What do C'Dward Eullen and the McDonald's at the big Wal-Mart have in common? They're both awkward a-hole fuggers with two mommies.

Oh, and they both charge you for sauce.

Yep. I'm not kidding.

Jason showed up at my house at seven o'clock in the morning today and he's like, "TsgodosomeChristmasshopping." He's been sounding like a possessed demon - in other words kind of like Edna's kid Damien - and understandably so ever since we found out that that wench, C'Dward Eullen, apparently is in lurve with him.

Isn't that gross?

And since Jason has a purple cell phone with pink stars and red hearts, as well as a baby pink cloud van which he actually WOULDN'T rather die than drive in public, I have come to the conclusion that we must rid ourselves of C'Dward before the latter succeeds in wooing our poor simple Jason. I've been telling him at every opportunity, "Jason, listen to me, man. You start chilling with that Cedward fellow on a regular basis and you will - not might - catch the swine flu. And by swine flu I mean an infatuation with C'Dward Eullen. Who is gross."

Jason always smiles and nods when I tell him this shit, but I can't help but be afraid for his safety. He smiled and nodded when I told him not to go to the big mall on Boxing Day last year, and guess who went to the big mall on Boxing Day last year and escaped its indecent claustrophobia and unnecessary solicitation only to go outside and get run over by a road-raging cell phone user? Now, I'm not the type to say "ITOLDYOUSO!" like a snotty three-year-old... but you catch my drift.

As much as we all like having Jason around, sometimes... well... he ain't the sharpest knife in the drawer. Let's put it that way.

Yep. Getting rid of C'Dward is the only way to get us all out of this period of nonsense at this point. Dude, sorry Matilda.

So I took Jason's little gay cell phone and I called up our little effer and invited him to come to the big Wal-Mart with us. Figured we'd have to suffer a bit in order to obtain just reward. C'Dward was like... weirdly, stupidly excited to come with us. I cringed and hung up the phone.

I said, "Okay Jason, all you have to do is be really gross and retarded all day. If that doesn't make Fugward stop oggling you, nothing will."

"So basically, just be myself right? That's what you're going to say?" Jesus Christ, this dude gets so defensive for no fucking reason all the time. That's what happens when you live with a freaking menopausal borderline-schizophrenic woman.

I'm like, "Holy PMS. No, actually, being yourself probably won't be enough to get this mofo off your tail. We have to surround ourselves by an environment that will allow you to reach your full grossness potential."

"You mean like McDick's?" Jason gasped.

"Stop calling it that. It makes you sound almost as homo as that phone makes you look. But yes. McFucker is exactly where we're going."

"McDonny's is where it's at."

"You're trying to sound chill and it's not working."

"But I don't understand."

"But you don't have to. Oh... and I'm pretty sure this has a way better chance of working if we drag Freddy along."

Jason laughs and he's like, "Yeah. He tends to scare a lot of potential friends and crushers away."

I'm all, "Yeah, that too. I mostly meant he's pretty much the only way we're ever going to get to the big Wal-Mart. Ever."

"Oh. Yeah."

So once we had our little plan all figured out, we called Freddy up and at first he was pissed off because he was busy filming some shit that's probably really epic, but once we informed him of the situation at hand, he departed into hysterics and told us he'd be over (with his inconspicuous camera-fedora, which is almost awkwardly red, and thus makes him look like a very evil, Mexican Santa Claus) in five minutes. When he showed up, Jason’s all, “THE FUGGER!” I ran to the living room window and, indeed, Freddy’s car was in the driveway. So we, like, bailed.


“Dude we’re not going to the tiny, awesome Wal-Mart like usual.” I told Freddy this when we hopped into the back of the vehicle. We always lurk in backseats. Freddy would be stuck with C’Dward as shotgun. Sucks to be him. We weren’t about to tell him this, though. “We’re going to the huge, efftarded one attached to the big mall.”

He’s all, “Yeah, gathered that when you kept saying ‘BIG!’ over and over again on the phone.”

I ignored this. “Yeah and by the way we’re picking up Fugward. Can’t risk him not being able to find a way there.” Freddy gave me an awkward, stick-up-my-ass face. I’m like, “He’s kind of the whole point of our excursion, dude.”

“Like actually,” Jason added for good measure.

So we showed up in front of the little mother’s house and had to honk like fifteen times before his brain finally turned on (if that’s possible) and he came skipping through the door. He epic failed on a patch of ice on the way out of the driveway, which was, um, AWESOME.

