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I finally did it. I out-pizza'd the Hut. It was the greatest mistake of my life. After years of perfecting my recipe, I made my way down to the local hut, fresh-baked pizza pie in hand. "Try this," I told the kid working the counter. He did, and he had to agree that it was better than anything Pizza Hut had to offer. Soon, the entire store, customers included, was feasting on my delicious pie. The manager walked over, grabbed a slice, and took a bite. I look at him, anticipation rising. This was the boss, the local fief lord of the Hut. His approval meant more to me than all the rest combined. He took a bite and nodded. "I'll be damned," he said, "you really did it. You out-pizza'd the Hut. Shame." Shame? What did he mean by tha- the manager pulled a gun out from behind his apron and shot the nearest customer in the head. "We have a Code Jalapeño," he said into his wrist as he executed the remaining customers. "I repeat, we have a Code Jalapeño." The ground was slick with blood. The kid working the counter choked out his dying breath as the manager turned to me. "You just had to do it motherfucker. You just had to out-pizza the Hut." He shoved the gun in my face. I was too scared to fight, too scared to run. The manager pulled the trigger. A click. The gun was empty. I threw a chair at the manager and scrambled out of the Pizza Hut, not even bothering to see if my missile hit its mark. I was closely pursued by the manager, who had gotten his hands on a deadly sharp pizza cutter. I suspected in his hands it would cut more than pizza. Somehow, I was able to get into my car and speed off, the manager cursing my existence as I left him behind. I took a deep breath. The manager was clearly psychotic. Yes, that was it, just a crazy man with a gun. It had to be. My phone rang. Sister. I picked it. "They're dead, she sobbed. They're all dead. M-mom, dad, Chris, Bill. Dead. They killed them all." I could barely understand her, so great were her sobs. "What do you mean? Where are you?" I asked urgently. "How is this possi-" a single gunshot sounded through my phone's speakers. Silence. Then, I heard a man's voice. "No one out-pizzas the Hut." He hung up. I drove down the empty county road, mind blank. I had nothing. They killed my family. I was alone. At that moment I knew what I had to do. They took everything from me. Well then, I would take everything from them. Pizza Hut was so terrified of being out-pizza'd, they forgot there's one thing worse than a man with a recipe: A man with nothing to lose. I'll give them a limited time offer they won't be able to refuse: two bullets for the price of one. With a free side order of pain.

Not likely. I bet you probably go 0/6 against him and come to Reddit afterwards to complain about him so you can feel better about losing. I'm 100% convinced that the same people who like to joke about a Master Yi's "thought process" are the same people who whine about Aatrox and Katarina because they haven't got a clue what grievous wounds is. Every champion has a counter, if you don't understand Master Yi's counter (jungle invading, timing abilities, proper itemization), then why do you bother to circlejerk the "Master Yi is broken" stereotype?

I hate when people refer to orange juice as OJ. Why OJ? Do you want to sound cool? Is it so much of a hustle to say orange juice? Do you abbreviate apple juice too? " Hey yeah, let me have some AJ?" - said by no one ever. I just think it sound annoying af. Edit: I don't have any issues with abbreviations, except for OJ as orange juice. Sorry if I offended some of you with sensitive feelings.

Today when I walked into my economics class I saw something I dread every time I close my eyes. Someone had brought their new gaming laptop to class. The Forklift he used to bring it was still running idle at the back. I started sweating as I sat down and gazed over at the 700lb beast that was his laptop. He had already reinforced his desk with steel support beams and was in the process of finding an outlet for a power cable thicker than Amy Schumer's thigh. I start shaking. I keep telling myself I'm going to be alright and that there's nothing to worry about. He somehow finds a fucking outlet. Tears are running down my cheeks as I send my last texts to my family saying I love them. The teacher starts the lecture, and the student turns his laptop on. The colored lights on his RGB Backlit keyboard flare to life like a nuclear flash, and a deep humming fills my ears and shakes my very soul. The entire city power grid goes dark. The classroom begins to shake as the massive fans begin to spin. In mere seconds my world has gone from vibrant life, to a dark, earth shattering void where my body is getting torn apart by the 150mph gale force winds and the 500 decibel groan of the cooling fans. As my body finally surrenders, I weep, as my school and my city go under. I fucking hate gaming laptops.