Strange Times Joins Fight Club

Strange Times is pissed.  Not the usual kind of pissed either.  Usually we can fix that by throwing some steak seasoning in orphan eyes.  But today, hoooh boy.  We are ready to let the world have it.  We're more mad than that time we caught our wives in bed with an Olympic team of firefighting rockstars.  If only there were a way to take out our aggression.  A way to relieve some of this stress that doesn't involve strangling our wangles.

While walking solemnly across town, kicking cans and pouting at our reflections in every storefront, we heard sounds of a tussle coming from within a seemingly abandoned warehouse.  Entering the building, we were immediately hit with dozens of stern stares.  A group of men, varying in age and shape, covered in bodily fluids and trying desperately to act nonchalant.

Look at asses much, guy on the right?

Turns out the fellas run a little bit of a "Fight Club".  We asked to join, but before inducting us into the organization, they had to run us through a few rules.  Being the rebellious badboys we are, we were hesitant to get on board with any kind of law and order, but we obliged.  We were just really eager to kick the shit out of someone.

RULE #1:  You do not talk about Fight Club...well, we already broke the first rule with the headline, so the rest of this article is just going to be sort of downhill from here.  Ready for that?  Okay, cool.

Um, RULE #2 is...You DO NOT talk about Fight Club?  Well, that can't be right.  That's what RULE #1 is.  Why would they do that?  You'd think they would have proofread the rules sheet before they printed it.

RULE #3: When someone says "stop", or goes limp, taps out the fight is over.  That seems rather silly.  We know from personal experience how difficult it is to get into a scuffle without a raging erection.

RULE #4: Only two guys to a fight.  What if one of them is a midget?  Shouldn't two midgets fight one regular-sized guy?  Or does the midget just have to wait around until another midget shows up?  Seems kind of ineffective.

RULE #5: One fight at a time.  Again, that seems extremely time consuming.  Can't we all just get hammered and clobber each other with no rhyme or reason?  Isn't that what our forefathers would have wanted?

RULE #6: No shirts, no shoes.  The sanitary issues alone debunk this rule.  You've all seen those guys with pimply backs that look like they're about to erupt in a fountain of pus.  We wouldn't fight those disease piles with a ten foot stick.  Not wearing shoes isn't a big deal if they put down a tarp or something.  And what about sandals?  Do they count?  If not, we're gonna have a problem.

RULE #7: Fights will go on as long as they have to.  We have jobs, y'know?  We've got news to write, drugs to deal and families to neglect.  We can't sit around all night just because some guy locked in a wedgie refuses to give up.  We'd rather save a bunch of time and go find a pizza guy to smack around.

RULE #8: If this is your first night at fight club, you have to fight.  Well, what if we just want to observe?  Maybe we aren't sure if this sort of thing is for us.  You're going to make us fight even if we don't want to?  Wow.  That doesn't seem very fair.  Dicks.

You know, after going through the fine print, we really don't think we want anything to do with this.  It seems more like the cool kids' table at lunch.  Always saying, "You can sit here if you smear mustard on your penis and let Rick's dog lick it off."  DOGS DON'T EVEN LIKE MUSTARD!

But they love cocktail sauce.

The guys were reluctant to let us leave after seeing their operation, but agreed when we told them about the several bricks of weapons-grade plutonium we've been looking to get rid of.  They took 'em off our hands, free of charge.  They're working on some school project or something.  They called it Project Chaos.  It sounds pretty sweet, but they probably make everyone wear lameass uniforms or something.