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I finally did it. I out pizza'd the Hut. It was the greatest mistake of my life. After years of perfecting my recipe, I made my way down to the local hut, fresh-baked pizza pie in hand. "Try this," I told the kid working the counter. He did, and he had to agree that it was better than anything Pizza Hut had to offer. Soon, the entire store, customers included, was feasting on my delicious pie. The manager walked over, grabbed a slice, and took a bite. I look at him, anticipation rising. This was the boss, the local fief lord of the Hut. His approval meant more to me than all the rest combined. He took a bite and nodded. "I'll be damned," he said, "you really did it. You out- pizza'd the Hut. Shame." Shame? What did he mean by tha-- the manager pulled a gun out from behind his apron and shot the nearest customer in the head. "We have a Code Jalapeño," he said into his wrist as he executed the remaining customers. "I repeat, we have a Code Jalapeño." The ground was slick with blood. The kid working the counter choked out his dying breath as the manager turned to me. "You just had to do it motherfucker. You just had to out pizza the Hut." He shoved the gun in my face. I was too scared to fight, too scared to run. The manager pulled the trigger. A click. The gun was empty. I threw a chair at the manager and scrambled out of the Pizza Hut, not even bothering to see if my missile hit its mark. I was closely pursued by the manager, who had gotten his hands on a deadly sharp pizza cutter. I suspected in his hands it would cut more than pizza. Somehow, I was able to get into my car and speed off, the manager cursing my existence as I left him behind. I took a deep breath. The manager was clearly psychotic. Yes, that was it, just a crazy man with a gun. It had to be. My phone rang. Sister. I picked it. "They're dead, she sobbed. They're all dead. Mom, Dad, Chris, Bill. Dead. They killed them all." I could barely understand her, so great were her sobs. "What do you mean? Where are you?" I asked urgently. "How is this possi--" A single gunshot sounded through my phone's speakers. Silence. Then, I heard a man's voice. "No one out pizzas the Hut." He hung up. I drove down the empty country road, mind blank. I had nothing. They killed my family. I was alone. At that moment I knew what I had to do. They took everything from me. Well then, I would take everything from them. Pizza Hut was so terrified of being out pizza'd, they forgot there's one thing worse than a man with a recipe: A man with nothing to lose. I'll give them a limited time offer they won't be able to refuse: two bullets for the price of one. With a free side order of pain.

Dost thou ponder if yoshi's constitution becomes discombobulated whence eggs are excreted afore Mario's gaze? My sincere apologies if thy bristles were tussled, however I believe this to be quite amusing. And, I am curious to perview a charcoal etching of this event, if only for a rousing chuckle. I'm also perplexed whence trying to place what eldritch odor would arise. This is only for a gaff, a ruse, merriment per se, I would like to smell them.

Gonna be checking the market every chance I get while pretending to think my brother-in-law's Cards Against Humanity answers are funny.

1. Wake up 2. Check memfolio, buy more PLTR calls 3. Shit while looking at charts, don’t wipe 4. Fomo and buy the top 5. Watch stock Plummet 6. Sell, watch stock go up 7. Go to WSB and downvote everything 8. Jerk off, nut, realize how empty you are 9. Stare at futures for 3 hours 10. Sleep & repeat

As Daniel Craig says goodbye to the role of James Bond, let us revisit one of the greatest films in the series. Casino Royale (2006) Daniel Craig receiving some intense cock and ball torture at the hands of Mads Mikkelsen has to be my favourite scene from any Bond film. Right next to the opening of Skyfall. How appropriate is it that a character who has been the face of masculinity for half a century, nearly gets emasculated by someone who possesses none of that virility. Le Chiffre (played by Mikkelsen) is in many ways the opposite of Bond. He lacks the vigour, sex appeal, and chivalry of 007. When a warlord threatens to cut off his girlfriend’s arm, Le Chiffre, out of fear does not object, to which even the warlord comments that she should find a better boyfriend. He suffers from Asthma and Haemolacria (Acute Haemolacria tends to occur in fertile women because of hormones). He even comments during the c and b torture session that he desires to ruin the body that Bond has taken such good care of (There is a hint of jealousy in his voice as he says this). And yet, it is Bond who is strapped to the chair. The camera zooming in on his grimacing face at every strike to his manhood. This castration is also a symbolic one. The weakness and decline of the British empire is a key theme that is explored throughout the Craig Bond films. The idea that the CIA had to donate money to Bond so he could beat a man at a game of Poker, and yet still end up at the mercy of this traditionally impotent individual who is unaffiliated with any country, and has amassed all his power through his ability to control money — paints a damning picture of the power of modern day Britain. And it says a lot about what power really means in our modern world. The opening theme by Chris Cornell is truly remarkable, and some of the action sequences here are the series’ most memorable. For me, this is the greatest Bond film ever. As the man himself says goodbye to the role with the release of No Time To Die, it must be said that no one has embodied the character of James Bond and humanized him quite like Craig has. Nowhere is this more apparent than in Casino Royale. The ice-cold blue eyes that occasionally hint at soft vulnerability, will truly be missed. Daniel Craig can walk away with pride knowing he has been the greatest ever to play such an icon.

Bear King Michael Burry in the ring, slappin TSLA with a metal chair. His glass eye open wide with rage as he batters TSLA relentlessly. "The valuation..." crunch "makes...." crunch "NO.... " crunch "SENSE!" he roars with maniacal autistic glee. TSLA struggles for the edge of the ring, but coughs blood as each hit lands, and eventually stops moving. Bear King Burry drops the chair. Bear King Burry turns to the crowd "Was this your champion!? Was TSLA supposed to be your chosen one!?" A child in the crowd turns his face into his mother's side and cries. On the side of the ring WSB can barely move. TSLA was supposed to tag them in, but couldn't make it to the side in time. "Get up TSLA" WSB whimpers hopelessly, a single tear rolling down their cheek. "Get up..." Bear King Burry turns to WSB "Now it is your portfolio's turn. Get in here you little bitch." "Excuse me." Someone replies from behind BKB. "I believe I can give you the fight you want." A robed figure is administering smelling salts to TSLA. The figure puts TSLA on its shoulder and carries TSLA gently out of the ring. "And just who the fuck do you think you are?" BKB rumbles ominously. BKB's fingers squeeze so tightly on the chair that metal bends. "Who am I?" the robed figure inquires. The robed figure stands straight and stretches to their full height. They must be at least 7' tall. The crowd stops crying and watches in stunned silence. "Who am I?" The figure repeats menacingly. The figure turns around to face BKB, ripping off his robe. A gleaming light fills the stadium. Before us stands a Golden deity, rippling with muscle. If there is an ounce of body fat it is currently in hiding, only to make way for seemingly endless coiled golden musculature. The figure looks directly into Bear King Burry's eyes. "I'm Goldman Sachs, and i'm here to kill you."