|Hey Sean, I'm finally posting in your guestbook of destiny. Woo! I adore your News Probe, it has become my only source of outside news, aside from Portal of Evil; now I always know what severed heads not to buy, and where to find ass hair in a bag. But seriously, the Probe and the NES pages are the best.
I contemplated entering an entry like most of your devoted fans ... I figured it would go something like this:
i liek ur page verry much, it does not blow like mine cuz min e is very
hereis a pic of me:
I would go on to write obscure comics and stories about how I'd begin a chain of Seanbaby retail stores that sold faux-autographed pictures of your ass taped to Power Rangers dolls, and in the end you'd save the day with your "mega-danece powers."
However, I'm not one the general crack-addict fans who thinks they can be your best friend in the universe by pretending to be as cool as you. In short, there can be only ONE ... Seanbaby.
(PS ~~ I need more nekkid pictures of Lynda Carter!)
This is the kind of note I print out and tape to the stairmaster
console. Then I set the level to maximum - SPRINT UP MAYAN
TEMPLE TO AVOID DEATH BY SACRIFICE (I labeled it myself. I think it
used to say something like '10'). Yesterday, at the same level,
I had what pussies might call "a heart attack." But with your
support and love in front of me, it was hours before I
even realized both my feet were bleeding and my knees had
fallen off. The thing beeped out a message about how many miles of
stairs I'd run, some thing about watts that I don't know
how to apply to my health care, and how many calories I'd
burned - 250.
250 calories? That's like a coke and two pigs feet. Great,
that burned off my breakfast, you fucking stairmaster. Plus, I dripped
so much sweat on your note that now it says "Hey Sean I'm glarbo
blaaarg lbip ohhnnnas [illegible] flbbahhhh." From now on,
I'm just going to call you over to have sex when I want
to work out. Could you include your phone number with your