It's that time of year again, when Mr. D assumes his alter ego, Uncle O'Deliciousy! Uncle O'D's mission? To represent the naturally green food and drinks here at Rax, which contain no vegetable matter whatsoever. The less you question how this can be, the better for all of us. Dickety go bragh!
Mr. D had dreams of achieving something big, like blowing up the sun. But where would he go from there? How would he top himself? So instead, he settled for representing the crappiest roast beef restaurant in the entire Rust Belt.
For reasons Mr. D would rather not get into, we're no longer able to offer gravy waterboarding as an off-menu item.
Until all this snow thaws, we're gonna have refrigeration for a change! Let's see how those hoity-toity bureaucrats down at the health department feel about us now!
Do you like gladiator movies? Because we need someone familiar with hand-to-hand combat to fight the blood raccoons in our storeroom.
Don't make us admit why it's okay to eat here during Lent.
We figured our meat was so toxic to humans that it might make an effective antimicrobial agent. So we liquefied and distilled it, creating a meat bleach called "Meatch." I'd avoid touching, inhaling, or thinking of it for the duration of its half-life.
We're allowed to say something is taking the world by storm if people have stormed our property to stop it.
Rax Fingerbangerz are the only chicken fingers shaped like real human fingers. Which is frankly to be expected, since we get them from corpses Mr. D has stolen the wedding bands off of. And before you protest, remember that chickens don't even have fingers.
They stopped Mr. D two verses into his performance of "Gravy Runs Down My Thighs." But the rest of the audit was just soooo boring.
Believe Mr. D, the sneeze guard is there to protect you from the food, not the other way around.
We don't have a lot of rats here, which is unsurprising if you saw what happened when we fed our food to lab rats as a test.
Where can we find strippers that regular clubs won't hire for various reasons? Mr. D has an idea that's going to turn Rax around, or get into a lot of trouble trying.
Chuck E. Cheese is where a kid can be a kid. Rax is where you grow up fast and hard, as cold and disturbing realities about life quickly set in.
Mr. D messed up, and sent the TV station the folder labeled "Porno" instead of "Promo." Long story short, many Ironton residents learned a lot about German erotic cinema last night, and Mr. D will be busy with numerous hearings over the next few months.
Trying to rebrand Rax as "Club Puddles" not only exacerbated our problems, it created many new ones.
If dolphins are so smart, they wouldn't wind up in our Filet O' Mammal.
We picked the worst time to open a restaurant in Greenland. Which is sad, because by being at the glacier-locked, icy edge of the earth's habitable zone, it would have been one of the more accessible Rax locations.
Mr. D lists "beef pervert" as his occupation on his tax forms, because that's what HR here calls him.
Yes, Mr. D put a small camera into the bottom of your beverage so he could stare into your mouth as you swallowed. But what you have to understand is that it was purely sexual on his part, and he only did it to secretly get off while you drank.
When Mr. D asks to drink your bath water, what you need to understand is that it's totally sanitary because of the soap! Unlike our own Meatosaurus Rax sandwich, which spends a lot of time under a colored light that we pretend gives off heat.
Only 5% of our bathroom visitors suffer from catastrophic glory hole failures resulting in total organ severance! Despite all the rusty, jagged metal edges and sharp, crusty buildup, we're still the clear budget choice for your perverse needs.
Rax: Wait, we're also a restaurant?!
Mr. D is just going to come right out and ask. Can he hunt you for sport?
He doesn't have a lot going on now that most of his neighbors have pruned the hedges outside their windows, and invested in thicker curtains.
We learned that chimps like to eat people's faces, so we made a face-flavored sandwich, marketed towards chimps.
The Rax Faces of Deathwich only contains 5% real human face, but has 100% real human face flavor. Mmm... oily!
Rax: Oh yes we did.
Rax is an important part of the food pyramid - the dusty, grey, dried-up mummy right in the middle.
Rax: Above and beyond in the field of food preservation.
Mr. D is starting to wonder if his many legal issues could be helped by not using an attorney who files everything on Shrek stationery. Though he will admit, he did indeed "have a Shrektacular vagrancy trial!"
Thank God that awful Stranger Things ending took the public's attention away from our "Filet-O-Food" fiasco.
Our "Grip the Drip" campaign to promote the Personal Plopper sandwich resulted in obscenity charges. But no publicity is bad publicity! Except any publicity involving us.
Our business model mostly involves sneaking into other restaurants, hiding until after closing time, and then changing the locks. And through the miracle of squatting, a new Rax is born!
And what rough feast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Ironton to be born?
It's the Personal Plopper Meal Deal! Pick any eight gravies to plop onto your sandwich, and get the ninth free! Offer void anywhere anarchy has not yet been loosed upon the world.
