Say hello to Martin.

Oh good lord.

This is our president. His name is Martin. Last night, Martin was ambushed by a large group of people in the TV room. This group of people, henceforth known as “the mob”, grabbed Martin, wrapped him up in packaging tape, and taped to his back a large canvas sign advertising rum. One poor individual, known to all as Bailey, decided that since he and Martin had been talking about haircuts earlier that day, it was OK to shave Martin’s head. As you can see, Martin was at first outwardly angry, but later became the scary type of inwardly angry that makes me nervous. If I were playing a word association game and someone showed me a picture of a puppy playing in the grass, I would say “blissfully content”. If someone were then to show me a picture of Martin, I would probably say “Someone’s going to die, bitch”. Let me reiterate: I was scared of Martin. After this, the mob slid Martin down a snowy hill like a toboggan. Mobs are stupid.

Martin has a list posted now. As far as I know I am not on that list, but since Coleman is, I am probably fucked anyway...