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Frank Haataja will die a cold, dark death when I kill him slowly with my own angry, shaking hands. . .and then everyone but Frank will have pie

Note: This column was written during my final semester at the University of Wisconsin-Superior, and published in the Promethean.

Paul Ryan, Columnist

*Note: Columnist Frank Haataja beat Paul in the hot or not contest. Hot Frank had 8.8 out of 10, while ugly Paul had only 8.5. Newcomer Mike Wallin came in at a scorching but not scorching enough 8.0, while Julius came in at a respectable 7.6. Huggy Bear brought shame to the entire group with his lowly 6.6. The following is Paul’s response to the results.

Hey! Frank! Guess what? You’re f*!@#&* fired, you filthy sack of crap! You hear me? Fired! F-I-R-E-D! Clean out your desk and go back to your feces-covered trailer home, you girly-legged game show host-lookin’ goon!

Wait. Maybe I’m going too far. I’m sorry, Frank. Hey, maybe you can help me out. I’m doing some paperwork. Can you tell me if I spelled this word right? The word is. . . FIRED! FIRED! The freakin’ word is fired, you stupid jerk! I’m filling out your pink slip you unemployed little soggy-faced twerp!

You will die! Your friends will die! Your dog, your cat, your goldfish, your pet rock will die! Then I’ll make them into an omelette and eat them and poo them on your favorite shirt! Poo! Favorite! Shirt! Poo shirt! Pooooooo shirt!

 
Intermission
Thank you for reading half of Paul’s column, and welcome to the intermission. Fun Dip and Shasta Cola are available at the refreshments stand. We now return you to your regularly scheduled program, “Frank Haataja must die slowly from sharp abbrasions to his kidneys”, already in progress.

 
Hello readers. My name is Paul Ryan, and I’m glad you’ve stopped by. The remainder of this column about Frank is far too dirty for our younger viewers, so instead we’ll be bringing you entertaining stories stories about myself that are also untrue. And yes, because I know you’re wondering, this is because Paul is graduating, and he just doesn’t care anymore. Thank you, and enjoy.

Story 1: How I became tetherball champion of the world
The only other person besides me who still plays tetherball is this midget who lives down the street. I punched him in the Adam’s Apple and served the ball. After I won, I kicked him in the back as he was trying to get up. The end.

Story 2: How I got grounded
One time I was at my friend’s house, and his mom called me “adept”. So I smashed all her car windows and bleached the word “nymphomaniac” and her telephone number into her front lawn. Not until a month later did I learn that the word “adept” means “skillful and intelligent”. The end.

Story 3: How I stood up for myself
In eighth grade, some kid made fun of me for being diabetic, so I injected a syringe full of insulin into his eye. The end.

Story 4: My column picture
No, that is not a freaking doobie in my mouth, it’s a french fry, you dumbass. A french fry. Granted, I know you all think I’m stoned when I write this, but I’m not, and it’s a damn french fry, for Christ’s sake.

Thank you for reading Paul’s column. Thank you for hating Frank Haataja. Thank you for kicking Frank Haataja in the groin. Thank you for killing Frank Haataja, and once again, thank you.


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