Y’know, stuff happens. A lot of stuff happens. Like when you bite your tongue, and it turns out it’s a brick, or when you raise a chinchilla, then realize you’ve raised a chinchilla army. Or, when, just yesterday, I managed to find, after waking, that I had squeezed a 747 through my retina.
But back on topic.
I sit here, wondering how long it will take before my internet bills pile up to the point where they decide to pull the plug on my connection (though them taking the trouble to make a wire between earth and here is a compliment of the highest order), and if the annual Patric Stewart Sundance of Doom will be occuring soon.
Anyway; Chinchilla armies. I wonder to this day if there is a single person that does not quake in their undergarments at the mere thought of such a monstrous gathering of these savage creatures.
In most countries, having a Chinchilla army is illegal, punishable by forty lashes, followed by two-hundred and nine years in solitary confinement, then followed immediately by death by toe, and failing that, death by props from the eighties, and failing that, death by black and white Paper Mache giant tarantula with R2-D2s head.
In the very few countries where Chinchilla armies are permissible, 46 years, nine days, and 2 seconds of experience in wrestling the Norwegian Rhino Bodybuilders League, all the while doing the rumba with a giraffe on a pole with a height of 17 metres and a diameter of 4 centimeters, whil holding the planet Mercury on ones index finger.
1772 people currently have license to raise a Chinchilla army.
Of those 1772 armies, 2 have been used. Immediately afterwards, 19 countries were wiped off the planet.
Aquiring a license to raise a single Chinchilla, sans reproductive orifi, requires the actual person to have been neutered both a minimum and maximum of 7 times, and have been shave thrice as a monkey-elephant-alien hybrid.
The only person in history to own a Chinchilla with reproductive orifi intact is John Malkovich.
Don't support Chincillas.