Four Island

Let me start off by saying that I don't like soccer. In fact, I don't like sports at all (unless you count competitive typing (98 WPM, YEAH! :P)), but even I know about....

THE VUVUZELAS.

Apparently, they're annoying.

Some of you may be lolling right now, but it's not funny! Those poor people sitting in the stands, trying to watch some stupid ball sport should be pitied! What, the people who don't like vuvuzelas? Heck no, I know a vuvuzela-hater that owes me five bucks. They can go eat pasta with NO BUTTER for all I care.

I mean the poor people who like vuvuzelas! It's so sad to see it happen. Because, they're everywhere. That old lady who walks down the street by the side of the supermarket every day at 2pm? SHE'S A VUVUZELOR! That toddler who pees in your petunias every five minutes? A VUVUZELOR! That high school junior that lives across the street from you? Not a vuvuzelor, but he's a pervert, so you can go stab him if you wish. But you get my point. These poor people have been INFECTED with the CURSE of believing that vuvuzelas are ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░░░░░░░░░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ ▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░░░░░░░▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

I'm sorry you had to see that. My imaginary cat jumped on my hard drive and ate a cookie. As a result, I can't tell you exactly how the vuvuzelor virus works. BUT BEWARE. Next time you are walking down the street and someone is internally bleeding because they just ripped their larynx out with their vuvuzela, DON'T GET TOO CLOSE! You could catch the virus from their disease-ridden instrument! Or you could lose your aural sense, which would also be pretty bad, BUT NOT AS!

So, buyer beware and welcome to Grammatown. Stay away from vuvuzelas, because otherwise, I'll write another weird story like this. And next time, it'll be about you, your mom and your embarrasing foot rash. Oh-yeah. Pokemon.