! My niece and two nephews! Oh the horrors they will face! Those Ohioans will rename the boys Woody and Hayes and my dearest niece Sloopy! They'll spend weeks teaching them about their one decentish football team, tell them that the pride of Fenway is actually the Scarlet Sox, and feed them nothing buy spaghetti in watery, sweet and cinnamony chili.
We should've burnt all the Wendy's for the transgression of that hell of a state to even dare exist. If we cannot hold them at Springfield then all is lost. I've already given sister Sara farewell pills for her and the children in that eventuality. I will not allow my blood and line to fall into the hands of hillbillies with no discernable accent who fully enunciate "ar" sounds. I only hope my fool brother doesn't cock that up as well.