"Good Times" will re-write your hard drive. Not only that, but it will scramble any disks that are even close to your computer. It will recalibrate your refrigerator's coolness setting so all your ice cream goes melty. It will demagnetize the strips on all your credit cards, screw up the tracking on your television and use subspace field harmonics to scratch any CD's you try to play.
It will give your ex-girlfriend your new phone number. It will mix Kool-aid into your fish tank. It will drink all your beer and leave its socks out on the coffee table when there's company coming over. It will put a dead kitten in the back pocket of your good suit pants and hide your car keys when you are late for work.
"Good Times" will make you fall in love with a penguin. It will give you nightmares about circus midgets. It will pour sugar in your gas tank and shave off both your eyebrows while dating your girlfriend behind your back and billing the dinner and hotel room to your Discover card.
It will seduce your grandmother. It does not matter if she is dead, such is the power of "Good Times"; it reaches out beyond the grave to sully those things we hold most dear.
It moves your car randomly around parking lots so you can't find it. It will kick your dog. It will leave libidinous messages on your boss's voice mail in your voice! It is insidious and subtle. It is dangerous and terrifying to behold. It is also a rather interesting shade of mauve.
"Good Times" will give you Dutch Elm disease. It will leave the toilet seat up. It will make a batch of Methanphedime [sic] in your bathtub and then leave bacon cooking on the stove while it goes out to chase grade-schoolers with your new snowblower.
Listen to me. "Good Times" does not exist.
It cannot do anything to you. But I can. I am sending this message to everyone in the world. Tell your friends, tell your family. If anyone else sends me another E-mail about this fake "Good Times" virus, I will turn hating them into a religion. I will do things to them that would make a horse head in your bed look like Easter Sunday brunch.
Thank you for your time,
Contributed by: David Olson
Date Added: August 31, 1997
|I'D BET ANYTHING THAT THE PRINCIPAL HAS A VALVE IN HIS OFFICE THAT CHANGES THE WATER PRESSURE.|