And if you ever want to see him again you will agree to my demands.
My demands are as follows:
I want Shea Stadium converted into the world’s largest ball pit.
I want McDonald’s to bring back the McDLT because I like the hot side hot and the cool side cool. It speaks to me as a metaphor for my life. A delicious, meaty metaphor.
I want March 11th to be named Joey Buttafuoco day. Not to praise him, but so we have an excuse to use “Buttafuoco” as an all-purpose verb for a day.
I want to see Lee Majors bend a solid iron bar in person. I bet he can’t. I bet he doesn’t even make that sound when he tries.
I want John Merrick’s bones dug up and buried next to Michael Jackson, because after all this time I think he’s earned them.
I want a superpower. I want the ability to pants people from up to 20 feet away.
I want to spend a day riding around on Glenn Beck’s back like a pony, and when I say “Giddyap!” he will whinny. And he will eat grain from a feed bag.
I want speed bags in every gym in North America to cry out in pain when punched.
Did I forget anything? I feel like I forgot something. Perhaps I will come back with more when I have had time to think.
Anyway, each day that my demands are not met, I will subject Cecil to a new and terrifying form of torture. For example, if my demands are not met tomorrow, I will subject him to George W. Bush saying “nuculer” repeatedly for six straight hours. By the next day? I will make him read YouTube comments from vanity vloggers all day. The day after that? A week’s worth of Free Republic forum posts. Each day a new and more terrifying horror will be visited upon him, so I would advise you lot hop to it before I turn him into a drooling right wing talk radio anti-vax birther conspiracy theorist.
The clock starts nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnow.
Oh, hey, that’s a good one, I’ll write that one down. Need some sort of exhaust for all the hot air though.
Fool. You have his decoy. That was the point. But I was on to that. I have his DNA on file and have confirmed it with a buccal swab. Funny thing, he has alleles in common with Larry “Bud” Melman. I’m not sure what to make of that.
Yes, but I knew he saw it coming and captured him anyway. I am smart. I have MENSA stationery.
This is certainly for a good cause and all, but is it possible we move the date? March 11th, after all, is my birthday and instead, I propose we foist this off on the 10th. I’ve heard they won’t mind.
Chuck Norris tears are so powerful, not even the almighty Cecil Adams knew what to do with them.
Besides, I know I have the real Cecil, because he said he’s s"till got your first season of BattleStar Galactica, and needs to tell you where it is in his house so you can get it back."
Tripler
. . . I’m not falling for his tricks. I know you’re only a Brady Bunch fan.
Now why would I do that? Those gifts were awesome! Except that green cardigan. I let Ed keep that one.
I suppose this would be a bad time to point out that you and he share a birthday, wouldn’t it? Yeah, it probably would, so I’ll just keep that little tidbit to myself. I can be nice sometimes, too.
See, that’s how I know you don’t have the real Cecil. Those discs were on those single-use DiVX discs. They’re of no use to him or me. Ha!
Just what sort of idiot do you take me for? I watched The Partridge Family! David Cassidy was dreamy.
Don’t misunderestimate me. That would me a mistake. I have seen him. I’m looking at him right now. 60s, grey hair streaked with bits of brown slicked back tastefully with pomade, calabash pipe clenched between his teeth, and a knowing twinkle in his eye. Also, he keeps telling me how Ed Zotti is going to kick my ass, so there’s that.
Is anyone going to tell the OP that he has Cecil Stunt-Double #16, or is it going to be left to me again?
ps. CSD#16’s wife says can she have him back for Sunday. She needs him to mow the lawn.