I HATE YOU PAGE 179

The Amazing Hamsterchild stores his lunch money in cheek pouches. Which cheeks the pouches are in, I don't know and don't want to. I caught this nerdy little greasefuck messing around near my bushes once last year and I threw an empty Jack Daniels bottle at him from an upstairs window. I think it must have damaged the part of his brain that tells him to stop eating and quit being so goddamn revolting looking.

No, it's not some shitass sculpture made entirely from bodily waste, although I made the same mistake when I happened across this subhuman failure in a yard downtown. Why it was standing on a table and signalling to the heavens I have no fucking clue, since it's pretty obvious that god ran out of patience with this crapmallet a long time ago.

Overweight pusblob Argyle MacFatterson dresses up as a cossack or a Serbian war criminal or a small village or something and goes to public restaurants with the aim of terrifying customers into dropping their food. As you can tell, he's usually successful. I haven't been able to eat beans since '65 in Da'Nang when Jimmy Fletcher showed us the horrible Pants Leg Trick.

Archeologists unearth a perfectly-preserved 20th century shithead.

Johnny Marston, the Dental Nightmare, about five seconds after I emptied a can of Mace into his impossibly hideous face. I followed it up by punching him in the throat and smashing all the plates in his house. Some people just have faces that scream out begging to be beaten flat with a red-hot frying pan.

The White Trash Warrior steers his chariot into battle! This southern-fried fuckstick made far too easy of a target up there. Just ask the team of surgeons who spent 14 hours removing red-hot fragments of glass from his face. He actually looked less ugly after the incident, and had the added benefit of having a classic Chevy rearview mirror "installed" in his larynx.