Crotchrag the Magnificent escapes from his gasoline-filled garage once a month to rummage through my trash and steal all my used Band-Aids. I'm not sure what that furry thing he's wearing on his back is, but it looks like one of the hundred things hanging under the bottom of my Chrysler. Jack Mankins has a dog problem, you see. He's got too many goddamn dogs, that's his problem. I do a little population control on the weekends when I'm not out watching those movies about kids who get thrown in jail for doing dope.

"Chef Boys-Are-Neat" adds that little special touch to every meal he prepares; the touch of his cow-molesting hands. Never, ever, ever eat at The Long Street Inn Diner. I ordered a bowl of goddamn chili there and you know what happened? Well I forgot what happened but I know it fucking pissed me off and there was some greaseball in the back room who looked like this joker so I guess my advice is to watch your step if you know what's good for you, because all bets are off when you leave your goddamn house in the morning and you forget to bring your wallet or wear pants and the fucking cops pull you over because your eyes aren't so great anymore and 95 mph looks a lot like 35 mph.

And another thing, I didn't even see no goddamn 35 mph sign anywhere. I didn't even see the "School Crossing" sign because they make signs out of some ultra-reflective shit these days and the light just drills into my eyes and I can't see shit for like 3 days after I come back, like the time I get home and drank a carton of what I thought was milk but turned out to be Keopectate. Besides, kids are fast and they're used to running so make them get the fuck out of my way because I'm a veteran and I have rights goddammit.

If you're gonna get a pet rabbit, for God's sake, don't deep fry its carrots and lettuce before feeding it. Rabid Rabbit here shovels another funnel cake down her throat. I think I saw this lady at Wal-Mart once, stocking up on Circus Peanuts for the apocalypse.

Gothic Gary raids mom's underwear drawer and comes up as a winner! Good job you miserable sack of anally-assaulted puppy dogs, you're going to be one of my first victims once I get the mortar in my toolshed fixed and working.

Thank God this fatass rolled his doughy tubby carcass onto a waterbed... there ain't no industrial springs that could withstand the pressure of 10 atomic bombs rolled up and compressed into two pasty white asscheeks. And I should know, my friend Eddie Carver used to work at a spring factory on the assembly line, stapling stuff to the metal things, so I know what I'm talking about and don't think that I don't because I do.