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Welcome to Paul Ryan’s Ramblings, owned and operated by the Halliburton Company since 1997! By using our services, you are agreeing to these terms. Since you’ve already begun reading, you are already using our services, which means you’ve already agreed to our terms unconditionally. You are our bitch. Bark like a dog, bitch.
We can change these terms at any time, for any reason, without any notice to you. We are also legally allowed to enter your home at night and kiss your wife while she’s asleep. By reading this sentence, you agree we can tell you spoilers from the next season of Game of Thrones and attack your family with Japanese sex robots. If you’d like to opt out of this agreement, please connect a Chinese language keyboard and press the “peh” symbol within five seconds.
Have you pressed it yet? You still have two seconds left. It’s right next to the “miu” key.
Judging by your lack of “peh,” you have agreed to our terms. In season three, Tyrion Lannister and Bran Stark get married and have a Benjamin Button baby (played by Judi Dench). Please tell your parents to bend over and try to touch the floor while our Japanese sex robot removes its sweatpants.
Caution: Repeated use of Ramblings can cause vomiting, potty mouth, blindness, alcoholism, a tremendous amount of wasted time, erectile dysfunction, erectile misfunction, erectile FUNCTION, diabetes foot, the return of Christ, a tidal wave of unflattering public diarrhea, phosphoric acid, caramel coloring, high fructose corn syrup, a farting problem, more than one farting problem, crucifixion, celebrity nipple slips, and a seventh season of the classic television program “Mr. Belvedere.”
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Please read Google’s privacy policies. Have you read them now? Okay, good—ours are NOTHING like that. In fact, they’re the exact opposite. We will collect all your information, including browser history, browser cookies, non-browser chocolate chip cookies, restroom usage, medical records, strip club receipts, and nude photos you texted to your ex-boyfriend because you were certain the two of you were going to be married forever and your wedding would have napkins folded to look like ducks oh my god he’s running off with Charlene wtf NO WAY that fat tramp can barely stand up she has so many penises in her what does he see in that wet mop of a woman does her dad have a hot tub or something I wonder if she’s dying of AIDS now I sure hope she is I wonder what’s on TV maybe reruns of that law show with that big ugly lady from Stephen King’s “Misery”?
Actually, I just read through Google’s privacy policies, and theirs are pretty much identical to ours.
Hey, y’know what I like? That music where a hobo plays a spoon against his knee. And now you do, too, because I randomly placed this sentence in our user agreement.
Please use Ramblings as directed. Do not use for more than 14 days unless directed by your doctor. If a rash occurs, stop sleeping around. Women over the age of 60 sometimes read Ramblings and mistake it for Barb Olsen’s column, and then they get really angry at Barb and write half a stern letter to her before their grandkids come in and inform them that they accidentally put on their husband’s glasses again instead of their own. So they put their own on, but then start complaining about how everything looks weird to them now, and their grandkids are like, “Stop closing one eye and then switching and closing the other eye. It’s just going to make your vision weirder,” but they keep doing it so the grandkids just leave and take a bus downtown to buy some drugs.
If you ever meet Helen Keller, don’t tell her about Ramblings. It’s a really great column and she can’t read it OR listen to you read it to her, and the publisher won’t print copies of this newspaper in Braille despite my numerous requests. So don’t tell her. It would be mean. Just pretend you’re not in the room anymore when she keeps signing “handsome columnist” over and over again.
You can stop using Ramblings at any time, and we can stop providing Ramblings to you at any time. Why do you ask? Are you thinking about not using Ramblings anymore? That’s kind of a dick move, man. Maybe you don’t deserve Ramblings. Maybe these carefully crafted jokes about bodily functions are better suited for sophisticated people with more discriminating taste. Maybe you should go jerk off to Ann Landers instead. No? Well, you’ve already agreed to it.