Greetings, foul earthlings, my name is Mungo, and I am a soldier of Christ. For some reason he wants me to kill a whole bunch of dogs, but hey, I'm his mindless servant, so why not?.
Okay, it's been a damn year since I've updated this quaint little cubby hole of web space. The public outcry just got to be too much for me, and believe me, the outcry of publicity was even harder to deal with. Crying out, publicly, publicly crying. Plyinly cublic, Cublicly plying. Quyingliy qublic, qublicly quying.
Fliblublicly flying, Flylingly fliblublicly crying in public. Cribbage in the mibbage, crying with publicity flying through the crying davenport in public. Poop.
"So what's this slave jive, uh?" -John Shaft
I recently graduated from St. Bonaventure University where they teach every day that Jesus dies for our sins.
Sure, we all know that's bullshit, but I've got another theory happenin' here. Jesus changed bread and wine into body and blood right? And he rose from the dead too right? He's a goddamn zombie! It's right there in the Bible!
I'm in the Kings of Buffalo Ska, those Skasters from Buffalo that everybody and their grandmother likes to call Reginald. I work at Righteous Babe Records, the home of Ani DiFranco and Rip Taylor.
Everybody hates me, and I don't fucking care because my cheekbones are protruding from my tanned flesh like an erection protrudes from a goat's boxer shorts.
I'm the best reason to go to the movies this summer. I'm the worst reason to go to the movies this summer. I directed "Hope Floats," even though Forest Whitaker says he did, and is in the credits for doing so, I ghost-directed it, kind of like how I ghost-wrote for Papa Roach on their raucus debut record, which is like drinking battery acid and then getting punched in the stomach by some big guy with a chain and stuff.
You know what's a great movie? The Godfather.
Oh well, back to shaving Al Roker's back.
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