I HATE YOU PAGE 163

Pus-headed ass magnet Eddie Davis makes my job easier by revealing the easiest route for my stolen police baton to take and connect with a vital internal organ. I ripped off the baton from some fat cop who was trying to give me, a war vet, a hard time for stealing a few hundred bucks worth of cash at the fucking bank. I earned that goddamn money fair and square. It CLEARLY SAID on the outside of that Publisher's Clearing House letter that I won a couple million bucks. I didn't want to wait for it to come over the slowass mail system. I needed that money RIGHT THEN.

Some unlucky son of a bitch snaps a shot of Melinda Scarsdale shortly before I back over her pathetic geek ass with her own car. Her fat face was another nerdy badge to be displayed on that piece of foreign shit. I dont know what the fuck "ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US" means, but I can only assume that it's some pathetic lowlife dreg saying like "hey mister, I'll piss in your hand for a dollar.""

Suzanne Baxter snags a Black Hole Troll. You go girl, go right to the goddamn cemetery with that bucktoothed aborted fetus.

Mike Rodgers needs to get filthy fucking drunk just to sleep in the same bed as himself.

Jackass disguised as a jackrabbit. Didn't fool me though... or my crowbar. I was cleaning "shithead" off that thing for the next three days.

Margaret Palmer and her two quarter-wit inbred kids reveal how many times they've been smashed in the face with a chair on the Jerry Springer Show. They're the only family that has their holiday photos taken on 7-11 closed circuit cameras.