Just Who Is George Mason And Why Is A School Named After Him?Submitted by stevie_says at 2006-03-30 04:54:34 EST
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George Mason, the inventor of the mason jar, came to America in 1777 from a remote island called ‘Cat-Piss Island’ or as some like to call it (although they are totally wrong) ‘Ireland.’ I wouldn’t know. I’ve never heard of it. I gained all my knowledge of geography from a waterlogged Risk board I found in the trash while looking for my TV remote. He left because he was really a werewolf and the only known cure for werewolves was sending them to America and letting them deal with it. He invented the mason jar when he needed something to huff cod liver oil out of. The jar was a labour of love and by love I mean terror, misery, blood, sweat and Kentucky Fried Chicken skin.
He still turned into a werewolf from time to time but being a werewolf was the least of his problems. You think it would be higher on the list but you can’t read his mind. Unless you’re a brail-reading squirrel, but we’ll get to that later.
George Mason subsequently conquered the territory today known as Georgia, naming it after himself. He wanted to name it Masonitoriaiferica but it wouldn’t fit on the stamp he designed. The stamps he did invent didn’t sell well because they were made out of frog skin. Poison frog skin. DEADLY poison frog skin. Deadly with awesomness, that is.
The stamps are what caused George Mason’s death. Which wasn't so awesome for him. Maybe for the frogs, but I'm sure the frogs loved all the attention. Little whores.
He choked on one of the stamps because he had accidentally eaten the letter he wanted to mail. Thankfully, the letter was to himself, reminding himself not to eat the stamp as it would kill him. He had no real grasp of irony. Or swallowing. Or on anything since he didn’t have any thumbs.
George Mason’s ghost, however, lived on. He single-handedly killed the last woolly mammoth when he travelled through time and punched it in the balls. Woolly mammoths were fucks anyways. You can blame the end of the ice age or the evolution of the hunting spear, but I know that George Mason is the soul reason for the extinction of the mammoth. How do I know this? I was there. And I didn't just imagine it. Not like that time I witnessed all those hookers getting murdered by a talking mongoose, told the police but couldn't remember it because a vampire stole my brain and replaced it with a brain with no real memories of the events. When they catch that vampire, we'll all know the truth.
It was a cold, cold day. It was so cold that my Popsicle had frozen to my lips. I know it was a bad idea to eat a Popsicle at that time but I really wanted one. Even though it was made of metal, it was still good. If you like metal….and a mouth filled with blood. Needless to say I was more concerned with my Popsicle than I was with George Mason. Since it was my job to protect the mammoths, I can’t say it’s my fault that they all died. But I can not not say that it wasn’t.
George Mason is a huge prick. He nicknamed himself ‘Titty, titty, bang-bang.’ I don’t think that’s funny. It makes me uncomfortable. And a little hungry. For waffles with nipples on them.
The nipples of a pig.
So, with George Mason’s time-travelling ghost terrorizing the past, we can only assume that the only natural enemy (aside from polar bears and flesh-eating wasps) that George Mason ever had was the evil, horrifying, supremely ugly and utterly terrifying Pope John Paul II’s evil twin, Carl.
Carl, who could only travel FORWARD in time because he was cursed by a gypsy’s wig, travelled so far forward in time that he travelled into the past. He ran into George Mason in the middle of the 1977 NBA playoffs. The Portland Trail Blazers, coached by Jack “Bloody Tampon” Ramsay, were playing the Philadelphia 76ers. The game was interrupted when George Mason and Carl started battling over who could throw a javelin further: a snake or a one-breasted gorilla named Erica.
Needless to say, George Mason beat Carl with his brain-power (and an axe covered in acid and flesh-eating ants dipped in hot sauce) and scored 35 points with 12 rebounds to help the Trail Blazers beat the 76ers in what was later known as the 1977 NBA Finals Massacre, as all the fans attending the game were later murdered by George Mason and his axe of terror and a pony named Sugarpie. He thought they were stealing his thoughts. What he doesn’t know is that they were. And the pony was behind it all.
That pony went on to win the Kentucky Derby and star as Lassie in the lesser-known television series ‘Lassie: When Dogs Grow Up They Become Ponies And You Want A Pony. Love the Pony. Stroke the Pony.’
‘Stroke the pony’ remains as the George Mason slogan. They stroke the pony as often as they can. And you should too.
George Mason later built an orphanage for some baby squirrels and taught them to read brail.
He went on to conquer Mars and store all of his thoughts there so no one could get to them. When the squirrels developed space travel, they reached Mars and read all of George Mason’s thoughts because THEY WERE IN BRAIL. WHAT A MORON!
It was a short list.
He thought about porn and shrimp a lot. He loved shrimp because they reminded him and squirrel foetuses.
In the end, he died when he fell down the stairs carrying a tray of knives. The accident may or may not have been a result of the great squirrel conspiracy against him and his anti-squirrel thoughts. He double-died because as we all know that when a ghost travels through time he can die again. Double-dying is a well known fact and if you didn’t know it you’ve been living in a whale’s stomach. Which is impossible because whales are fish and we all know fish digest things by dissolving them with their venomous cum-sacks. Fish are cum-guzzling whores. I hope they all die from fish AIDS. I know this because I’m a marine biologist. I took night classes at the community college taught by that Chinese guy at the Laundromat. He’s cool because he lets me take the exams in my underwear while he watches me from a darkened corner. I can’t write without getting a boner. It’s an unfortunate reaction I have to pencils laced in date-rape drugs.
We celebrate the day of George Mason’s death by getting up, going to work and killing one of our coworkers and throwing his body in the river after cutting off his face and wearing it as a hat.
If Rick’s family is reading this, he was asking for it.