Ahh, what a hoRRIbly glorious day it is in Dialtown. You've recieved NARY a penny in a full moon's cycle.

In normal-people talk, that means you haven't been paid in like a month.

Yet still you traverse into the industrial plant you work in, wondrously RIDDLED with fires, isopods, and emotional support emo emus. Watch where you step, don't step onto one of the exposed wires that may or may not electrocute you. Good thing it's covered with trash! Aha...

Bla bla bla you clock in, do whatever it is unpaid workers do, when suddenly you hear a ruckus outside. You begrudgingly step out into the smog-filled atmosphere and find...

What the absolutel #### is THAT. IS THAT A... IS THAT A FLESH-HEAD?!!!!!!!!! WHAT THE ###### WHY IS IT FLOATING IN THE AIR OH MY GOD-

"fegajbdjwlfhakfjjwlf@(!")#+&(2!!!"

The stupidly horrifying being raises up his ISOPOD WAND and he hath cursed a spell upon us. Us as in, Roger and Peter who is also outside with you. And losing it. Ah, BALLS.

Isopods.

ITS FUCKIGN RAINING ISOPODS

Your boss, Roger, PANICS as the... thing he is. Peter on the other hand uhhh yeah one of the isopods fell on him now he fell family-guy style.