196 thoughts on “What’s this guy’s story?”

1. He looked in the mirror. “Man I look good! The hair and glasses are awesome! They go so amazingly with this sweater! But wait, something is missing……” He looks around his room but can’t spot what he feels will complete his amazingly awesome look. So he goes through every room but just can’t find that perfect final piece. Then he remembers his secret man cave and goes to his craft table. There! Right there!! Friendship bracelets! He grabs them, puts them on, and saunters out of the house supremely confident and ready to conquer anything the world throws at him.

2. Okay, so Anthony Edwards was walking through Miami in the mid 80s. He realized the black rimmed glasses, plaid shirts and pocket protectors made him stand out. So he donned this get up. It was so convincing, Don Johnson asked him to help out with the Miami Vice drug raid. It was then Edwards decided drug lords weren’t where it was at… But he did enjoy helping the guy who got shot… Maybe an ER doc might be the thing.

3. He pulled on her oversized baby blue sweater, feeling it’s warm softness like a memory of her breath before he kissed her. He had worn the pink pants she had bought as a joke the Christmas they spent with his cousins. The memory of her giggles as his cousins laughed themselves silly had made him feel…something…for a second, before the grief came crashing down again. He caught his reflection in the mirror. He needed a haircut but he couldn’t bear to cut away the strands she had touched. He pulled on his sunglasses so he did have to look at his puffy eyes. He stared at himself for another minute. Without her somewhere in the reflection, he did not recognize himself.

   1. That was well done. not that my opinion matters but so well wrapped.

   2. That was excellent.

4. I don’t know…I think “Brian” (with the pink and red Space Invaders avatar) has the best entries, so far…”Turd-taster for the king”, closely followed by “Don Jonson wax job”.

   For my part, I’d say you should consider shopping elsewhere for clothes; the 80s is a fashion decade better forgotten. Let us not repeat our sins.

   1. Hey, thanks! You just made my day.

5. “What do you mean you’ve lost my luggage?”
   The agent gazed back at him flatly, her sunglasses hiding her eyes.
   “Your luggage is lost, sir.”
   He looked down for a horror-stricken second at the clothes he’d borrowed from Rick, which had been spotted with blood and then soaked in vomit–and all of it had come from either that stupid gorilla or the idiot woman with him. He felt the air-conditioning tickling his knee where a chunk of shrapnel had just missed taking his leg off.
   “No problem,” he thought, “I can buy some clothes here.” He looked up at the agent. “Where can I get some clothes?” She raised her chin slightly at a shop across from the terminal.
   “Not easy to do on this island. That’s the only place. They don’t speak English.”
   He followed her gaze. The sign, in dayglo paint, said “Today’s Dude.”

   1. loving it. comedic, but with a hint of danger. nice!

6. Ah, Newport Beach. The place he felt he most belonged. Hmmm, must be El Nino giving me a chill, Dawson thought. He loosened the sweater around his neck and put it on. He felt relaxed, especially in his new found sensuality. He chose to wear soft colors now, with an amber necklace for its healing oils and of course, some pura vida bracelets because he wanted to exude wealth, but show he cared. He was good at playing the yogi guru to all sorts of women. He repeated the mantra in his head one more time, before paying and entering into the Boat Show. I will live here soon, he repeated again. If anyone asked, he lived in WEST garden grove, but no one needed to know. He was here to network, to see who he could get to know. Men or women, he’d manipulate either to get what he wanted. He was getting good, honing his craft. He looked the part.

   As he was leaving the third yacht he toured, he regretfully saw a woman who he’d previously had a secret affair with. She still looked stunning, on the arm of her husband, he couldn’t help but chuckle a little to himself. There was nowhere to hide, but then he remembered he had his sunglasses in his pocket. The ones he only wore when he drove people for Uber. He technically had a Mercedes, though his Benz was so old, he was just using it to make some money until he got a better car. He refused to take off his sunglasses when the work was beneath him. He even wore them for the three months he worked a Starbucks drive-thru. Ah, well. He turned away from them as they walked past him, fortuitously because he happened to be just another prep in 80s sunglasses. Time for a new affair, I guess; he noted as he walked on.

