The West Appleton Ford plant has cornered the market on producing the only vehicle that 99% of the mutants in Appleton City drive - the Fatbed Truck. Famed pancake machine Margarie Naples leaks a few rolls of her personal Play-Dough onto the back of the truck, testing out its suspension threshold. The truck holds up, but my gag reflex sure as hell doesn't.

Eddie "The Roach" Perkins. This ugly son of a bitch bumped into me when I was working at the Gas N' Go on the corner of Blakemore Avenue. He started blabbering like the menial jackwit he is, apologizing and stuttering, so I beat him to within an inch of his pathetic life with a big fucking wood block I tied to the bathroom key. I tied the block to the bathroom key so none of you shitheeled retards could run off with it and make copies so you and your braindead buddies can shoot crack in the bathroom and listen to records or whatever the fuck you morons do in there.

Some people protect their furniture with stainguard. Some protect their shit with plastic covers. The Michaelson family protects their living room set by employing Grandma Bones. I can smell her rotting carcass all the way over here.


South Appleton University student Jennifer Kenniston. She tried to get the power up and win the game but wasn't able to pull it off. Now she's smoking crack like all the other teenagers out there. I hate kids. Everybody should be jailed until they turn 28, and then they should be on probation for 10 years. Stay the hell away from the bathroom in the Gas N' Go. And my damn bushes, you fucking assfaced shitkickers.

The Pro Golfing circuit is pretty goddamn pathetic in this city. All players had to resort to using plastic neon clubs because they're all afraid of me swiping their irons and wrapping them around their scrawny necks. Real men don't play golf. Real men beat the shit out of people who play golf.