Mel Gibson was right. He tried to tell us, but we didn’t listen!!

       So I was taking a walk around the neighborhood earlier today (my car is in the shop, so I was forced to use my legs to get places just like poor people), and I saw something weird.  There was a car sitting on the side of the road.  It was smoking, and the occupants of the car looked as if they had been robbed and murdered, their bloody and lifeless bodies resting motionless on the pavement.  I examined the wreckage, but I could not figure out what had caused such a devastating scene.  I noticed that there was a rubber hose hanging out of the gas tank, but I wasn’t able to make any sense out of that either.

       Just then, I heard a noise from some nearby bushes, and then I felt something strike me on the head.  As I fell to my knees, I saw a shiny object land on the ground in front of me.  It was a big silver boomerang.  I was about to pick it up, but then this little kid flew out of the bushes and started growling and biting me on the fucking arm!  I managed to shake the kid loose, and I noticed he was wearing kind of a weird mish-mash leather/fur bikini.  He had long dirty hair, and he continued to growl and make retarded monkey faces. 

       “Get the fuck away from me, you little shit!”  I shouted as I pitched a rock at him.  “Can’t people control their fuckin’ kids these days?”

       “Growlrowrmrggmphrrrr!” he replied.

       Well, I’d had about enough of this shit, so I turned to walk away, but then I heard the roaring of engines coming from the other direction.  I looked and saw a frightened little man driving his piece of shit Ford Tempo down the road at top speed, and he was being pursued by a whole friggin’ army of beat up trucks, cars, and motorcycles, driven by a gang of hooligans dressed in leather and odd assundry football gear with spikes on it and shit.  They were all yelling, and they all had Australian accents for some reason.  One of the vehicles clipped the side of the frightened man’s Tempo, sending him careening into a ditch.  At the same time, one of the freaks from the car was thrown off and crushed under the wheel of one of the gang’s pickup trucks. 

        Seeing this, another man from the gang jumped out and began crying over the crushed corpse of his dead mate.  Just then, a huge fucker in a silver hockey mask walked up and addressed the crying freak.

       “Be still my dog of war. I understand your pain. We’ve all lost someone we love. But we do it my way! We do it my way. Fear is our ally. The gasoline will be ours. Then you shall have your revenge.”

       I watched as the other members of the gang pulled the frightened man from his Tempo and began beating him to death with clubs.  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing!  So I ran over there to do something about it.

       “Stop it, you psychos!” I shouted.  “What the hell are you doing?  You’re going to kill the poor guy!  What did he ever do to you?”

       The gang stopped and looked at each other, and then all directed their attention to the leader in the hockey mask as he approached me.  Then this other little grimy dork in glasses came up and gave a strange formal introduction of his leader.

       “Greetings from The Humungus! The Lord Humungus! The Warrior of the Wasteland! The Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla!”

       “Umm, okay,” I said.  “Are you going to answer my question, big dog?  Why are you doing all of this?”

       The leader then spoke, “The gasoline will be ours!”

       “You’re doing all this for gasoline?” I asked incredulously.  “What the fuck?  Just go up to the Texaco and fill up.  It’s right up the road.  Why kill people?”

       Lord Humungus paused for a moment, then spoke again. “Dude, it’s $3.15 a gallon.”

       “For real?” I said.  “Damn!”

       So I joined up with their gang, and I’ve already killed five people today!  Luckily the weird spiky mohawk football helmet and S&M gear from that dead guy fit me just right.  I’m not doing any of their weird “gayboy berserker” or “smegma crazies” shit, though.  That’s where I draw the line.