   1. If anyone asked, he lived in WEST garden grove, but no one needed to know. He was here to network, to see who he could get to know.

      Oh man. You must be local. Are you local? Because damn, this is spot-on.

   2. Hands down, you win.

      Pick up your aviator glasses at the prize booth.

7. I see a guy that is just full of SHIT! Someone that is full of himself and even his friends hate him. There, I said it.

   1. Happenstance,…could it be, are you from Canada, Toronto familiar? Your name seems to resonate with Central Tech. It’s a small world brother.

8. Target mechanics positioned the lobot autonomously, wardrobe calculated the attitude to perfection, the dimension locking sequence was dialed in; the timeless moment spilled out in protruding echos of ridiculous myth like logarithmic splicers.

   The he-bot took a step forward, arriving on time in the yesterday of mutanting flesh wilderness; seeking the bio-she with which to brew and mold replicant lifeforms, the lobotslic pattern to populate timelines. Mirrors aside and lights set to motion, he slowed and glanced around the habitat, blinked twice, and simulated the fanciful breathing of thick sticky world-bound particle goo.

   Seconds later, she-bot emulators appeared, rendered and time-planted back into the system at hand, coupling in perfect pastel sheen, a wink and a drink later and the whole the sphere was a quagmire from which there was no possible escape.

9. That’s the guy from the Aha music video, Take On Me. He made it out of the black and white comic, but he just got lost in the technicolor world somewhere over the rainbow…. So, he took a night rider to Miami Vice and wham! Karma Chameleon.

10. “That Guy”

    I die 42 years later and that’s the picture you choose for my funeral!?!?!!? I had an absentee billionaire father and a European model for a mother but that’s not who I was when I died. I know funerals are for the living but come on! Only my sisters had that picture. Amelie was too young to know that guy thankfully. She taught me common sense unlike that guy. She wouldn’t chose a discordant picture for my service. Catherine doesn’t seem like the type. She was empathetic, patient. I tried to emulate that unlike that guy. She knew I didn’t like that guy.

    Maxine always loved that guy. Hell, she literally made that guy when mom was gone. Did she still miss that guy all this time later? I guess… that means…she’s been missing me for 42 years. She’s having a funeral for that guy. I’m OK with that.

11. Next out post makeover reveal on “Straight Eye for the Queer Guy”. What will Thad’s friends and family think? Will this finally score him a date with his crush Bruce?

    1. I loved it!

12. Once free of Doctor Theopolis, Tweaky lived his dream in a new humanoid body. Taller. More rugged. But that same damn helmet head profile!

13. Chase took one last look at himself in the mirror. He liked what he saw, not because he was handsome or a trendy dresser but, because there was something almost nostalgic about his look.

    He smiled.

    With a final glance he turned and left the bedroom. Just as he reached for his car keys the phone rang,”Prrring! Prrring!”

    “Hello is this Mr. Bardes?” came the voice on the other end as he held the receiver to his ear.
    “Yeah, this is Chase.”
    He hated it when people used his last name.
    “Ah, Mr Bardes! Yes, this is the 1980’s calling; we’ld like our glasses and douchy pants back please.”

14. Damn it feels good to be a gangsta.

15. Ah, this is it! From what my mother and father told me were the enemy when I was just a boy. Hate those posers who dressed like that, because they represented all they hated.
    It doesn’t help that growing up you only saw hard rockers partying it up, that kind of nonsense would take a look, flip their lustrious hair, replace their shades and walk out.
    Even their capri pants, worth more than you make in a week, make a statement. This red leather ties and leggings are IN, and so are pink cardigans.
    Behold, thine enemy!

16. Dawson Leery discovered that life after high school wasn’t exactly what he imagined. However, thanks to some sweet aviator shades, a $200 haircut that said “my other car is a surfboard”, and a casually disinterested posture, he was able to make ends meet as a 1980’s clothing model. True, it may be 2016, but we’re not telling him. Just look at that mane of hair. Who wants to mess with that?

