Resident boneballed skinkdick Mickey Higgins parades around in his finest quality outfit. I broke into his house one night a few weeks ago to borrow his television and his money, and I saw him looking like this and doing God knows what, so I grabbed that bigass Mexican hat, crammed the open cone part into his deformed mouth, and started pouring motor oil down it until I ran out of motor oil. I don't even know why I was carrying motor oil around with me that day, but I'm glad I was because the mutants infesting this town need to be taught a lesson, a lesson about motor oil I guess.

A nerd, I guess.

Kitchen Viking Matt Belize protects the marmalade. Too bad he left the rest of the house unguarded, allowing me to sneak in and accidentally light myself on fire when I was trying to light his deadbeat dad on fire because that asshole Todd owes me $50 from the time I bet him I could drink all the beer in the can of beer I was holding. He wasn't there when I made the bet but I called him later and I think he knew what was going on, so where's my goddamn money, Todd?!? If you're reading this, I'm going to beat your son to death with a rake every day you fail to give me the money you owe me, you fat horsefaced man filter.

Leechhead and Count Pasteula pose for Whine-a-thon 2002, which raised over 38 cents for goth charities across the globe. Maybe they can save up the money and buy a pile of bootleg Cure tapes that they can roll around on and jack off onto, assuming all that face makeup doesn't melt through them like the aliens blood in that one movie about the space aliens that had acid blood, I forgot the name, it was about the aliens.

John VanDeCamp brings a whole new meaning to the term "stuffed animals." You really don't want to know what his stuffed animals are stuffed with. Also, all zoos should go into lockdown mode if they see this sheepfucking cretin. Shoot to kill.

And now for the cross-gender embarrassment hat trick: Gabe Perkolvich manages to humiliate both men, women, and androgynous fucktables in one swoop. Way to go, you filthy revolting bastard! Your prize is a size 13 Army combat boot ramming the side of your skull until it caves in like a rotten pumpkin being hit with a railroad tie! Oh, and the size 13 Army combat boots aren't mine, I just found them in the creek behind my house and filled them full of rocks and tied them to some rope which I now swing around at passing traffic because everybody who drives by my house makes too much goddamn noise with their loud Jap cars and I'm going to keep doing this until the city promises to shut down the street to all traffic except me and my car. If the neighbors want to leave, they can do it through underground tunnels or something.