Dear Duamerthrax,
In your name you are referred to as “Breaker of the Sphinx’s nose,” but wasn’t the Sphinx’s nose blown off by a French cannonball during the Napoleonic era? Also, weren’t you imprisoned at that point? If you did somehow manage to escape for a short time to break said monument does that mean you are French? And if you are French, does that not in term make you suck?
Curious about Rhinoplasty
Dear Curious,
Yes, the Sphinx’s nose was destroyed in a barrage of errant French cannon fire, and yes, I was imprisoned when that happened. You’re thinking of the wrong Sphinx. Your Sphinx is just a statue. I broke the real Sphinx’s nose. You know her, the she-lion chicky baby who almost ate Oedipus. I was harrumphing my way towards Thebes, and this ugly hairy bitch jumps in the way and snarls at me.
“Step off, cheese-snatch, I ain’t a tourist,” I says.
She pipes up: “What walks on four legs in the morning…”
“You looking for your car keys, whore.”
“Shut it up, pus-bag! I got a riddle to finish!”
“Here’s a riddle: if a tree falls in the woods, and no one’s around to hear it fall, how many times did your momma bang Aslan to squirt your ugly ass out?”
Then I punched her in the face real good. You know that sound when a guy’s nasal cartilage shatters his zygomatic arch? Man, I love that sound. Like breaking a baby in half. Ahh, the memories. Anyway, she dropped like a sack of dead Mormons. Her schnoz was never the same, all poking out over there. Seriously, she could sneeze and blow off an earring.
And as for me being French? Dude, there’s not enough lye in Norway to drown you in for asking that shit. Seriously, you’re going down big time. Pick an orifice. By the time I’m done with you, I’ll be able to chuck a basketball through it.
Plague,
