It's not unusual to survive my, my, myyyyyy apocalypse, because you're everybody's favourite Welshman,
Tom Jones!
Forged from molten steel beneath the Earth's crust seven hundred million years ago, you are like a great big hairy Welsh crooner of iron. Which is just a well, because it's all-out death time! And great big steel fighting machines tend to survive that kind of thing.
It's good to know your music will live on. Truly, it is.
The blast must have hit you particularly strong, because you've gained a billion new superpowers and can take on anyone you want. Even that kid Gunrock-with-nine-arms from down the street. Only problem is, it's driven you completely insane and you now have a thirst for blood equalled only by your thirst for vengeance and peeing in the kitchen bin.
No, stop! That's what the toilet's for. Stop I say!
welsh said:Jebus, tom jones is kind of cool.
Dust off your flugelhorn and heat up the sausages, 'cause you're
The Swiss!
Decked in neutrality for almost a billion years now, the Swiss are always the favourites to survive any nuclear conflict. Not only do they have the most amazing dress sense, but they've also got keen technical knowhow, a very logical cultural heritage and seventeen extra feet which they keep in their heads.
The Swiss are stereotypically associated with cuckoo clocks, chocolate, fondue and yodelling; it should be pointed out that they also enjoy running through the hills, goat farming and keeping the Earth safe from alien scum.
Jebus said:welsh said:Jebus, tom jones is kind of cool.
He's a sixty-year old overly hairy man wearing leather pants...
He might've been cool thirty years ago, though...
I bet you thought you'd gotten rid of yourself - but you haven't. You're
That kid you hated at school!
More irritating than even that kid who you took a dislike to at school, you'll live on as one of the many reasons you'll never want to go back to being a child. The annoying laugh, that needling competitiveness with everything you do, the desire to be better, meaner, first, first, first, first, first ...
Remember when you taped his buttocks together, hung him from a tree and then swung from his gonads, chanting "I am the monkey king"? Even a full scale nuclear apocalypse won't shake off the little bastard, apparently.