The Inner Workings Of LTM
Written By: Joe

I bet all you people (yes ALL THREE OF YOU) sit around your houses all day and go "Golly gee, I wish I knew of the inner workings of that wondrous institution of the internet known as Listen To Me." Well! I can't help you there because I don't know what on earth you people are talking about. You have no lives and strange thoughts, you do. Inner workings?! What inner workings!? What, do you think there's like some factory where we make five year olds move heavy things, write sub-par reviews, and pull large levers to get this site up and running? Well, heh, of course there's nothing like that. Don't be silly...heh.....eh, let's move on.

Let's pretend like LTM was a factory for a second, okay? We're just pretending though, right? Right. I don't know about this inner workings stuff but I have decided to do my best to craft a wondrous story about the (imaginary) world of LTM for you that should fill the space admirably as well as maybe sort of answer these quandaries about the so-called "inner workings" of this site. You will love it. I have no idea what I'm gonna type here. This should be pretty random. Also, it will suck, in keeping with the standards of the rest of the site. Has any of this made sense to you thus far? It doesn't make any sense to me. Apparently I'm gonna talk about a factory that doesn't exist? Right, okay...well, whatever.

ONCE UPON A TIME, one fine day I, Joe, was walking around the LTM factory yelling at the children because that is what I do. I yell at the children...and hit them sometimes...well, often. I'm only in charge of the children in my section you see. Here's how it works. I am stationed at one part of the factory. I stay there to reprimand the children and order them to write mediocre "entertainment" articles in my name. Yes, that's right, in my name. You see, none of the staff members here actually do any writing. Oh heavens no, Robert Gonsales!!! All we do is order 4-year olds to do it. That's the extent of our jobs. I am assigned to the section of children who write reviews that get my name attached to them. Ross is assigned to the children that we tack his name onto the work of. Gringo just sits in a big office eating mallomars and sticks of butter and every once in awhile he examines some of the current work being produced by our child workforce and picks out something he really likes and sticks his name on that and just adds "(no)" and "Great" all over it. He sucks.

The children in my part of the factory are specially bred to include cursing in their dialect as a commonality and we make them watch war movies a lot, just to fuck with their heads, ass shit cock! Ross' kids (like Jerry's Kids but with labor and factory) are trained to write really long pieces that suck. How do we train them to do this?! We don't do a damn thing! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! ROSS SUCKS AHAHAHAHA! We do beat them though...the kids that is.

Anyway I was yelling at this child and being like "HEY! YOU PUT MORE CURSES IN THAT! GRR FUCK SHITTY POO!" when I hear from the big fat intercom that is big and fat, Gringo's stupid British accent saying "OI COBBLERS BLOODY HELL, MATE, EH WHAT?! Joe, come down to my fat, tubby bitch office right now because I need to talk to you and eat butter at the same time because I am fat! Great."

"Shit ass cockadoodlebuttfuck!" said I because I hate it when that smelly tub of lard calls me up to his office. He never has anything of any worth to say and he makes us perform oral sex on him. No wait! No he doesn't! Ha ha ha! Funny joke! Let's move on!

So I told the kids to make sure to keep cursing or else I would "have their asses" and went on my merry way to Gringo's office. On the way I saw Ross yelling at his chillun. He was saying, "You kids better write the things you are writing good and then write them better because otherwise I will hurt with this whip and then with my hand and then with my club and later I will kill you. So then you will be dead and that's what will happen! It will not be nice to be you when you are dead it will suck, I drink pee."

I said "Hello Ross, your kids suck and, hence, so do your reviews." He got all mad and then we had a fight from like one of those Japanese cartoons that was all slow but I hate those so in the end I just shot him but he got back up again a moment later because we are all cyborgs but I digress.

So I start walking up the stairs to Gringo's office. There are many stairs there because Gringo put his office up high because it makes him feel more important. I walked past some pistons that went "PSSHH PSHH!!" and I am mentioning that so the story sounds believable because we all know that factories have pistons, even if they don't do anything and now you will believe my every word. I'm Detective John Kimble. I'm a cop, you idiot!!

Anyway, I get to Gringo's office and knock on the door and I hear him say "ENTER!!! I AM FAT AND EAT MY OWN POOPIES!" I go inside and it is very smelly. Oh, how smelly it is. There are flies and a fat blob thing which is Gringo. The flies fly around Gringo. He's fat. They sit on him sometimes and eat the food that has fallen on to his tubby chest. He eats a lot.

"What's up?" I say to Gringo.

"MY SMALL PENIS," he says. "I HAVE BEEN WATCHING MALE GAY PORN ON MY COMPUTER PC DESKTOP MACHINE AND I AM MOST EXCITED."

"Oh, dude, that's...really more than I needed to know."

"THE PORN HAS EIGHT MEN."

"Yeah...that's...really great but-"

"THEY HAVE GAY MALE SEX WITH EACH OTHER."

"I realize that but you don't really have to-"

"ONE TAKES THE PENIS AND PUTS IT INTO THE BUTT OF THE OTHER..."

"Okay shut up."

"AND THAT IS GAY SEX."

"Right, shut up now."

"THAT IS GAY SEX."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"

"THAT IS GAY SEX!!"

"SHUT UP!! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!"

"THAT IS GAY-WHOO??"

"You asked me up here, you fat dumbfuck moron assshit cocklicker!? What do you want!?"

"OH YES. I EAT LOTS OF FATTY FOODS AND AM BRITISH! OI! I JUST REMEMBERED I AM SUPPOSED TO BE BRITISH SO NOW I WILL START SOUNDING A LOT MORE BRITISH ALL OF A SUDDEN, GUVNOR. ANYWAY, CHAP, I HAVE HAD A GREAT IDEA (no)!! I WOULD LIKE YOU TO START YOUR CHILD LABOR CHILDREN ON WRITING A STORY ABOUT THE INNER-WORKINGS OF LISTEN TO ME. OI!"

"Inner...workings? I don't get it."

"BLAAAARRRRRRGHHFAGGYPOP POP POPPITY POP!!! GRINGO HAS SPOKEN I EAT CHICKEN WITH GREASE ON IT!!!! OI COBBLERS BLOODYFUCK!!! Great."

"Fine fine you fucking fat fuck, you never say anything of worth or anything that makes sense and you eat shit and you fart a lot. I will go now."

"*FART FART FARRRRRRRRT!!!*" (that was Gringo farting. I ran away very quickly.)

Anyway, I suppose that sort of explains why I wrote this and why it doesn't make sense...because Gringo doesn't make any sense. Please don't reveal our child labor secrets to anyone...um...because they are imaginary....yes....that's it. Imaginary. Fuck shitty ass dibblycock! Go pee on a horse damn ass slutty twat cunt cocker!

Written by Jimmy Durham
Age 7

Please help me and get me out of this fucking factory, ass slut whore democracy cuntslice.

Love fuck,
Jimmy


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