HA! Until I can afford another scanner, I can only fill this space up with written text!

... so here's another story.

Pain wasn't really something that bothered English Dickweed, he couldn't really feel that many parts of his
body anymore. See, English Dickweed was immortal, and when people find out, they just try to see if they CAN
kill him, in an attempt to give the gods 'the finger'. It never really works, and all the axe, gunshot wounds, and sword-gorings
sort of wore down his nerve-endings' pain sensory.

Conan O'Brien was sitting behind a bush with a shovel, eagerly awaiting English Dickweed to come strolling by,
the way he does every Wednesday. For a better story, it'd be good if he didn't come by, and Conan had to go
on a long search for him in which he finds his true self, but I don't wanna write that, so English Dickweed walked
by and Conan popped out from behind the bush and cut 2 inches into English Dickweed's skull. Then he ran away
and ate some pizza.


Hey! You used that same damn 'it would have been a better story' joke in your last story! You SUCK!