Please don't feed PickleMan
Please don't feed PickleMan
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OOOO, tough call baby Einstein. Well screw you, the second you say "I'll take the Dream vacation to Paradise island, Pat!" A gerbil riding a Pterodactyl flies down from the catwalk and sticks a little gerbil sword right through your fucking head!


Nah, I'm just shitting you. That's the correct answer. I mean, what else? Gotta move the plot along, right?

So anyway you get the tickets for you and a friend but apart from the imaginary friend you had until you were twelve (who honestly didn't even like you that much) all you have are acquaintances. The first five people you call all tell you they rather die of Ebola than go anywhere in your company. In desperation you call up Retarded Mickey, the hulking Swede who worked in the mailroom of the telemarketing center you temped at until you got fired for surreptitiously touching your wiener and not knowing what the word surreptitiously meant. He's overjoyed at the chance to go on a free vacation and also he doesn't remember who you are, so it's a go.

You meet him at the airport and it's off to Paradise Island. Imagine your crushing disappointment when you realize it's just a Club Med Type resort and not a classical Greek Shangri-La populated entirely by strapping Lesbians.

"Laws, old Bean," says Retarded Mickey "You're thinking of the Wonder Woman Comic book! That's not a real place you know! Heavens, they call me retarded!"

You decide to:

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