17. He slowly got out of his black Lamborghini realizing he had to hide his neck badge underneath his new baby blue sweater. He walked into the sophisticated hang out of one of Miami’s biggest drug lords knowing he had to play it smooth. Thank god he too is one of Miami’s top guys (he is Dickey Dickman vice detective……

18. “You know how you sometimes wake up in the morning and you can see the tortured nights of booze and no sleep oozing from your eyes. It’s like your eyes tell the story you are unwilling to reveal. My secret to keeping my success mojo moving in light of this, when I see that ugliness around my eyes, is to put on a pair of my favourite pants. A good pair of pants is like slipping into a slipstream of comfort and the rest of my wardrobe just flows from them. Take your time, keep trying pants on until you finally find a pair you can lean on when times are tough. “

    1. I love your take on this!

19. He’s getting ready for a ski-off against John Cusack because he’s dating Beth.

20. Rach was so excited. He loved cosplaying and turn of the century was his favorite genre. “Man those people really knew how to live. I was born in the wrong century” he said to his cat. He lovingly gazed at the outfit laid out on his bed. It represented months of saving up, meeting the right collectors and convincing them to part with just the right pieces. He felt that his hair had been a good decision. It wasn’t easy, but he had found a stylist who specialized in the artisan craft. Today’s laser cuts just looked too…perfect. Too precise. He wanted the haphazard look of hand cut hair, and he couldn’t be happier with how it turned out. Just saying the word, “scissors”, made him feel special. As he donned his costume he could feel himself being pulled back to another time, another place.

21. He cashed up the til and moved the night’s takings to the safe under the keg. ‘Cubes’, the vibrant beach front restaurant where he spent the last 3 months pouring drinks since moving to Tahiti had served him well in getting to know the clientele. He had become well versed in where the money lay and which women were vulnerable and pining for tropical night far removed from their elderly husbands. The night had been going slowly until she gracefully pulled up a stool at the bar and motioned with her soulful eyes the need for a refreshment. Cindy had moved to the island in the early 90’s as the bride of Troy Hamilton, a mining magnate with a long history dabbling in politics. Toby wasted no time in rustling up a dry Martini, gin not vodka, just as she had ordered so many times before.

    Although he had attempted in working his California charm on her many times the efforts had never paid off, unlike half the populous frequenting the establishment. However something about her body language indicated that tonight would be different. He had long been seeking a rich house wife with which to land one big score, an amount he could purchase his dream yacht and sail the Caribbean.

    Cindy took one last sip from the well crafted cocktail, eloquently slide the olive off the cocktail stick and into her mouth and departed, but not before giving Toby a last look while motioning to the piece of paper next to her empty glass. Toby stood still for a few moments, long enough to watch the condensation slide down the cool Martini glass and slowly kiss the mysterious parchment. Without anymore hesitation he took the folded note and eased it into his back pocket, fully aware of his sweaty palms. Had his past caught up with him at last?

22. I found this item to be very hilarious “I am inside the human compound. They do not suspect me.” Thanks for the laugh, Lord Wheaton

23. Heh. I get stories from pictures all the time. Here’s mine.

    “It’s simple. Get in. Make the drop, get out. Do that? We don’t kill her.”
    Simple, they tell me. Like it’s ever simple to walk into a dive in that part of town, without being noticed, by the cops—or anybody else.
    “How much time until the drop?” Behind the dark lenses of the sunglasses I wore—seven hundred bucks, I’d been so fucking proud of them—my eyes raced over every soul there. Not a single weak spot that I could see.
    “Thirty minutes.” Zolo’s lips curled in a smirk. “Just enough time to make the drive…Ethan.”
    No time to go change, find something less…shoot me…fuck me over.
    That’s what this was about.
    I was done with the gang—I’d thought. You’re never done, though. They might drop you. Drop you, kill you, throw you into the river or burn your carcass. But you never, ever leave them.

