In the immortal words of Archimedes, I shouted “Eureka!” The poor results have turned my hens into emo hens. They’ve internalized the pain of these results and have embarked on a new lifestyle.
As bad luck would have it, this emo-ness seems to have permeated the entire compound. I fear I’m the only one who hasn’t succumbed to its Pete Wentz tentacles. My mind immediately raced to this wretched song:
With equal parts fear and worry, I ran into Travis McTravelface, seeking an escape from this horror. Alas, alack! I found him humming this crap:
I ran away, aghast.
Soon thereafter, I encountered Uncle Tony P. Yes! Here was someone who was strong enough to resist the Siren Song of the Emo. I was wrong. When he saw me, he belted out:
Sweet Mother Mary! It’s worse than I thought.
I ran to Charles Peacock. He’d be my light in the dark. Dear reader, he wasn’t. He was in full guy-liner glory and singing:
Why? Emo is what is wrong with this world! Wallowing in misery does nobody any good.
Vinho Verde!!! You’re here to help, right? Ugh. All we’ve done is now gone emo in a different language.
My resolve was weakening. I was beginning to feel overly emotional. Black clothes seemed to be calling me. Just as I felt all hope was lost, I ran into Turd Verdeson as he was arranging our larder. My heart imploded as he turned to me and plaintively belted out:
My heart broken. My spirit crushed. I walked out of the house and went to the shore of Town Lake. It was at this moment that Wolfie showed up. I looked at her and she at me. Our eyes locked. Our chakras aligned. She smiled at me, sprightly took one step to the right and stopped.
Yes, my dear, I understand. Yes, my dear, you and I won’t submit to the doom and gloom.
El FC 1-0 Terraemotus