He’s all, “Helloeverywuun” very nasally. We all grunted in response. Except Freddy, who is always annoyingly vocal about everything. He was like, “Hi, bitch.”

Freddy calls everyone “bitch”, even his four dads. It’s really awkward. But slightly awesome as well.

We sped toward the big mall at around twelve thousand miles an hour. Then we got stuck in traffic for like twenty minutes, all because a fucking eighteen wheeler was trying to turn left, which requires like six lanes and people were too moronic and jello-brained to let the poor fucker through. Then this dude actually passed in front of the buddy in front of him to turn left, cutting us off. We all gave buddy the finger. Except C’Dward, who gave him an awkward Spock sign.

This is how we found out that C’Dward is a huge Trekkie. Yeah. Which is awkward because Pamela Voorhees is not only Jason’s mother but also the mother of all Trekkies, which means that, by association, Jason is kind of slightly a Trekkie as well. Which makes Cedfucker twice as likely to be able to woo Jason. Which makes him twice as likely to be poisoned by a bad batch of Demon Squares; sorry buddy, but that’s how it works around here. Tough luck for you. I shrug at your protests. You don’t just woo innocent Jasons like that. Actually? No. Fuck off.

RIGHT FREDDY? FUCK OFF!

Cedward’s like, “Why didn’t we just go to the small mall?” He’s been yapping at Jason the whole ride, which is awkward. And Freddy and I are just sitting there. Lack of manners much?

Jason’s all, “Because we wanted to go to McDi – OUCH! I mean McFucker!”

“Ooh! I love their McChicken sauce!” You fucker. You flirt like a granny. I’m sure you love Jason’s McChicken sauce, too. Huh? That’s what you were insinuating by that disgustingly suggestive remark. Don’t lie to me. You can’t lie to Michael. Michael knows when you are bullshitting him, you asswench.

I could not wait until we got this bastard out of our masks once and for all. Apparently, Freddy couldn’t either because he started honking like nuts at the truck.

Eventually, we got to McDonald’s. We had to park in the sticks, but that’s okay, because it allowed Jason to bring out an exaggerated version of his “burlesque deformed handicapped limping man about to kill you” walk. Freddy looked sceptically at me and I hissed, “Don’task.”

C’Dward just stared at the poor, sorry fellow.

WITH LUST.

There was a lineup the size of my mom’s friend Edna and all her husbands combined at McDonald’s. I said, “Jesus Christ, all we want is a couple of McChickens.” And for this fucker to be traumatized all the way to bloody demon hell, I added in my head in regards to Freddy, who was repeatedly clicking two of his claws together nerve-grindingly.

And about C’Dward too, obviously.

So we finally get up to the counter and the lady’s like, “Can I help you?”

I jumped in front of C’Dward. “Yup! I want a Crispy Chicken.”

Then Jason, Freddy and C’Dward ordered. Typically, C’Dward ordered Snack Wraps. Snack Wraps are potentially the gayest thing ever to be offered on the McDonald’s menu ever, so it seems fitting that C’Dward would order them. And three of them, no less. They look like sticks full of ranch sauce.

C’Dward Eullen has three sticks.

I had instructed Jason to order something which requires a lot of McChicken sauce to properly consume... so the fucker gets an upsized quarter pounder meal. What. The. Fuck.

I hissed, “WHOPUTSMCCHICKENSAUCEONAQUARTERPOUNDER.” Jason’s all shrugging like, whatever-too-late-now-I-already-ordered. As we stood there waiting for our grub, I decided Jason slobbering all over a McChicken-sauce-filled quarter pounder was pretty much the grossest thing ever. Which was our goal. So it was all good.

So we got our food and the lady’s like, “Have-a-nice-day,” and I just stood there and I’m like, “Can we get some McChicken sauce? Like lots of it?”

And I swear to God this happened. The lady looked at me like a cow looks at an oncoming train and she was all, “Actually, I have to charge for McChicken sauce.

We, all four of us, were like, “WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?” The world had just come to an end.

“McDonald’s is a prostitute!” shouted Freddy inappropriately. Everyone just kind of looked at him for two seconds before going about their business, a.k.a. pigging out on McShit.

I looked at the lady. “Are you serious, wench?”

She nodded solemnly.

