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Waldo: I'm Still Looking for You, You Filthy Punk

Guest editorial by Will Gerharding, frustrated searcher

I've been staring at this stupid Where's Waldo game off and on for over a year now, and for the life of me I can't find this skinny little prick. I swear to God: I will hunt down this stripey bastard, and I will take a fucking aluminum softball bat to his hidey-hidey self.

Part of my problem is that I am color-blind, so I'm already at a disadvantage here. Waldo knows this, and he must be figuring that his red shirt looks like every other light-gray hue on the board. Yes, Mr. Waldo is a sneaky son-of-a-bitch, and he's probably guessed that I'm nearsighted, too.

He's fucking-A right, that's what he is.

Left: Waldo's days are numbered

So this is personal to me, this embarrassing "game" of tormenting old Bad-Eyes Billy that Waldo is playing. The way I figure, the shifty bastard is moving around when I look away, hiding in spots I already checked out with my magnifying glass.

But will let you in on a secret: Waldo can't hide forever.

Whn I get my hands on Waldo, I'm going to make this fucker pay. I'll cut off his fingers one-by-one and make him eat them. Then I'm going to choke him with his stripey shirt while I gouge out his eyeballs, after which I'm going to socket-fuck him while he screams in agony.

Yes, the day of vengeance will arrive soon, my friend - just wait.


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