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Recently, the news of user “MELLTD FACE” being granted moderator status rocked the community. Many emotions burst forth from the ordeal, ranging from amusement to apoplexy, bemusement to rectal prolapse. Soon after, speculation began. Why did this happen? Just who was this “MELLTD FACE?” Among the most popular identity theories was this:
male reproductive organFACEPANTS Posted:
Actually, MELLTD FACE can’t be JB, and let me tell you why.
*puts on Detective Hat, and places Corncob Pipe in mouth. a puff is taken; it blows bubbles.*
As news of MELLTD FACE’s moderatordom broke, I, too, suspected JB was behind the awful fiasco. After all, I’d long suspected him of being responsible for such other horrible things as AIDs, Darfur, and hit television show The Jersey Shore. I immediately began to do some in-depth investigative work. Just an hour ago, my labor concluded, I returned home from an entire day devoted to getting to the bottom of this boondoggle. Yes, I returned, and I returned with an answer. Here’s how I did it.
JB, or Jalapeno Bootyhole as we all know him, has long foolishly made his name public. He is Mike “Double-D” Drach (pronounced by choking and gagging on the –ch, as he does on so many other things, hint hint), and it is known that he is a damn dirty Canadian.
Using the above info, I was able to, with surprisingly trivial effort, gather yet more information about him: his hometown, his phone number, his address; his family, his Facebook and MySpace friends (oh yes, he DOES have MySpace, and it is AWFUL); his likes and dislikes, habits and addictions; even his employment history (or lack thereof.) With all this information on hand, I set out to find his current and future whereabouts. It was easy.
What few friends of his I uncovered had easily-accessible contact info. I used this to make a few telephone calls to them, using hacked Skype to spoof my Caller ID. My ploy was simple but brilliant: I simply imitated the most drunken, incoherent, alcohol-dazed speech I could muster – apparently this is a common state of JB’s – and peppered it occasionally with a sweet spice of “… eh?” I could tell that these friends immediately recognized me as Mr. Bootyhole, so I took the ruse to the next level: getting the info. Dear **** was it ever idiot-simple. All I did was drunkenly drool, “Eh man. Yyyyou rememmer whaar I wwwuusss gon’ be t-t-t’tammarroooo? I furrgut.” In no time, I had a list of places, dates and times JB would be. It wasn’t my business, of course, but I made it so.
As it turned out, Bootyhole was due, that very next day, to head to across the border from Liberalistan to the midwestern United States for a “National Beatnik Smackdown.” Research revealed that, yes, it was just as gay an event as it sounded. Beatniks from across North America were gathered in a corn-fed metropolitan city at a series of patchouli-reeking exchanges of fey, camp, and cliché “progressive” dialogue – mostly yelled, in invariably-failed attempts at presenting some semblance of masculinity. Like a moth to a dim bulb, it seemed that our favorite dim bulb on Forumwarz was drawn to gaiety. I decided to use this weakness to my advantage with Sir Booty.
I hopped in a car, and drove many hours to the area surrounding the National Beatnik Fest. Tired and weary, I scoped out the area: a couple of relatively clean, “forward-thinking” lesbian-sister-cities populated by a breed of people so engaged in the lie of appearing to be “nice” that ubiquitous smiles seemed permanently pulled by invisible marionette strings even in the most annoying situations. Citizens held doors open for the elderly, waited patiently in lines, respected personal space, did not talk loudly on cell phones, and apologized profusely when even so much as grazing one another in pbuming. In short, this place was populated by hippies. I could almost smell the liberal sap of Maple Syrup. Jalapeno Bootyhole was near.Bashy edited this message on 08/08/2010 5:47AM
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