God dammit put down your cups of ignorance and drink up some logic!

DON'T YOU REALISE?
HAVE YOU NOT FIGURED IT OUT?! THEIR HAVING A GO AND ALL YOU CAN DO IS SIT THERE WITH FOAMY HAIR!!!

YEAH thats dam right!!! I know their secret!! You put this stuff in your hair everyday with the promise of decreasing dryness and manic depression. ITS ALL IN THE TITLE its SHAMPOO. Lets breakdown this word man.
SHAM
POO

Section 1 is the RIDICULOUS SHAM.
Bobby Soap hands and Jimmy Liquefy were sitting there talking about how sweet liquid soap is when they realised that there is a whole market of people out there who buy toothpaste with three colours in it because they actually think the colours represent something other than food dye!

IT is with the help of these people they decided that people would set aside a separate amount of money for what is essentially liquid soap with a different name. Except it goes in your hair.
It even goes to the extent where people would look at you crazy if you put hand soap in your hair. JUST BECAUSE YOUR PRECIOUS HAIR SOAP HAS FRUIT ON THE PACKAGING!

Section 2.
POO
The poo part of this is obvious because not only do they scam you with their ridiculous sham they rub it in your face with an exponentially increasing amount of arrogant ad campaigns that show golden orbs sinking into your hair. There are NO GOLDEN ORBS. Only soap, soap that washes your hair. THERE IS NO SCIENCE. Only soap, soap that has less a chance of bringing hair follicles back to life than it has at bringing Mr Jackson back to life.

And before I leave!
PAINKILLERS DO NOT TARGET SPECIFIC AREAS TO RELIEVE PAIN. THEY DRUG YOU.

THERMAL IMAGING THAT REPRESENTS FAT BEING BURNED IS NOT ACTUALLY SHOWING FAT BURNING, THEY ARE SHOWING WHICH AREAS ARE COLD AND WHICH AREAS ARE HOT, IF YOU HAVE EVER BEEN HOT BEFORE YOU WOULD KNOW THIS IS MEANINGLESS. UNLESS YOUR PENIS/VAGINA LOSES TEN POUNDS EVERYDAY WHILE THE REST OF YOU STAYS CHUNKARIFFIC!

THIS HAS BEEN AN ARTICLE BY CRAZY STEVE

A brand new detective novel!

Rebel Yell is proud to announce yet another thrilling publication!
The Streets are melancholy  is an exiting piece of detective fiction !

It was a hot day in New Yorksburg, oppressively hot, so hot that all of the nineteen fifties people considered briefly wearing something other than suits and gangster hats. But they kept on wearing them anyway, it’s really important that you grasp that it’s hot. The fan in Dirk Doyle’s private eye office was straining to keep up with the hot, hot heat; it was somehow in the way of the light so it had a similar lighting effect as on a Ridley Scott film. Dirk was chewing on a cigar, or a toothpick, it was probably too hot to smoke. There was a knock on the door, from the other side of the door than Dirk so dirk couldn’t see who it was. It was an attractive woman, he saw this when she walked in, which she did sexily.

‘Are you Doyle?’ she asked.

‘Who wants to know?’

‘Me.’

‘And who are you?’

‘I’m Winona Kidman, I want you to follow my husband.’

‘If he’s anywhere near as sexy as you it looks like we have a case,’

So Dirk went to the woman’s husbands house, luckily he was getting in his car, which was green but that old kind of green that used to be in kitchens. Dirk followed him, there were some tense moments involving hiding his face behind a news-paper and standing next to a pole in the way that he became invisible to the followee. Soon Dirk followed until they arrived at a large warehouse, the kind for storing large boxes in. Dirk pulled out a cigarette and stuffed it into his pipe, he then loaded his revolver. Suddenly there was a knock on his car window. It was a bad guy, they fought after Dirk somehow got out of the car, Dirk won and extracted valuable information from the bad guy after some typically macho banter. 

Wow! This is so good that we can only sell a limited amount of copies!! buy now! $19.99