I HATE YOU PAGE 147

Oh look, it's a tattooed fetus with glasses, how lovely.

The sad thing is that it wasn't even Halloween when I took this picture. It was the middle of July. I don't know who the hell this bugeyed cretin is, but that didn't stop me from stealing his coffee table and pissing all over his couch. That table weighed a fucking ton. I got about halfway across the moron's yard when I fell down and passed out because I was sweating like a stuck hog. When I woke up, I was in the creek and my fucking shoes were gone, which really pissed me off because they were the only pair of shoes I own that fit me.

Ed Nichols (on the left), the grease monkey who spends all day hanging around the Jiffy Lube and trying to get enough spare change to buy a Slurpee. I don't know who the hell the Human Bacon Deposit on the right is, but the guy looks like he's got skin pores big enough to shove hamburgers into.

If the drinks aren't fruity enough, the limpwristed pansies holding them sure as hell are. Go direct a musical, you Tab-drinking gutterfucks.

Hank the Bloated Dwarf. Let's see your magic armor protect from a brick smashing against your ugly skull.

The Conga Line of the Damned moves through town, claiming more and more victims. The dance ends when they reach the gay whorehouse in North Appleton's red light district.