Yam is good, Yam is great, Yam makes me deliberate

[Sam, Sam The Dancing Yam]

[Sam, in his infinite yammy wisdom, and in an effert to keep himself out of the asylum has decided to post another post type rant thing, so that he may continue to vent his spleen. He will also attempt to answer unasked questions and do many things in his own mind that are impossibly impossible to any person in their own mind. But knowing this crazy man type yam, he will more then likely just yammer on like a yam and get nowhere, while this humble narrator will narrate a pointless story in which nothing happens, and we don't get anywhere.]

SSTDY - Are you quite done?

[That depends...]

SSTDY - ... On if you want to live another five minutes.

[>Pause< I'm done.]

SSTDY - Good you silly narrator in the head of this definitely sane Yam. You see, readers of the rant. I Sam, Sam The Dancing Yam, am coming back to Brawlers on a Budget so that I may inflict sanity on this company. After my unfortionat trip to St. Joan's I am now completely sane. Or at least according to the State of New Jersey. But Jersey's a hell hole anyway, so what in the blue feta cheese do they know?

[They know much about gardens.]

SSTDY - But gardens are not related to sanity. So there. And anyway stop interrupting the rants of a sane man. The Sanest man in BOB. Nay, the sanest man in the whole of the BOBerverse, And to prove my sanity I shall take down each and ever member of the BOB roster, and win each and every title. And when I do that I will have proved that sanity, is the greatest tool a wrestling genetically altered Yam can have...

[Why do you still refer to yourself as a genetically altered Yam?]

SSTDY - Because my contract says I have to. Silly napkin contracts... So there, silly voice in head of the Yam, that will party harty and get down in the den. May any person or persons, whom shall cross this disco dancing yam fall before his yammy might. Qouth the Yam, never more...

[Pigeon]

Quoth the Pigeon... you're a bore.

The oceans turn as the tides collide...
The veery moths wither as the day turns to night.

The catacombs combust into disillusion...
The confused are left in all of their confusion.

The lookers are looking as the looks look to learn...
As the tither tapes tremble... and the brivvy brooks burn.

This is the day of your final damnation.

This is the day of my celebration.

This is the beginning of a brand new nation.

Of disenchanted men becoming enchanted menstruation.

The fallen turn to the sky for a vindicator...
The fallen raise their voices, and pray for sooner or later...

For a new day to dawn, and a new horizon...
For the end of the old... and a hero to rise again.

For a champion, a champ... not a chimp or a chump.
For a budunka dunk duckling with a bumpitty bump.

For someone to guide them... to lead them ashore.
For someone to brave the worst of weath-ore.
For someone to trust who's trustworthy and more...
For someone to be true... to be righteous... to be pyore.

For someone... anyone... But not just any...

A SAVE-YORE

Quoth Axl, but not Van Halen...

Axl: May Sam the Yam be champion...

... NEVERMORE.

|welcome to the bio dome|

[Sam, Sam The Dancing Yam]

Looks like some silly poster holds a grudge,
A man who likes to pack the fudge.
Beat me he cannot,
'Cause he smokes the pot.
And while he is up the Juju,
he'll be beaten by you know who.
And when I make the pin,
and pick up the win.
Axl the Rocky,
will go down on cocky...