Debrief

Well, this explains a lot....

I've been deep undercover for months, tracing down a lead on Chuckles which turned out to be a dead end (Who would've thought that a street snitch would lie for drug money? Benny, when I get my hands on you...). I'd been wondering if I'd lost my edge, that finely honed precipice of death, when I came across this:



Yep. Ol' Upchuck done and got himself a new face. He's undoubtedly part of the Witness Protection Program; you can tell by the quality of the work, which is "good enough for government".

Oh, Chuck...Do you really think taping your eyebrows back over your ears and changing your name to "Buck Forrest" will help you to evade me? I can smell fear like Dr. Phil can smell that strange combination of low self-esteem and masochism on his guests.

Honestly, some advice? Plastic surgery is better doled out in moderation, like most things in life, EXCEPT NAPALM, WHERE MORE IS NEVER ENOUGH:



Whatever face you're hiding behind, I'll find you, Chuck. It's what I do best. Well, now it is, after I left my modeling days behind me in the '80s:

The only thing I really miss is the coke....

Now that I have a current picture of you, Chuck, it's only a matter of time. Better spend it wisely.

Until that day,

R-bo

Take It Like a Woman

Well, since the ol' Roundhouse Rooster hasn't been showing his face lately, I guess I'll do what I do best, which is TAKE CONTROL OF THE SITUATION FOR MY OWN TACTICAL BENEFIT.

Today, while on my continuing mission of T.I.A., I came across this report (okay, I didn't; my crew did during breaks from gold-farming. What? C-4's expensive....), in which a Georgian journo is dubbed "The Rambo of Lady News Reporters"  for GETTING SHOT WHILE DOING A LIVE REPORT IN A WAR ZONE. Observe:

Having taken (and given) plenty of lead in my day, I can tell you the young lady HANDLED IT LIKE A SOLDIER, continuing her report even as she's being bandaged up. (And, I have to admit, it's kinda flattering to have someone so tough nicknamed after you.)

See, Chuckles? You FINISH THE MISSION, regardless of threat to life and limb.  Maybe you could ponder this as you sit around in your multi-colored diaper, trying to reach a "higher state of consciousness" by paying hucksters a "lot of money".

Because you can bet your ass that I'll finish mine.

Until that day,

R-bo

(I don't really understand what the above designation signifies; it's just what my cyber-crew calls me).

Link to BWE.

Tool Alert

Field Report:

Well, all available recon points to Chuckles hiding out with his cult, wearing silk diapers in a cave, and waiting for the world to end (which I am equipped to arrange, Chuck, so give me a call...please).

Anyways, while I wait for my furry friend to show his chest in public again, I keep my skills sharp with repeated combat and stalking drills, using targets of the douche variety.

My recent alternate: Steven "Shiny Scalp" Seagal. Since I can't bring myself to hunt helpless prey, I always choose someone with at least some skill or weaponry (sole exception being reserved for Dr. Phil: you want me to "get real"? Okay, how 'bout I use my jungle boot to "get real" far up your ass?).

But, yeah, Seagal's got some training, as this video intel clearly shows:




So, if ol' Ponytail and I get into a slapfight, I'll walk away with pink cheeks and hurt feelings. That's okay. I'm man enough to be in touch with my emotions. But him?





Whatsamatta, Seagal? Are you so bummed that you (in defiance of all logic) used to boink Kelly LeBrock, and can no longer drink from that fountain of '80s goodness?

Yo, Kelly: Tease me like you tease those bangs...

And if you were being pouty, could we even tell? Sure, some people play it close to the vest, but you have to actually be wearing one. Like I do, is this awesomely manly clip of me in action:



What else would you wear while skiing under a half-track? Sleeves? Well, maybe Chuck would. His chest pelt probably keeps him warm enough that he could pull it off.

It is said that Chuck Norris does not sleep, he waits. Yep, he waits for me to INFILTRATE HIS AIRSPACE:





Keep waiting, Chuckles. I'm coming.

-Rambo, signing off.

Pails of Entrails

Dear Chick-I mean, Chuck,

If I could see you, then YOU WOULD BE IN THE CROSSHAIRS OF A RIFLE SCOPE, and if you're shaking your head, IT WOULD BE OUT OF FEAR. Period.

Only takes seventeen muscles to smile, huh? Well, IT ONLY TAKES FOURTEEN MUSCLES TO DEPRESS THE BUTTERFLY TRIGGER ON A BROWNING .50 CALIBER, BRINGING DOWN THE FIERY HAMMER OF THOR UPON VARIOUS AND SUNDRY BAD GUYS. Observe (as long as you don't pee yourself):



Now that makes me smile. (You'll notice I used the word "smile", like a man, and not a "smiley", like, well, this guy. )

And, Chuckles, as far as your little bit of leftover roast beef from the '80s:



You are judged by the company you keep. 'Nuff said.

-Rambo

Miles of Smiles

Oh, John...

If you could see me right now, I'm shaking my head in disappointment. You keep thinking that your little taunts can get to me; they can't. You just can't accept the fact that I'm on a higher path than you. I've tried to share that, but you won't receive it (see Chapter 8 of the Totus Gnarus Soulpath Guide: "Learning When a Mind Is "Closed for Business").

I like smiles. I use them as often as I can, online and in real life, too. Consider this little bit of ancient wisdom:

It takes seventeen muscles to smile and forty-three to frown.

You see? Smiling is better for you all around. (And more energy efficient!)

You know, if we look back, we both had a pretty "rad" time in the '80s. But someone else made a long, long journey in the '80s, just to teach us a little something about ourselves, with the power of his smile:



If that can't make you like smiling, John, then nothing will.

Sincerely,
Chuck

P.S. :)

Where Do I Start Barfing First?

...'Cause I haven't been this sick since my first bottle of Tiger Piss in Saigon on r'n'r, '66.

First, let's think about the original phrase: "Sticks and stones may break my bones...". You're damn right they will, because STICKS AND STONES ARE VERY EFFECTIVE PRIMITIVE WEAPONS. Perfect for handling a knuckle-dragger like you, Chuckles.

And, seriously, again with the smiley face? Now I feel like I have to go blow up a kitten, just to "level out". (My neighborhood's running low on kittens...)

You know what you can do with your parachute? The last time I had to jump out of a perfectly good airplane, my chute got hung up, which forced me to cut away necessary combat gear, leaving me in enemy territory with only a knife (and yes, STICKS AND STONES) to defend myself against a superior force. Guess who walked out of the jungle, alive and ready to fight? And guess who was left to rot in smoldering pieces?

I don't need your "patience", either. I have my own brand, forged of combat experience and sweat from John Wayne's corset. I have the eternal patience of a warrior:

He who is prudent and lies in wait for an enemy who is not, will be victorious. - Sun Tzu, The Art of War. c.400-320 b.c.

I will be waiting, Chuck. And I will be victorious.

Toodles,
-Rambo

P.S. Really, man, ditch the smilies. Along with all of your "shirtlessness", they don't help your image.

Sticks and Stones, John...

...And, well, you know the rest. There's nothing you can say to hurt me, John. And, really, when you think about it, you're just hurting yourself.

The 2nd Tenet of Totus Gnarus: Patience Is Your Parachute. I'm prepared to be very, very patient with you. I know that your problem isn't really with me; it's with yourself. I feel sorry for you, John. That's no way to live.

Try being patient, with yourself and others. You may just discover your own parachute. :)

-Chuck