While walking through the desert, through the unbearable heat from under the scorching sun, you see someone--a masked man. A psycho.

The pyscho appears to be shouting incoherent sentences, and random threats to... Himself...? It had to be something like that. The poor thing.

He tosses the buzzaxe in his hand into the air, trying, and failing, to catch it, picking it up off the ground and trying again, over and over.

"I HAVE THE SHINIEST MEAT BICYCLE!" He shouts, swinging his buzzaxe around randomly.

"NECKSNAP SONGS FOR THE GARBAGE PEOPLE." He appears to groan and grumble to himself, hitting his head a few times, as if hearing voices, or hearing something.