Dipset Detox with Michael McDonald at Epcot Center (pt 51)
"All right! I'm here to give you n'er-do-wells the bum's rush!"
"Who the fuck said that?!?!" said Michael McDonald.
Big Picture - BP010806.bgp
"It is I, The Zipcode Man! Get the picture? And I can juggle like nobody's business! To wit:"
Wow! The Zipcode Man! How does he juggle like that? I am impressed! And scared! Does he know secret Google?
"Ha! The Zipcode Man doesn't need your new-fangled, high-falutin computer styles. I'm practiced in the arts of US mail secret postal code powers! Take this, you scoundrels:"
Oh! As it says at the the Zipcode Man's talent page, he can "invent the most improbable and entertaining stories about people based on their zip codes." But what he's saying right now is even more captivating - he's telling us a story not about us, or any people, at least not directly. Instead, it's a story about zip codes, told entirely in a secret zip code code. Seriously - I'm not typing echolaliacally - it's a zip code code. Zip code after zip code after zip code.
But why is Michael McDonald smirking like that?
"HA HA... You better get the fuck up outta here with your paleologism-talking and your quaint postal powers, Mr Zipcode Man.
Yungstar, Fat Pat - Get the fuck up freestyle (screwed & chopped by DJ Screw)
Pharaoh Monche - Get the fuck up (screwed & chopped by DJ Screw)
"I certainly hope you're not the best line of defense Epcot Center has to throw at me, else I won't enjoy my revenge at all... You cannot possibly hope to compete with Michael McDonald. Your postal code style is outdated, obsolete... Watch my face's superior smirk as I spray you with my secret google internet cheat code. I'm the IP Address Man, bitch!"
Michael McDonald conjures a fine aerosol mist of IP address miasma. So much for Zipcode Man.