Episode 6, Part 1: The Dream Team

Last night the Killers struck again, dismantling all the bathrooms and killing our favorite snack person. Obviously our sacrifices and pleas for mercy have gone unheard. But you know what? We don't care anymore. We are sick and tired of being the victims. First it was the czars of Russia, then the Moroccan slave drivers, then the ice cream vendors on Fairbank Street, and daily we have lived under the heel of El Savel, but now the Killers? It's gone too far. Oppression and enslavement at the hands of cute, twenty-somethings selling mint chocolate chip is one thing, but this is something entirely different. We're taking matters into our own hands, here and now, and they will be handled roughly and without regard for fragility.

We made some phone calls, did some high profile grave robbing, and paid an assload of money to a man whose name and specialities shall not be presented. The results are these two:



For those of you not schooled in the ways of kickassery, we have hired the world renowned hip-hop group, The Beastie Boys, and resurrected the body of the early, 20th century Russian novelist, Mikhail Bulgakov. The Boys, with their outlandish, rhythmic flair, and Bulgakov with his staunch refusal to cease writing satirical portrayals of the Soviet Union, even during Stalin's Purges, are sure to make a dynamic combo. The Killers may have soul but they are not soldiers. Bulgakov was a soldier and the Beastie Boys are the fucking Beastie Boys. If we can't win with these guys, we'll all give up and go back to graduate school or something. Please, God, let it work.

We apologize for the lack of products this episode but we have no production room. It was bombed by an alternative rock band.