“Well, it’s not like I’m just going to NOT get McChicken sauce. This is a power play. I do not approve.”

The lady nodded solemnly again.

We all pitched in and got ten bucks worth of the white shit.

Jason goes to take a straw and this pimply employee dude who looks like he probably jizzes to a poster of Ronald McDonald at night is like, “Wait, now. It’s fifty cents a straw.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

I’m all, “Take this fucker down, Jason.”

“Wait,” said Jason. He looked at the straw like a stranded moose. “I’m so confused!”

“Are you the only effing McDonald’s that charges for straws? And McChicken sauce?” exclaims Freddy. “Because I’m pretty sure you are.”

“WHAT A TRAVESTY!” yells C’Dward, who is obviously trying to impress Jason with big literary words. It isn’t going to work, you jaundiced hermaphrodite. Jason has to my knowledge never read a book in his life. His dyslexia stops him. So save your big dictionary wooing terms for someone who actually reads the whole dictionary every night like you. Kthx. Go masturbate to your mommies’ old-ass Webster’s. Kcool.

We went to sit down, but not before being charged 8.50 to use the table. We go to sit and he’s like, “Fifty cents for the chairs.”

We gave him the fifty cents, grabbed the chairs and left the store with our McShit and our pile of McChicken sauce. In your face. McFuckOff.

We get to that one aisle of like towels that no one ever goes into in the big-ass Wal-Mart, and I’m all, “Let’s park here.” We set down our chairs and then Jason immediately starts shitting the McChicken sauce onto his burger. Like ON THE BURGER. Not even inside. Right on the damn bun. Then, when the top of it looks like it got snowed on, Jason’s all like “YUM!” in a tone very reminiscent of Hannibal, and he actually picked up the bun and slathered the whole patty with sauce.

“Appetizing,” commented Freddy.

Jason basically squatted very disgustingly on his chair and tried to shove the whole nasty mess in his mouth at once. He had to sort of peel off his mask slightly to do this. Which is why my mask is so much better than his. Mine actually has a mouth hole. His is a hockey mask, so if he made a mouth hole it would just look retarded.

This is epic. This is going exactly according to plan.

C’Dward was just entirely traumatized at this point, trying not to stare at the massacre currently happening before his eyes. His lust appeared to be replaced by disgust, WHICH IS WHAT WE WANT.

Just for good measure, Jason belched about fifteen times on the way out of Wal-Mart. He also scratched his ass a lot when he was walking in front of C’Dward. But apparently, C’Dward has a higher grossness tolerance than I do, because once we got back in the car, there fucking Cedward was, talking to Jason again the whole way back!

Motherfucker.

We dropped him off first and I yelled “WENCH!” out the window at him as we drove off.

Then Jason has the nerve to say, “Dude, maybe you shouldn’t be so mean to C’Dward.”

I’m all, “What?”

Freddy’s all, “Oh bitch. Bitch bitch bitch.”

Jason’s like, “What? He was nice to us like, all day.”

“Jason. What doesn’t your little fluffy pink and purple brain understand? HE IS TRYING TO WOO YOU. HE IS OBVIOUSLY GOING TO BE NICE. HE IS TRYING TO GET INSIDE YOUR PANTS. DO I NEED TO SKETCH YOU A PICTURE.”

“Well -”

“Look, I know you’re not used to being fawned over, so I’ll give you a bit of a break, but FUCK OFF WENCH. It’s C’Dward Eullen. It’s like feeling bad for a corpse. Do you feel bad for corpses, Jason?”

“No.”

“Do you want to be nice to corpses, Jason?”

“No! Jesus fuck!”

“Do you want corpses in your pants? Because that’s what’s going to happen if you get all nice and friendly with Cedward. You will get effed by corpses.”

“I really do not care to be effed by corpses. Okay. Fine. So we’re not going to be nice to C’Dward. Cool. Jesus Christ.”

“Great,” I said. “Glad we have an agreement.”

Freddy – who’s been like “oooooooooooooooooookay...” the whole time, by the way – dropped us off at my house. Jason kind of looked like he wanted to come in and maybe play Manhunt for a couple of hours, but quite frankly, I, and not C’Dward apparently, was rather disgusted with the asshole at the moment.

So I just called him Shitface and went home.

Since apparently NOTHING grosses this fucker (C’Dward) out, we now need another plan to get him the eff away from us (and especially Jason). If anyone has any ideas, let us know.

kthx.