Robin, Cyborg and Raven are sitting in the Main Room watching the monitor of a computer, conveniently searching info on Slade, Bad guys and massive quantities of porn. They like them some o' de naughty-naughty.
"Say, chums for life, what do you believe would happen if we searched for our names on the good ol' safe internet, where we could never be exploited and ruined. Surely no one would shame us like a bunch of spastic whores?" said Robin as he laughed insanely. He really doesn't have any control, does he?
"Why, I would assume nothing of the sort, friendly pal with pointy hair." said Cyborg.
"Let's see what sort of goodness people have written about us!" suggested Raven.
They agreed and came to a site call Fan Friction (I cleverly disguised that shit. It's like a totally different website! Sarcasm is overrated.)
"Hmmmm, look at this! There's a writer called Saint Q." said Robin. (DISGUISED!)
Three minutes later….
All three titans stare in silence at the horrific display of sex, violence and drugs.
"….I have naughty ideas." muttered Robin.
"Yeah….what do you suppose he meant by me taking a banana and #!(ing myself with a &# in the 7&?"
"Don't be silly Cy, you don't have an at-symbol, seven, and symbol. That was lost with your body." laughed Robin.
Cy got pissed and went all Transformers on Robin's pasty, white, I-wanna-juice-box ass.
He turned both his arms into a set of nun-chucks….but had no arms to wield them so he merely headbutted his comrade. Blunt, shiny heads hurt like toast on fire. That has been proven.
"So what now?" asked Raven, trembling with excitement. Again, spastasticness prevails through rational thought! Take that Wisconsin! Shove that cheese up your ass!
"We need to call all titans…I have an idea…" said Robin, as he smirked evilly and stroked a fat white cat with his clawed hand.
I have returned. Rejoice…or wither in despair. Either way, live with it. I, in the meantime, must fight off a hangover.
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