Made college meals, you know?

Nanomachines, son. They solve every problem.

I heard you people had memes.

Blood is Red, College Football is fun, War is a business, Nanomachines, son.

As my buddy Monsoon once said: Free will is a myth. Religion is a joke. We are all pawns of something even greater: memes, the DNA of the soul. They shape our will. They are the culture. They are everything we pass on. Expose someone to anger long enough, they will learn to hate. They become a carrier. Envy, greed, despair: all memes, all passed on. Remember that, Jack. You can't escape the memes.

Want advice? Allow give you some. I have a dream. That one day every person in this nation will control their own destiny. A land of the truly free, dammit. A nation of action, not words, ruled by strength, not committee! Where the law changes to suit the individual, not the other way around. Where power and justice are back where they belong: in the hands of the people! Where every man is free to think - to act - for himself! Fuck all these limp-dick lawyers and chickenshit bureaucrats. Fuck this 24-hour Internet spew of trivia and celebrity bullshit! Fuck American pride! Fuck the media! FUCK ALL OF IT! America is diseased. Rotten to the core. There's no saving it - we need to pull it out by the roots. Wipe the slate clean. BURN IT DOWN! And from the ashes, a new America will be born. Evolved, but untamed! The weak will be purged and the strongest will thrive - free to live as they see fit, they'll make America ''great again!'' ...In my new America, people will die and kill for what they BELIEVE! Not for money. not for oil! Not for what they're told is right. Every man will be free to fight his own wars! Remember those words and make your way to the top, Jack.

I can break a president in two with my bare hands. I'd be a good bodyguard and VP. I also make a mean omelette.

Put the phansites fate back where it belongs. In the hands of the users. Make the phansite great again, Jack.

*Armstrong walks out of the explosion made by the propane tanks, his eggs all broken. He presses his glasses up his nose* Who thew that?

*Armstrong punts kirby again before leaving to fins more eggs.* I will make the mother of all ommlettes yet, Jack. Just you wait.