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CLIFF YABLONSKI HATES THESE PEOPLE:

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I HATE YOU PAGE 238

Illegal immigrant stole some bitch's coat.

The dynamic duo of Kowlinski and Paptrinksa. They're dynamic in the fact that I can spend a good 10 hours bashing their bodies with a manhole cover and they won't notice because they have some mutant superhero power that allows them to stop breathing for like, well since 19 days ago when I first started beating them with the manhole cover. They probably got their power by making out with a radioactive eel.

Shit In a Bun representative flexes for my camera shortly before I decided to turn him into Shit In a Bun In 40 Different Pieces Floating Down the River. This guy's house smells like cat piss which doesn't make any goddamn sense because I killed all the cats in this neighborhood last Winter when I broke into everybody's house and poured antifreeze into their drinking dishes. Haha, oh jeez, that Christmas was the best ever except for the time in 1983 when I saw the robot driving the Jeep and it scared me so much that I fell down a hill and when I regained consciousness again, I was in a jail cell and covered with that weird neon green fuzz shit that comes off new tennis balls.

Trailer Park makeout session at the West Appleton City Tech College. These two slugbaits are majoring in unemployment and raising kids who will do the same, thereby creating an exciting new line of spectacular failures to spend my tax money on Pixie Sticks and Kool Aid. Go back to The Jerry Springer Show, you worthless trashdumpsters.

Donut tits takes a little nap after drinking some of ol' Cliffy's special "Knock You On Your Ass" fruit punch, which is a cup of regular fruit punch followed by me bashing your head against a metal support railing until all the punch comes out of some hole in your body. This guy works at the ShleppMart across from the abandoned field where I found the free refrigerator with the dead goat inside.

Kung Fu legend Goat Bloat prepares for his upcoming battle against his archenemy, King Cholesterol. Jumping Jesus Christ, look at the stretch marks on that guy's keg of a stomach, I think he's packing in at least a dozen captive turkeys. Somebody call PETA, or at least call the cops because I have a feeling he's going to start making the "Missing Persons" list and I don't think the police have enough money to afford enough paper needed to reproduce his entire image.