A man so elusive, so mysterious, that nobody's 100 percent sure he even exists. And although there are sceptics out there, they can't prove that he doesn't exist. One thing's for sure, he has a reputation of a mystic, urban guru.
The Mythical Mr. Boo just had his tear ducts surgically relocated to his groin, because the only time he cries is when he's standing in front of a urinal.
The Mythical Mr. Boo is intergenerational. If you are what you wear, he is his own grandma.
The Mythical Mr. Boo always lifts the lid of the toilet before he pees. Then he sits down while doing so.
The Mythical Mr. Boo enjoys wearing fish flesh, or "sea scales," as he calls them, and tauntingly dancing in front of hungry kittens.
The Mythical Mr. Boo is half Irish. The whole left side of his body is a Leprechaun. I think that's why The Mythical Mr. Boo likes pots of gold so much.
The Mythical Mr. Boo doesn't believe in luck, although he does enjoy chopping off rabbit's feet.
The Mythical Mr. Boo is like a fog that creeps about your window while you are fornicating with your wife. And just like fog, if the police ever catch him, he'll be cleared by morning.
A philosophy that proposes that a person should live for the moment, because when you die, you’re screwed. A big proponent of this was Sartre, Kama Sartre.
When a Danish philosopher has sexistentialism with you, you’ll be Soren the morning.
An entity that hovers over the subconscious like a fog, yet avoids fields and pastures like cows avoid escalators. His wisdom is exceeded only by the vagueness of his memory. He is fond of saying many things, some of which are more cryptic than others. Orafoura, aside from being an entity, can also be described as a spontaneous feeling, like making a chicken suit from scratch, and not making it out of yellow feathers, but out of scrambled eggs. One of his favorite sayings is, "You must be the perspiration when all the world is deodorant." But that’s just all talk, because Orafoura has no sweat glands.
Here are some other notable Orafoura quotes:
With faith the size of a mustard seed, one can indeed move mountains, but one can hardly be expected to garnish his sandwich.
I’ve never seen a tree cry, but if I were to see one, I’m not sure I’d offer it a tissue, for fear that it would just make it cry harder.
I am a presence that fills up a room, like the laughter that comes from deep within a child who only has one lung.
Sometimes I wish Jim Morrison were still alive, because I’d love to see a concert in which "The Doors" opened up for "The Cars."
The third action in a series that leads to complete loss, after two previous related actions were not heeded as warnings. Similar to a third strike in baseball, except the stakes are much higher with a Jeb.
In 2016, America could Jeb itself into nonexistence if it doesn't recognize the pattern of destruction that voting foolishly has cost us.