Here is a preview of……..
Tyson Granger sat in his dank office with his lawyerish feet upon his desk. He took a long drag off of his Lucky Strike™ brand cigarette, as a lawyer and part time Beyblader of his caliber deserves only the finest of smokables when he is on break, as do the 9 out of 10 doctors who recommend them. With an intense thirst and the smell of the fresh shit floating in his toilet lingering in the air, Tyson pondered why he didn’t pay the water bill.
Frustrated by the lack of running water in his humble domicile, Ty kicked down the front door for whatever reason and skipped his merry way down to the butcher’s shop to buy a fine fat goose for his goodly wife. Upon reaching the butchers, Tyson realized that he is lacking a goodly wife and made a mental note to stop imagining stupid shit like that.
Tyson kicked down the glass door to the butcher’s shop, though it would take more than a foot full of glass to stop his completely pointless and aimless quest for goose buy. The barkeep, a 7’8” asian man named Max Tate, slid Tyson his usual, a glass of salami on the rocks.
“Max” spoke Tyson in the most silky, sultry of lawyereal drawls “why does your last name so closely resemble ‘taint’?”
“I find that to be a fairly offensive statement.” whispered the unnaturally tall asian man in the most sheepish of possible bleats
The disgruntled lawyer’s pointless rage mounted to an even more pointless climax of pure unbridled and pointless rage as he attempted to flip the bar. Upon experiencing the epiphany that the bar was bolted to the floor, Tyson mimed kicking down the door he already kicked down upon his entrance and stormed out. After jogging around the block several times, Mr Granger remembered that he had both a foot full of glass and a severe lack of pants cradling his groin.
“Well sheeeeeeet, I think I’m gonna go Bay some Blades!” screamed the lawyerine young man as he completely diregarded his desperate need for medical attention.
[Bayblading skipped as I have no idea what the hell Bayblades are]
“Hey theya shug, that was some damned fined BladeBaying!” the deperate crack whore Hilary Tatibana said to Tyson in a feeble attempt to procure money to fuel her addiction. “Can we have sex now? Because I REALLY need a fix.”
“I have no need to confer with the putrid refuse known as mortals, as I am a GOD! STARE UPON MY SPIN TOP THING AND DESPAIR, FOR I AM YOUR RULER NOW!” decreed Tyson Granger, god of all shitty spin top toys
“Wait…..wuh?” Hilary forced out as she stood on the precipice of an alcohol induced choma
Then, accompanied by an immaculate chorus of angels, Lord Coolio, Slayer of the Frito Bandito and Lighter of Dried Leaves That One Time When He Lit A Bunch of Dried Leaves shouted from the very bowels of his lungs “No.”