I'm glad to announce that Chris Phelan, the pissy little bitch who used to talk so much shit, is now dead and buried six feet below the earth's surface.

The circumstances around his death are hazy, but this is what I've gathered from my research…

Chris, an avid fan of homosexuality and homosexual endeavors, was strolling through the bath house one day. It was the very merry month of May. He was taken by surprise by a pack of black guys and beaten to death by their cocks.

Strangely enough, Chris used his blood to write a note on the bath house wall that read: “Me can die happy now.”

He never was so hot at grammar.

Chris is proof (and a good warning to that black kid on PIC) that making fun of Nick Gaudio for a writing career doesn't add up to much. I think this is mainly because you can't make jokes nobody understands and nobody understands them because not everybody reads me. But that might just be me being humble. I dunno.

Truth be told, I don't really know what happened to that fuck. I just know that he fizzled out, like so many little bitches do.

And I know that he was as much of a good writer as he was a heterosexual: he couldn't write himself out of a wet paperbag and he couldn't get that goddamned gerbil out of his ass.

I won't miss him and hell, you won't either.

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