24. Prime pops into the sea level atmosphere on the corner of Sutton Place and Pennsylvania Avenue in deep Brooklyn, East New York, the ghetto, not a place one willingly visits.

    Especially when they look like he does.

    Perfect.

    When the artificial being woke from stasis it was the morning he was made for. Exploration morning. The day he got to go to Earth. He was going to be the first manufactured being to ever lay foot on the famous soil on the little blue ball that could.

    He had been sent from his creators exactly one hundred light years before.

    His ship had been circling the planet for many orbits around the systems main star.

    The ship recorded and sent reports back to the home world. None would arrive for centuries. But while it studied the planet it did math to prepare the android’s appearance for it’s first visit to the surface.

    The main objective of this mission was: blend in, study, become, and report back.

    Standing in the mid morning sun the calculation that equals pride pumps through the robot’s newly crafted organic fluid vessels. it’s positronic brain hums with an optimistic algorithm set. This computational emotion was standard operative procedure.

    After the first fear filled scream meets his perfectly crafted ears a hint of apprehension dawns.

    Doom is nonstandard.

    As an artificial life-form it was his mission to achieve human perfection.

    Fear was not perfection. Fear was destruction and fear quickly floods throughout Primes body.

    He made himself just over six feet and on the lower global average for body weight and very low fat levels. Fat was hard to synthesis anyway plus the system decided it wanted its Earth bound probe to reflect the sleek bone structure and under worked musculature it worked so hard to craft just under the pale pink flesh grown on top.

    The face was structured with symmetrical characteristics. The criteria was mathematical precision and the result was an equation to be proud of. A dull bored expression with little intelligence or feeling.

    Long thick wavy blonde hair suggesting virility grew from the scalp. It was hypothesized that the way it glowed and bounced was the most human option available.

    The computer gave up on the eyes though. it tried to make them blue, but could never get them right. When it got close they made the face seem fake. So they covered them in dark glasses.

    As clothes it picked cuts that seemed fashionable and colors that would pacify. Pastels tend to take the edge off the a particular color and produce a more intellectual environment.

    It did not matter, he could have been naked.

    Prime was not going to pass as human, eyes or no eyes, great hair, or bad hair, emotionless clothes, or not.

    Prime turns his head toward the screaming woman and feels apprehension being add up within its CPU.

    The human’s around him stare and their faces reflect hate. He can actually see the volatile emotion spring free from deep within the organics surrounding him when their eyes even brush at his appearance.

    A sizable group surrounds him. They speak to each other.

    “What the fuck is that?”
    “Damn dude, Miami beach is South homie.”
    “You think he knows where he be at?”

    A few people wonder, “Is there a movie filming near by?” and one child ask its mother, “Is he famous?”

    It took twenty four trips around this systems sun to design the image attached to this manufactured carbon skeleton.

    With nothing but observations to go on it was thought to be perfect.

    The system even thought the androids appearance might have even improved upon humanity with the attempt.

    The good thing was that the mission was to “learn” first and foremost.

    And learn the system would.

    “Famous or not, I bet he bleeds.” are a few of the last words recorded before rough hands grab the sweater and push the android into the exposed brick of an apartment building.

    The delicate skull slams against the buildings exterior and the carefully manufactured skin above his right brow peels away. Sensors feels a cold refreshing breeze touch the nanite shell underneath.

    In response a frightened scream of, “My God he is made of metal!” comes from a young woman behind.

    As the crowd closes in, the first earthly lesson is ended.

    Perfection is never appreciated.

25. He swore, when he joined, that he would die for his country. He had imagined hardship in desert climes, days, weeks under fire, possible dismemberment, even death.

    But not this. Never this.

    But he had sworn.

    And he would die for his country, on inch at a time.

    1. one inch, ONE. Damn.

26. She loves me, she says. Nurturing me is how she shows it. Which means I have to let her do the laundry even when she turns my clothes pink. Now to show my love for her I’m going out at 2am for her ‘craving’ food. Best I can do is try to hide behind these glasses and hope no one sees me.

