Hi Kids, I'm Hugh Jackman. Science is gayer than my face. So get studying!
One day I went to a scientist’s house. I could tell a scientist lived there because, everywhere I looked, there were atoms. It was amazing! So I started robbing the place. There were all sorts of gadgets lying around that looked quite technical. I myself don’t know science, nor do I comprehend gadgets, but I figured there must be a way to cast spells on them until they started shooting lasers. I took a bed sheet and made it into a giant sack, then I went around collecting everything shiny. It made me feel a little bit like Santa, except criminal: even my butt was glowing red! It always does that when I have a crime boner. Pretty soon my sack was completely full, because these scientists, you know, they’re a remarkably rich bunch. I heard back in the day they did all sorts of experiments on gold until they turned it into money.
Pfft. Doesn't even Glow in the Dark. Or shoot missiles.
Thinking about experiments made me angry, because I don’t like data or extrapolates, but at the same time I was excited, because even if I couldn’t magic all these gadgets into some laser beams, I knew I could sell them to a hobo so I could afford to steal a sword. The gadgets were stupid, anyway. One was a watch and it said Patek Philippe on the back. You know something is shit when it can’t even spell Phillip. When I turned all the lights off and went into a closet, the Pakistan Phillip didn’t even glow in the dark. I would much rather have a sword.
If I had a sword, I would kill everyone. Even the Terminator. And Voltron.
My heart was pounding! Ever since a few minutes ago, I had wanted my very own sword. It was my dream when I was a child – after I used my imagination on one of the devices to go back in time and tell baby myself about steel – and now, finally, after all my trevails, I could almost taste the flamingo fillets my crime-katana would logically produce. I started wanking on the spot, thinking about all the death I’d cause, if I only had a sword. A sword with big tits.
Grifters are awesome Salesmen. Actually, this guy might be a hobo. But at least he has a sack. Sacks rule.
Anyway, after I finished my business I was about to run away and sell all my loot to either a grifter or a blacksmith, but little did I know my life was about to change forever. I heard some sort of beeping going on. Assuming my life essence had activated the gadgets – I had sprayed it all over my sack – I naturally thought to myself “This is outrageous, I am the greatest genius in the entire village!” I was about to run out of the closet and dive through the window, shouting “Victwah!” which I assumed meant something cool in French – although the possibility of anything French being cool is debatable – when suddenly I realized: something wasn’t right. The beeping had stopped, and now I heard the front door opening. It was the scientist. He’d been typing in a pass code, because I guess scientists are racist against keys.
How dare this scientist waltz into the house I was robbing with my own hands. To just come strolling in, as if he owned the place. The audacity! And while he technically did, own the place, I was nonetheless quite enraged. Was he trying to steal my essence? He even had the temerity to complain loudly about the hole I’d burrowed through his wall, a fiendish method of surreptitious infiltration if I do say so myself. My blood was boiling, and I was about to run out from my hiding place and fang him in the chest then boil his blood. I am not completely familiar with the precise theory behind the legal doctrine of Lex Talonis – an eye for an eye – but one thing I do know, is how cool talons are.
Talons: Awesome
You know, I might even swap a talon for a fang, if you threw Dwight Howard in the trade. I need him for rebounds. So I was about to uphold the law by fanging this guy’s eye out and sticking my talon in his socket, but then the genius part of my brain realized that if the scientist was complaining out loud then he was either: (a) crazy; or (b) accompanied by a companion (possibly a gay Navy SEAL). It was time to be tactical. It was time to kick ass.
Navy SEALS - Gay as. Unless they read this, then let's totez go for a brewski
I knew that if the companion was a Navy SEAL, then he would be a gay Navy SEAL, because ‘companion’ means ‘gay’. So I dug into my sack – imbued as it was with my magical essence – and pulled out something slimy and pink to distract him with. Now, I have nothing against gaylords. They are part of the nobility, after all. If the US Navy wants to fuck science all day, it’s none of my business. But I draw the line at being forced to explain why I broke through a wall, stole shinies, and came in my sack.
Cats think they can pounce, but they're not even baboons
Brandishing my slime-encrusted big pink thing, I prepared to pounce. One time I ate a cat, so I knew my pounce would decimate any opponent’s morale with its surprising speed. Contentedly, I imagined myself compelling the vanquished scientist to sign an ignominious treaty, ingloriously relinquishing the Navy SEAL as a trophy of my martial triumph. Time seemed to slow. It was like I was a magician who had just cast some sort of awesome spell. I was so excited about possibly killing two innocent people that I almost didn’t hear a little boy’s voice.
“Daddy, why do boys and girls kiss?”
Perception: I have it in spades
It was the companion. Had I stumbled into a pedophile’s den? Or had my fabled 17+1 perception deceived me. Perhaps there was no Navy SEAL. Perhaps noone in the house was even gay. What effect would this development have on the trophy I’d convinced myself was forthcoming? Slightly confused, I used my super hearing to understand the scientist’s reply.
Well, Johnny, when two citizens of similar socio-economic standing and ideological persuasions share highly correlated interests, they interact with behaviors symptomatic of a biological desire to perpetuate their genotypes via the creation of a heterogeneous suspension of chemicals, metaphorically and physically uniting their disparate beings in a hybridized mixture of zygotes and epidermis. Because of their frisky nature, these political unions – think of them as Hydrogen bonds, Johnny, much stronger than the Ionic bond of a one night stand – will invariably give way to all sorts of frivolities that you may have seen featured in various exotic movies. Pursuant to the climax of their activities, the participants in said frolics will often emit guttural groans that may resemble the call of an injured bear. This is quite normal and there is no cause for alarm. Think of it as a saturated semi-conductor excising its surplus heat via standardized refridgeration processes.
Man, no wonder nerds never get laid.
All those science words had made me so angry that I ran out of the closet and swung my sack at the scientist’s face with such force that Max Geiger and Geoff Desmoulin later declared me the Deadliest Warrior.
Max Geiger and Geoff Desmoulin: Deadly as, bro
The scientist’s head exploded in a blossom of pink jelly. Maybe he was a gay companion after all. Who else would have pink inside them? Weeping profusely, the child asked “Why?” Moved by pity, I tried to comfort the little guy. “Dude, your Dad was shit.” Then I adopted the kid. He said his name was Isaac, and that he didn’t want to be adopted. But I’d heard the scientist call him Johnny, so I knew the kid was lying and I punished him by changing his name to Magician the Third, which wasn’t much of a punishment because, come on, how much of an awesome name is that? Magician the Third and I had many wonderful adventures over the next few hours.
Doli Incapax: Something to do with dolls, right?
I used him to commit all sorts of crimes that he couldn’t even be convicted for because of something called Doli Incapax. It was basically like Oliver Twist, except not shit, and there weren’t any Jews. I’m not sure what dolls have to do with kids murdering bank tellers, but the judge said it was okay, so I gave that judge fifty gold sovereigns. Incidentally, I think the judge was a jew, because he seemed to like the money I gave him. Anyway, Magician the Third got boring after a while. He would just sit around all day, crying about his “Dad”. Even though I told him multiple times that I was his new Dad. But he wouldn’t stop crying, and it was so annoying. So I sold him to an orphanage.