I HATE YOU PAGE 158

Budding used condom salesman Erik Peterson attempts to smuggle Alien Death Fungus under his facial skin. Soon hell on Earth erupts on the chump's face and stock in Clearasil goes up by 7000%.

Two tubby skanks pose in front of the sign for some shitbag town named "TITTENSOR." Before they changed the town to such a fucking stupid name, it used to be called "Big Fat White Bloated Fleshy Cow-ville."

Clara Reinhold is so damn ugly that her internal organs routinely attempt to crawl up her esophagus and escape through her mouth. She's a waitress at the "Greasy Ferret" bar down on 17th Street and Arbuckle. One time I ordered a beer there, and those shitskulls brought me a goddamn Bud Light. Bud Light isn't beer for Christ's sake. Bud Light is bat urine. I took the pitcher and threw it at the spineless sissy sailors that were playing darts. It broke everywhere and then they called the goddamn cops. Luckily I crawled out the window in the bathroom and ran away. I passed out in the back of an abandoned pickup truck along Route 42.

BasementBot detects an irregularity in his Flaming Jackass Detectors. Try detecting a vintage steel-toed Wolverine workboot aimed at the ugly mass of cancerous scum you refer to as your "head," you worthless hunk of manshit.

The braindead simps in East Appleton love the sport of Bungie Ass Jumping, even when the cord is two feet from the ground. I enjoy wrapping these cretins up with their own rope and yo-yoing them into oncoming traffic.

"IT TASTES LIKE FAILURE!!!"