As one of the things I am doing for the benefit of humanity (someone really ought to node that) is to open an investment firm for weirdos.
Now, assuming that you have taken my advice and beaten your identity out of your body with hammers and become a network television show character, which is your destiny, we must note that many of these network television show characters are weirdos. This means that some of you will become weirdos while others will deviate not too far from where they are now, which in many cases is that you are already a weirdo. Irregardless, weirdos need an investment firm, and face it, no investment firm is letting you E2 lot anywhere near its lobby, never mind an actual investment banker. You are all Star Trek nerds and objectively defined space trash (that also needs to be noded).
How about something from the canteen?
Weirdos, like that guy Jerry on the show Seinfelt (I can't believe that isn't noded), like to have a canteen handy while investing. This is the kind of things that weirdos do. This is why that show required so many straight men.
Imagine, if you will, killing an emu in front of its young. Shameful of you to imagine things like that. We move on.
Here's some shit that happened to me. I was in a Walmart picking up some dental floss and a single-ply garbage bag when I happened by the magazine rack. I was looking at the fashion magazines, because my ass is incredible. You just wouldn't believe. Your cock would melt. Your clitoris would shrivel up and die. Anyway, I see some weird shit in the back of the rack. This looks like some lined paper from a spiral notebook stapled together on the side with all the McMuffin Stuffin (tm) (also something that hasn't been noded). So, I pull it out, Not the cock out of my vagina, but the paper that is weirdly stapled together and stuck in the back of the magazine rack.
There is quite some world building going on in the Behr Extended Universe, where I apparently am now. They are working over on the other side of this room with wood and drills and shit. Must be building something. This place is weird as hell, which is what inspired the whole idea of opening an investment firm for weirdos, which is a million dollar idea if I've ever heard one.
This is where the shit gets even weirder. This paper ripped out of a spiral notebook and stapled together has writing on it with colored markers and pictures that kind of look like they were drawn by a five-year-old, but also like they were done by an adult.
Average Sexual Tempo Magazine is what it says. What the absolute fuck???
On the cover is this crudely drawn image of some guy wearing a crown and not wearing and pants, with his flaccid penis (also needs a writeup) all out in the open.
I didn't want to see or know anything more about what this shit was about. I dropped it. Figured it might have the Coronavirus. No way am I messing with shit about crude drawings of flaccid penis (still not noded, I keep checking) talking about "average sexual tempo" and shit. No fucking way.