27. Ruth sized up the handsome man in the pastel outfit and the shades. Pale blue sweater, pink slacks and that “I don’t give a crap” Matthew McConaughey vibe oozed from this man.

    Newly divorced and looking for some fun, she climbed into the sleek black car as Glenn Frey’s “You Belong to the City” blared from the car’s speakers. I’ve arrived, she thought.

    Chip, the handsome man in the blue sweater, closed the car door for the pretty redhead and thought to himself, She bought it! Girls really do dig retro outfits. He slipped into the driver’s seat and started up the car. A soft whoosh emitted from the back of the car as it lifted off the road and glided into the night.

28. Dave’s friends had done an incredible job; only the best looking corpses were turned into mannequins for Prince & Company. The pain was still with him: the crushed legs; the snapped and twisted spine; the colossal head trauma. He seemed to float above it all on a cloud. It felt like morphine.
    He couldn’t fathom how they had put a chin and nose back on. Or the left side of his hair. He was certain they had all been scraped down past the bone by the tarmac when the truck dragged him off his bike.
    Regardless, he was pleased with the job they had done. And was desperately hoping to be put in a display with Kim Cattrall’s mannequin.

29. Trent responded to a Craiglist ad for a male model. It said “fashion model”, but he figured that was unspoken code for soft porn. Whatever, he needed the money. Sure enough, the photographer had him pose naked except for a powder blue shirt. The photographer seemed concerned about the illusion of propriety, saying that he’d photoshop in sunglasses, pants, maybe some bracelets and a necklace. Trent thought — you don’t have to lie, man, it’s OK that you want some dic pics. And then he thought about the money and kept quiet.

30. I have been trying to unsubscribe for months. PLEASE take me off.

    1. unsubscribe is in the emails you receive

31. Debating on whether or not to wear an undershirt was the most difficult part of Kipp’s last day in his current timeline. Time travel has become a numbing bore ever since The Resistance gained control over the Event Lathe.

    Having to go on yet ANOTHER undercover mission to ANOTHER pointless timeline was inevitable. Looking for any clue to the Lathe’s whereabouts.

    At least Kipp could have a little fun with it. Finding suitable attire was always one thing he looked forward to doing. His counterpart never had the nerve to tell him that he was always a few decades off and was absolutely terrible at dressing himself.

32. Lito Vreski, in 1987.

    Younger brother to Karl and Tony.

    Lito sold his own line of children’s wear-for-adults in a Milan boutique. FABL or For Adults By Lito.

    When Lito heard of the events at the Nakatomi Building, it came as a shock. He never suspected his brothers — who had ostensibly gone to LA to open a store — could lead such a violent double life. And to learn that his childhood friends Theo and Hans (for whom the popular Arafat One-piece Mansy was designed) had been involved, further cemented the nauseating sense that his reality had been a deception.

    Lito relinquished control to FABL to a trusted business confidant (Simon Gruber), and traveled to an Algerian beach resort much beloved by his brothers in golden days past. There he made the acquaintance of a nice American colonel named Stuart who was making plans to rendezvous with Ramon, an old friend.

    1. “Live Soft With a Vengeance: The Lito Vreski Story.”

33. Perhaps he shouldn’t have opened the concert that way, he realized as the angry crowd started flowing towards the stage. But he couldn’t show his fear of the enraged mob. He calmly walked back to his dressing room (a little faster than usual) and slipped on the nondescript sweater and slacks he’d set out as a disguise for the paparazzi before going out to play. Finally putting on his friendship bracelets (each of which represented a favor a celebrity owed him) and his sunglasses, John Tesh thought to himself “Who thought playing Chopsticks for half an hour straight as a joke could make people so violent?” before slipping out the back exit into the crowd enjoying the afternoon sun.

