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I HATE YOU PAGE 245
- This is why the goddamn Appleton City police force can't even solve a simple crime like "I fucking saw the Patterson kids in my goddamn bushes and I want you to head over to their house and arrest them and throw those two little idiot horseshitters into jail for a few years to teach them a goddamn lesson about respecting their elders". Next time you see a FBI agent chucking tear gas through your window and using a battering ram to bust into your little funtime meth lab, ask them why the hell they can spend all their goddamn money on shit like arresting Mexicans when they don't even bother positioning a sniper on top of my house to pick off high school kids like I've been fucking asking them to do for like the past nine years or something.
- Enormoturd Ed Remmington Criscos up his weather balloon-sized hamskull to prepare for his face-first entry into the food hole. Bake this brown sack of shit for a few days and you'll have enough meat to feed a family of 50,000, as well as enough room to house them all in the central ribcage area.
- No, you're not the Pope, you're some divot-faced scar queen who spent a few too many hours catching BB-gun bullets in with your head behind the Dairy Queen. Jesus Christ, I swear those neon red craters are big enough to swallow up entire golf balls. I don't think this creature even has eyes - they're giant blackheads of some kind. I gotta remind myself to squeeze them next time and see what oozes out.
- One of the more well paid prostitutes that hangs out on 145th and Baker Street. If you give her $50, she'll let you put a bag on her head and then use it to punch through drywall. She only offered this deal to me after I had been drinking whisky for seven straight hours. Oh yeah, and then she WILLINGLY gave me my $50 back, despite what she may try to claim out of that toothless hole in her head.
- Fruit Witch, Hog Witch, and Sand Witch prepare to cast a spell, one which will hopefully make them return to their native land of Fuckopolis.
- DJ Plywood and MC 88 do a majority of the wedding receptions here in Appleton City. He says shit like "are you ready to get this party started?" and "who's ready to party?" and "oh my God, please stop, I beg of you, please stop." It's got to be a tough job for him since it's impossible to distinguish between the bride and groom in this diseased monument to failure town. If you don't believe me, take a goddamn look at DJ Plywood's face and MC 88's. You could fucking swap them back and forth and their own parents wouldn't even know, although that might be because they gouged their own eyes out during the spawning of these paste freaks.
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