Janet Briggs doesn't need to be told that there are no monsters under her bed, because when that moist and pasty blob of flesh hits the mattress, all "under the bed" suddenly disappears.

Yeah. Jed Bryzinski sexes up the hot ladies on the computer. While he's sitting there like a shithead, showing his purple package to 50 year old unemployed bald guys, I'm in his garage stealing all his motor oil.

Another reason to hate the color purple. I don't know if this is a goth or raver, but I hate it and its hair chandelier regardless.

I got trapped on an airplane with this freak, and he couldn't stop acting like he was that comedian Jerry Stienfield. He kept making "jokes" like "AND WHAT'S THE DEAL WITH AIRPLANE FOOD? I MEAN, COME ON!" until I took his Cosmopolitan magazine he was reading and shoved it so far down his throat that he's been shitting flyers for douche products ever since.

The Lonely Killer stalks his prey and collects their souls in his fat, bloated, balloon-like skull.

Honestly officers, I tried to save them by throwing in an electrical extension cord and telling them to grab on. I just assumed it was unplugged.