34. “I found it!” Indira shrieked triumphantly, leaping up from her console and startling a dozen of her coworkers. “I found the chaos window!” A disturbed murmur swept through the bunker. It was the day they had all prayed for and dreaded in equal measure. They guiltily hoped for an error as Indira’s results were checked, the buzz of the quantum computer barely masking the groans of the dying world outside, but no error was found. She had found that key period in history, the sequence of events where things had both irrevocably started to go wrong and could be forever made right.

    The General emerged from the tiny, walled off corner that served as his office. “It’s time,” he announced to the room gravely. “We all knew what this would mean when we started this mission.” The barest flicker of compassion crossed his face. “This will be the most merciful way any of us could go. If we succeed, we will have never been. Let’s work.”

    The chaos window was as Indira had always suspected: America, Wall Street, early 1980s. The weapon was camouflaged, the time portal set. It was time to save the future.

35. Ever wonder what happened to Zack, the Lego Maniac? Wonder no longer…

36. Don Johnson’s son Big Johnson never knew what hit him, but he knew he was stuck in the 80s forever. Now he had to learn how to deal with the excesses inherent with the decade. Would his fathers lessons pay off or would he get lost in the bigger, badder, more, more, more culture exploding all around him? Would he end up working in an adult toy factory as his name suggested or was he destined for the porn industry? He didn’t know how or when he would answer these questions. He only knew he was ready to take on the world!

37. Dmitri had spent his entire life preparing. He’d been born in a little town outside of Moscow but on his 5th birthday his parents had given him to the Kremlin. He’d been groomed, trained to infiltrate the capitalist hellscape that was America. He was ready to finally break the isolation of the Siberian wasteland that he’d called home for thirteen years. He was ready. He jumped ship from a freighter out of Bulgaria when it made port in Miami. First thing, he bought new clothes: an awesome blue sweater, cool pink slacks, tubular shades, a few sweet friendship bracelets, topped off with a thin gold chain. He looked rad. He was supposed to head north to DC to meet up with the rest of his team and kill Ronald Reagan. But he had other plans. He was going to get a part on Miami Vice, or die trying.

38. Blake thought to himself, “How do I prepare for detona….”

39. Hmmm… And I like that matshmallow foodporn king.

    1. Marshmallow

       1. matchmellow

40. Hank “Dammit, I told you to call me Crockett!” Garakowski, last remaining Miami Vice fanboy, was enjoying the three-day weekend.

41. Hmmm… I like that Marshmallow foodporn king.

42. Johnny had always had a thing for Miami Vice. Frustrated that the world had let him down by not returning to this clothing style, he decided he was going to bring it back. He took one more look at himself in the mirror, smiled and nodded as he peered at himself through the top of his sunglasses. “This is my year!” he told him and ventured forward into the great wide world.

43. The goal was to blend in, not draw attention. But something wasn’t right. His research was normally impeccable but it had obviously failed him somehow this time. A group of slightly intoxicated adult women walked by casting him sidelong glances. One of them shouted.
    “Don Johnson just called and he wants he clothes back!”
    This was followed by some giggling as the group stumbled on. So it was his clothes. He deftly veered off from the clamor of the street. This was a relief, attire was not his specialty. He knew his hair looked fine and he had adjusted his “sunglasses” when a young boy’s reaction indicated that they should be removable instead of part of his visual organs.
    A man of roughly the same size approached from the other end of the alley. His clothes would do nicely. He gestured towards the man who began to smile in return.

    1. Damn, I made myself write this this before looking at Wil’s story or anybody else’s… and now looking through them I’m amazed at the similarities… the recurring Don Johnson theme being one 🙂

44. He’s a time cop from the 1980s. It’s his job to travel back and forwards through time, stopping crimes sometimes before, sometimes after they’ve happened. Occasionally he does both. He knows one day he might have to travel forwards in time to stop the man he will one day become, in order to prevent the birth of the baby he once was. Then again he might not. All he can really count on is the shades he wears to save his eyes from the strain of too much temporal travel. Those time wormholes can be so bright.

