They found the wardrobe (added a modest cover charge), hit the forest, killed all the unpleasant animals, made the pleasant ones work in the bar (and the sexy ones serve) at the new Blaster Springs Complex-Complex, and changed the name from Narnia to Blasteria.
So if you want to experience something truly spectacular, and moderately priced, then do yourself a flavour and get on the Bus To Blasteria where you don’t have to stand for old people because they are not welcome (the drivers are Minotaurs and are trained to hoof those unfitting of entrance). There was snow but we used it all for cocktails on the opening night.
We burned some stuff and now it is well tropical here at the bar; Tuesday Night Shirtless Poker, Friday Barefoot Darts Night, Saturday Arvo Topless Centaur Chick fights — watch them hoof each other until the last chick standing — loser gets casseroled (from the waist down).
You think we’re going to tell you that?
You?
Don’t make us laugh condescendingly to ourselves.
If you even caught a glimpse of our Brain Tornado Sessions (storms are for pussies) your eyes would implode and your brain would drop out your arse sideways.
You can have confidence in us, because if you don’t we’ll simply take it from you.
Our results are as tangible as a kick to the groin but as persuasive as a soft summer breeze (to the groin). Like seeing a smoking monkey wearing a hat, you know you’re witnessing the best of the best. Like any genuine arse kicking posse of Awesomites, each member has their own special method of discharging creativity. Playing phone Tetris on the John, eating corn chips in the dark, listening to 70’s rock shirtless or doing house work wearing a wig and ninja outfit.
The results are the same: mind-blowingly, groin destructive awesomeness.
Welcome to the online home of the Genius Genus, the Ingenious Genius, those whom carry the Genius Genes. Do you believe in magic? Yes? Then piss off right now, because you're just a chicken nippled pony patter. There is no magic, only illusion created by people smarter and better than you. Formerly highly decorated Wiz Kids, they have blossomed into full blown Wizards of their respective skill sets, which are as diverse as they are death defying in their numerosity. They don't call them Superheroes, they call them contemporaries (except for Superman, he's just a wank off). The Blasterlings are the physical manifestation of a high-five, the sneaky reacharound and the open handed slap at the same time. A jumbotronic, cherub pissing fountain of wit biting reverse kowtowing with a difference. Pass us your apple and we will polish it to outer space for you.
All five members not only live outside The Box, but, in a Jesus-like medical miracle defying scientific explanation, they were actually born outside The Box. A team of A-Teamers, they know the secret to help the medicine go down and it ain't sugar. They followed the rainbow, killed the leprechaun (he put up a good fight though), used the gold to buy drugs, guns and illegal polar bear skin monk robes (complete with headpiece) and renovated the surprisingly large pot into a fully fledged arse kicking Think Tank. Having trouble visualizing them? Think Power Rangers but less gay. Think Ninja Turtles but better fighters. Think Brady Bunch but no one is related and they are all hot —and that's not a coincidence but a natural by-product of a steady diet of Genius for breakfast (because that is the breakfast of champions).
So relax in the knowledge that you are safe in the hands of the Gods. And we're not talking old, white bearded Gods in nighties, we're talking the old school Greek posse of sexy, and scantily clad, young Gods because that's something you can truly believe in.