Scrambles

From the moment he dropped out of his mother’s syphilis-infested butthole back in the mid-80’s as the bloody, useless meatball that he still is, Scrambles has been a festering, puss-filled boil on the face of humanity. He is estimated to be 7/8 human and 1/8 canine, since his mother fucked a chow-chow shortly prior to his conception – this could be why Scrambles’ genitalia are so hideously deformed. His sheath-like penis ejects a red-rocket at the sight of death or fecal matter, and his tiny two-and-a-half balls hang dog-like by a thin scrotum, stretched practically to its limit.

Scrambles’ favorite thing to do on a hot summer day is drop his trousers, squat down over a saucer filled with cool milk, and give his vile, gonorrhea-plagued genitals and anus a gentle dairy bath. When he’s not picking fleas out of his tangled pubic hair, watching snuff films smuggled over from Taiwan, or dreaming of transvestite lot-lizards, Scrambles is likely sneaking into the local middle school, masturbating in the little boys’ room, and then smearing his vile slime anonymously along a row of 7th grade lockers.

Scrambles believes the human body ultimately exists for the purposes of orgasm and defilement, but that it should eventually be violently ripped apart; that’s why his ultimate dream in life is to run wild like a naked savage through the streets of New York – one hand grasping his shabby member, the other clenching a serrated knife – and slice open the bellies of as many innocent pedestrians as he can before he is inevitably shot by police in a final, brutal attempt at orgasm, exiting the cosmos just as he entered it 23 years ago: as a useless lump of fleshy meat.

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