The King of Accounts parties it on down in the accounting department. Go rock the fucking water cooler you worthless shitshuffler, before I ram your fat head through the paper shredder and fax copies of the remains to your braindead relatives.

Just to prove that pasty office-bound jerks in Elvis suits don't have the monopoly on horrid repulsiveness, another White Trash Warrior prepares to demonstrate his ability to tip over grandmother's trailer one-armed. I smashed him in the mouth with a masonry hammer and pushed him into the lake.

Yeah congratulations buttscar, you put a fucking basket on your head. Now wait a few seconds and I'll carve a couple hundred thousand baskets out of your fleshy carcass.

I have no fucking clue what the hell this is or what it was doing lurking outside the restroom at the gas station. I think probably the manager hired it to scare off the fucking kids who break into the restroom to shoot marijuana and shit. One time back when I was working at the gas station I borrowed some Jack Daniels from the shelf because my war wound was playing hell with my ankle again and I heard some stupid-ass jungle voodoo music coming from the restroom, so I picked up the fire extinguisher and broke open the door and there were about half a dozen shitfaced loser kids in there. So I yelled "OKAY YOU LITTLE SHITS, YOU'VE GOT A DEATHWISH AND I'M FUCKING DEATH SANTA" and beat the shit out of them with the fire extinguisher. One of them must have stabbed me with some crazy-ass hallucinogenic needle or something because I woke up the next morning in a wheelbarrow at the rail yard the other side of town, and the rail yard has been closed since 1974 or some shit so why the hell would I go there myself? And no I wasn't drunk so don't even fucking say it.

Either this troll got hit in the face by a speeding freight truck as a kid or else scientists have finally found a way to cross a human with a horse's ass.