Showing posts with label Bridget. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bridget. Show all posts

Friday, April 18, 2008

The Warrior Princess has arrived...


Although she received Max's plea for help too late to come and do battle at his side the first day, the remaining zombie followers of the defeated (at least temporarily defeated) Canucklehead would tremble where they stand if they were able to see the vast encampment of the Mighty Bridget and her terrible hoard of South African Amazon blog-fighters on Max's Southern flank today! Unstoppable writers with sarcasm and cutting wit dripping from their sword-pens. Feminists all--with a fine mixture of bitter man-detesting divorcees--ready, willing, and able to unleash their vicious tirade at a moments notice.

Fear, Canucklehead! The end of all you stand for is near at hand! The mighty Bridget, and her sidekick, the little D-less briget (normally a lover and a marshmallow--but fiercely aroused when her sharp thing is working properly) are ready to take the field, keyboards at the ready, able even to put the diaper to that foul turncoat Scot, Fat Bastard! The battle is made even more personal by the fact that Princess Bridget is herself, ironically, partially descended from Scots--and she seeks to rid the blogging world of this embarrassing turncoat llama defiler.

Fear, Canucklehead! Your last weekend of feeble ineffective blogging is rapidly slipping away!

The Mighty Warrior Princess asks Max to give the defeated Canucklehead this message:

BWAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! EAT MY TITTIES YOU DICKLESS CANUCK! BWAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Thus it was written, so let it be done.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

The Call to Arms


There is nothing more sad than a Civil War. A split within a family. Sadly that appears to be happening to us now.

Max regrets to inform you that even though the Canucklehead very publically agreed to a truce to resolve the recent hostilities, he was seen very shortly--within a matter of mere hours--over at ettarose's, stabbing Max in the back again. Sadly, I'm afraid I will need to find out who my real friends are, because apparently, unless the Canadian can adequately explain this obvious breech of the truce, his latest sorte has the makings of exploding into all out war.

Today we stand at the edge. If peace overatures are not immediately forthcoming from the North, violence beyond Max's control will surely break out.

Here we must know our friends. Max calls his loyal brothers and sisters to his side. The Canuck's forces are flaccid and pitiful, but they are dangeously devious and conniving. Look for underhanded tricks and backstabbing. Guard against their inevitible protestations of innocence and their use of Trojan Horses to divide us.

Sadly, although as yet not fully substantiated, the esteemed Warlord Qelqoth's recent acts of association have indicated he may well be in the enemy camp.

Those of you who have stood by Max, especially in the skirmishes of recent days: Max salutes you. You know who you are. Max knows who you are. We will prevail. And you should know that we are not alone. Even as Max speaks, incredible forces from the southern Lands of Australia and South Africa, where Max has been laboring nightly, are even now rallying to our cause.

These overpowering forces have been long known to Max, yet held in reserve until the time was right. The strength of the never-defeated South African Amazons awaits to strike at the heart of the Canuck, ready to squash him like the loathsome toad he has shown himself to be. Max actually pities the misguided Canuck should the terrible forces of the of the smoldering volcano that is Bridget the Brave, Queen of the South African vengeful hoard be unleashed upon him. Such a battle would be decisive and retribution would be swift.

Max knows beyond a doubt who his loyal friends are. Our forces are under mobilization. Today will tell whether bloodshed must occur, or if the Conniving Canadian will realize his untenable position and reinstate the truce publicly in this forum.

Our first order of business will be to force the hand of the shit-loving Welshman. His true colors must also be determined. This will become known before the sun sets today.

Arise! Rally to Max! Solidary against the dark forces of the Arctic North! On to victory!

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