You know how the government has been releasing films for years about killing aliens to get us ready for the invasion that's coming in the next couple of months? By the time those green bastards land, we are going to be the biggest group of badasses in the galaxy. Seriously, look at the facts. If one of us gets transported through time or to another planet, we take that motherfucker over. Buck Rogers, Flash Gordon, Bruce Campbell, Tarzan... these people are teaching each and every one of us the abilities we'll need to single handedly fight off the alien invasion.

To a slightly less degree, that's what's happening now during this bakery protest. Our childhoods were filled with shitty ads at the back of comic books preparing us for the possibility of a world without Twinkies. You have no excuse if you panic; Captain America and Batman have been training us for this all our lives. And now that it's here, we need you to be strong.

You know who we really need to fear is the mastermind who managed to rally this protest. These teamsters really seem to think we'll notice when they quit working. What kind of psychological miracle does it take for a Twinkie-maker to get a sense of self worth? What's next? Are politicians going to go on strike and force us to decide our own stance on gay marriages and what drugs we want to take? Are hobos going to make us bow to their demands by refusing to masturbate on the sidewalk?

End this strike quick, teamsters. I can live without Twinkies; I'll find some other way to stop super-villains. But while you're complaining about your vacation days instead of getting a paycheck, can your kids live without pants? Can you look them in the eye while you're draining their college savings so you can buy more poster paint? Look at yourselves. Do you honestly think someone's going to have trouble replacing you? Any retarded middle schooler can stand next to the creamed-filling filling machine and make sure nothing metal falls inside.

And I'm sure you think you're setting a good example by chasing scab workers to their cars with a baseball bat, but even if you kill them all, Mexico's only a 3-day bus trip away. And you don't want to fuck with those guys. I don't know care how demeaning your job is, you gave it up to sit on the sidewalk all day with a sign hanging from your neck. Where I come from, we call those people "bums." I guess you probably call them "Dad."

Special Bonus
Enjoy the official comic adaptation of this article:

Go on to read the final part to this protest drama:

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