boom

Nobody move. We’ve taken hostages. We have guns. We have dynamite. We have a bunch of C4 wired to blow. We have coffee. We have donuts. We have a creeping sense of ennui. We have no self control. We have headaches. Somebody call the police. Somebody call the national guard. Somebody call the governor and tell ’em to stop the re-runs of Hee-Haw on Sunday afternoons. We’ve got permanent records. Just ask Principal Linksy: we’re too tough to handle. Look out, here we come.