I Have Nothing

Sorry folks, Muppets For Justice is closed for the day.  We apologise for your wait to get at our usually tasteful and artisitc wordcraft today, but I'm afraid we're all out of stock.

That's right, we're all out of funny.  Our fart joke cellar has been bled dry, we haven't been able to reorder any irony, and pigeons have got into the innuendo.  It's disgusting, I think they're making a nest in there.

We hope that normal service shall be resumed shortly once our supply problems have been addressed and resolved.  We'd like to thank you for choosing Muppets For Justice for your bi-weekly laugh and hope that we can continue to rely on your support once service is resumed.  Until then, I'm afraid there's very little else we can offer you on these pages.  Absolutely nothing.  This message is just to inform you that nothing hilarious is about to happen anytime soon.

As such, I recommend that you close your browser window and try again later.  We'd hate for you to read a whole article about nothing at all, thus wasting your time, our time, and everyone's time who has invested time in this up until this time.  I'd imagine that, being the discerning reader that you are, you'd recognise when your time is being wasted and when there is nothing further to read.  Only an idiot would stay on this page and read more.  There's not a lot else I can say on the subject.

Perhaps I could repeat myself for the fools who are still reading, but that would just be a waste of characters and bytes.  I'd just be a tiny burp in the cavernous void of the Internet, wafting around causing a slightly nauseating smell for anyone who it drifts near.  This is an utter waste of webspace.  If Blogger found out about this they'd suspend this account for taking up chunks of their server with useless drivel like this.

Although, if you think about it, I'm only typing this because I'm anticipating that you are going to read this far down the page, so in actual fact this is all your fault.  If you stop reading, I'll stop typing.

You're still reading aren't you?  What are you, a glutton for punishment?  Do you want me to type until my fingers bleed?  Until my fingers aren't fingers any more?  Until they are scientifically classified as "nubs"?  You sadist!  This is torture!  My hands are turning into a mushy pulp as I bash out this message.  I'm mashing my atrophied appendages against the keys in the hopes that sentient thought can be derived from my efforts.  Soon, even medically trained experts will not be able to decipher the difference from the keyboard and the strips of flesh clinging to the keys like a bush baby over a fire.  The slurp as I peel my palm off of my mouse is sickening.  You've reduced me to this!  You!  I'll hold you personally responsible!

----------

Yes, I don't really have a post today.  That's because I'm hard at work on the Podcast which will be launched this week (!)