Lords help me I miss them. Turd head's wizened visage was priceless. He looks like he just got hit in the face with fifty pounds of wet shit. Like he genuinely misses the self-respect that armed robbery afforded. And Wilsey. He's just too honest. He basically giggles and blurts out that in two decades of being a professional shill he's never seen THIS level of unmitigated crap. You can sense the instant when he regrets touching the damn thing. It's like that moment in North by Northwest
when Cary Grant pulls the knife out Townsend's back. And that Lupah! I forgot about those damnable monstrosities. Imagine the unholy result of an orgy with Franck Muller, a giant snow globe, and a Westclox Big Ben. And a monkey and a football. Did they really convince people that is a was sign of horological mastery to produce a really, really large and thick wartch? Or were their base simply used to raising funds by selling scrap metal?
And thanks, Hawk. It's good to be back.