45. Blue anything, sky blue as she called it, always reminded him of her. That was a few short months ago in another country, another world but now everything had changed. He was here now and she was gone from his life. Blue sweater, pink pants, fit in he thought as he was making his way to the club, THAT club, where playboys play and steal others’ lives. As he strolled he could see the iron gates and the guards greeting and frisking each attendee. Still not comfortable he noticed the late afternoon sun reflecting on an object in the public waste receptacle. Sunglasses, dark, a place to hide as he prepared to do what no one has done, he thought perfect as he put them on and thought of her again, because she always wanted to see his eyes and that was fine by him because he liked her watching his eyes as he scanned her curves in the Mexican summer sun. One final look at those bracelets she made him wear that she brought from the children. His life had changed when she was gone and now it was to change again. A simple act really yet the result would likely place him in a prison where few return, if he lived. As the fondle from the guard was complete he made his way into the drinks, $1,000 caviar and played like he was one of them. He knew the estate well after planting the bombs at each corner and under the floor and all it took was a simple flip of a switch. As he exited the bathroom knowing he had 3 minutes to leave he excused himself for being sick and made his way to the door. With his head down appearing sick he bumped into a group as he exited the compound and they were coming, looking up to pardon himself his eyes met hers and fear struck him as the bombs exploded in what seemingly was a perfectly timed event for the two of them.

46. He never thought he’d recover– not fully. The dread of flashbacks, of reliving that day, made a panicked sweat bead on his brow. Following his pinnacle on the flight deck, he’d reach his nadir 13 months later standing over Hollywood’s body. But this was a new day and he was a new man. He picked up Mav’s glasses, his only memento from that afternoon on the Enterprise, and walked into the studio.

    “Stand on the mark” the photographer absently called.

    He didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he put them in his pockets, masking his nervousness with a facade of bravado.

    “OK, I think I’ve got it.”

    With that, it was over. It was nothing, he realized — just a photo in a Banana Republic catalog – but it was the start he needed. Soon he’d be back on Top. Watch out, world, the Iceman cometh.

47. The truth is nobody looks for sweaters online. Or jumpers if you’re me and lots of other people from the other side of the ocean. Sweater pictures online are like a secret cable network (and don’t think they didn’t get a kick out of the “cable”knit gag. Because they did. Do. Every day). I know you can’t unsee this pictirs. Who can? It’s like Matthew McConaughey ransacked your eighties childhood on a day out. But just stop seeing it. Now. It’s for the best.

48. He surveyed his kingdom. The casino with a high end strip club and other rooms for most any vice you could desire. His face was stoic as his muscled, best friend and now personal bodyguard stood next to him.

    “Z, she’s at the pole again.”

    The blonde in the shades shook his head and snapped his fingers. A weasely looking dude took off and came back dragging the leggy curly haired woman with him. She pouted as she crossed her arms and glared at Z. Z just snorted at her and thumbed behind him, telling her to get in position. Then he snapped his fingers and two other beautiful women came up to stand on either side of the leggy one. One with dark skin and shining curls and the other with red hair and a curvy figure.

    Z went first, followed by the three girls, the bodyguard after him and the squirrely guy behind him. As they made their slow motion walk down the stairs the music changed throughout the casino. What was once some pretty decent techno music, suddenly became something out of the nineties.

    “It’s alright, because I’m saved by… It’s alright because I’m saved by the bell…..”

49. This is Miles.

    Miles is a special creature known as a human. We’re not exactly sure where their sense of entitlement came from, but it is believed many such humans believe they are the most important thing in the galaxy. The look he is sporting is common amongst their kind, though we, again, are uncertain why. We believe humans are a potential pest problem that may one day affect your world. Please give generously! It takes just 5000 crescents for us to fund a warship capable of exterminating these creatures and removing them from our galaxy. Act now, before humans becomes self-aware and killing Miles seems morally wrong…

50. No one suspected Jon was a sheep farmer gone bust. In desperation for his craft of spinning wool into sweaters, Jon resorted to shaving poodles and using the ‘fleece’ as an alternative yarn. It was all good until the day of the thunderstorm when he got soaked, ran into the Starbucks and the odour of wet dog permeated the room…

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