You and John Oliver are playing poker in a dark and dusty basement. Hillary clinton's private servers hum in the background. John Oliver looks to his right and a decent photoshop of Donald Duck with Donald trump's hair appears. John Oliver passionately licks trump-ducks behind and it quacks with immigrant hating euphoria. Suddenly a bump comes from beneath the table and Belgian pop star snollebollekes slides out from underneath, presumably having just finished fellating John Oliver who was sitting across from you. You think this because Snollebollecus still has a little sorrow on his sumptuous bousm. You play your blue eyes white dragon in attack mode and attack him directly, decimating his hp. Shocked that your attack did only 10% of his health you flip the table in rage! to your infinite surprise you discover that snallebollakos was fused with your toe and had been reading a copy of the clockwork orange: mien kampf edition. then it all maked sense. You standed, "I've finally gotten to the bottom of this bottom!" You say triumphantly "but what's the answer professor?" You remove your top hat revealing a miniature replica of the world trade centre. "It's elementary my dear Watson." John Oliver's glasses crack ominously as his face contorts into a terrible frown. "I understand it all now. The candlestick was a representation of Britain, long and brass." John Oliver's muscles swell to thrice their normal size, rippling like waves breaking on the beaches of Normandy. "The kitchen, where you spend most of your time pussy whipped by your bag-of-meth wife." John Oliver stands revealing his HBO boxer briefs. You can only guess as to what horrors lie within. "And now the final piece of the puzzle... mr green." John Oliver takes off his now completely crushed Groucho glasses. "so you finally figured it out huh?" He laughs britishly. "that's right... Mr ILLUMINATI!" John Oliver metrically flexes his gracilis muscles, blowing you back with the shockwave produced by the air displaced. With speed rivalling Inigo Montoya, You draw your sword; the legendary Hondamasamunemeganekaijuyamatodreamcast sama. Your sensei's words echo in your head: "there is a time and place for everything, kick his ass slick. Go for the balls" you jump forward at John Oliver who had been monologuing about silent obedient consent. your blade glistened, infused with your chai-tea it tore through the air with the sound of a thousand disappointing orgasms. He throws the three year old son of one of the producers at you. "TOTOROSSA LAPUTA!" You shout as a beam of pink light erupts from your groin. The child is transformed into a Yiddish sex doll. Now within range of John Oliver you strike him with your soul wavelength However the blast ricochets off of John Oliver's body striking a cabbage cart. "NANOMACHINES SON" he says. your eyes widen as he punches your sword into the sun. "Nooo! It was my brother" you shout! Suddenly Nicholas Cage barks at you, you look up to see him carrying a wad of his own pubic hair. with his final breath he tosses the hair to you. It is unlocked now that five days have passed and you say "my blade is meant for GNODAB but then again this is penis hair" you let forth a mighty battle roar a roar that would do any man's heart good to hear it! And as the duke called for an encore, you launch your ball hair covered rocket fist straight into John Oliver's chest tearing out his dry inedible scone heart. He falls into the giant ventilation shaft and shouts: "my boi I am your father" and he dies. But you're okay because you support planned parenthood. The end