A heavy suit, the kind that made it almost impossible to breath on the inside. He stunk, really fucking badly, of both pizza and his own stale collected breath. His vision was fucked too, getting only one eye, the other covered by his outfits 'radical' haircut, making it almost impossible to see what the fuck he was doing. He really had to wonder how it was that he had been called out here, it seemed completely ridiculous to force a Marine into this line of work, but when you were handing off the biggest donations on the island, you could get whatever help it was that you wanted on sales day. He could understand why he was frantic, of course. The opposing branch across the street was also doing a sale and those bastards were charging four-ninety-nine instead of the five dollars that Landru's company was. Those bastards. He was dressed in a tiger suit, the broken patchy fur making it look like some kind of urban camouflage. A giant red cap was on his head, with a fringe covering one eye. Below that was a tie-dye shirt with the worlds 'Taste Richard Cheese's World Famous Cheese Pizza.' The worst part about it was the fact that Richard Cheese was now a convicted pedophile, forcing the company to look for a new mascot. Why they kept using his name, however, was beyond him. "Come taste my fat heavy, cheesy, hot and tender fried cheese balls!"

There were worst ways to make a living. One could be cleaning shit off a bathroom floor, or removing someones failing liver. Luckily for Vicktur he didnt have to do either of those things. Today he decided to wear a goddamn chipmunk costume to sell artery clogging pizza to folks with already clogged arteries. Not that he gave a shit. The regular that looked like Rosie o' Donnel could have a heart attack right infront of, and he'd go one with selling pizza. He wasnt paid to care about the pigs stuffing their faces with this garbage. I mean, Pizza was good and all. But when you start offering deep friend pork chops a topping youve left real pizza behind a long time ago. Vickturs chipmunk costume barely fit him despite being the biggest one they had. He carried a sign that read "Chippy the Cheese Pizza Champion" obviously made to smear the other place across the street. Why go anywhere but the champs place? The costume was adorned with a giant black trenchcoat with pizzas hanging from the inside. When he flashed passer-byers they got a heaping helping of hanging cheese pizza. Not the classiest method but who gave a shit about classy? This was a competition to see who could fatten the most people after all. He spun and twisted the sign like a maniac, before tossing it up into the air and catching it. Across the street he could see the other mascot saying some goofy shit about pizza. Thankfully his contract said he could keep quiet.

"Lick on my oily pizza, suck up all my hot cheesy juices, get them dribbling down your face you fucking whore." He caught himself, a wave of panic rushing over him showing him in a cold sweat as his eyes narrowed. To anyone looking it would seem that the mascot had just frozen up, like it was some plastic display rather than a real living breathing human being. Thankfully, no one was paying attention to him at all, it was all on the other mascot across the road who was apparently flashing people? He wouldn't have suspected that something of that depth would work on the average person, but it would seem that people who wanted pizza were also completely in love with anthropomorphic cock. Who would have guessed? There was probably something to this that required deeper viewing, but at the current moment he didn't dare read much more into it. After all, why would he? It wasn't exactly like this was the most intense mission he had been given by the Marines. The one where he was forced to carry that hot singer around his his shoulders during a concert and not pop a boner was undeniably so much worse than this was. He began humping the air, letting out small yells of 'oh yeah' and 'fuck yes baby' as he danced in the musk of old pizza. He could feel a sweat forming over his body, causing dark rings to appear under his outfits arms.

Vicktur watched the other mascot from his chipmunk body suit. He wasnt sure if ge believed the things the guy was saying. Was that teally the script? No fucking way. He shook the pizza shaped penis on the raccoon as his contract indicated was NECESSARY. If sex sells than pizza dick would ensure the maximum amount of slices sold to the pizza crazed masses. Surely his chipmunk mascot costume gave a whole new meaning to pepperoni heaves, one of their most famous pizzas. Thirteen different types of pepperoni on that bitch. He even heard there was pepperoni and bacon inside of its chipotle cheese stuffed crust wrapped in deep fried bacon dipped in chocolate. It was terribly unhealthy and divine at the same time. Or so he heard. His contract didnt stipulate free lunch. Hell, lunch didnt even come out of his paycheck. He had to buy that shit with his pocket money. Which he was saving to buy some important shit...ship stuff. Ya know, oars and flags and sails. Stuff like that in case they were ever needed. He didnt have the cash for diabetes pizza lime all the flower shirted tourists bought. Them and their ugly kids and wives. Speaking of wives he gad been propositioned for bathroom sex by one of them atleast seven times since he started this gig. If he were a worst person he'd say yes. But he was too enamored by Hure honesly. So he just blew her off, told her to fuck off and buy pizza.

The smell of pizza was almost hypnotizing, like a scent digging straight into his brain, the kind that would make his toes curl and his eyes roll if he was a weaker man. In fact, he was a weaker man, the only thing that was stopping him was that his radical mascot hands were constantly stuck in the devil horns position, forcing him to rock on for all eternity, or at least until he took them off. Speaking of rock on, how bullshit is Scream. Their popularity would never be understood by him. They were one of the most famous rock bands in history, yet they completely fucking sucked. He hadn't met anyone who listened to music and said they actually liked Scream, only posers naming one of the only 'intense' rock albums they could. Their whole appeal came off of marketing, the toys, lunchboxes and backpacks. He could even recall them having a toy line and, of course, an animated sunday morning cartoon show. Those bastards. He was brought back to reality to find his humping having little effect on swaying the crowd, with the masses continuing to visit the other outfit in droves. If only he had a big chipmunk cock. "Hey fuck face!" He yelled out, waving his devil hands in the air violently, as if trying to beat him up from across the street. "Asshole, why don't you make like a tree and get the fuck out of here, huh?" He screaming before turning his head to the side and putting his hand beside his ear, waiting for a reply.

Vicktur was pulling in all.tne pizza lovers now. And how could he not? His costume literally had a pizza for a dick. Sure, he would cover up when the kids walked by. But he always made sure to flash mommy and daddy, just in case mommy wanted some pizza of course. He had to assert the dominance of his pizza man hood over the cucks feeble attempts to emulate it. It was sad really, some of these tourist fucks. Didnt even know there wives wanted the pizza d, not related to the will of d. However his quiet and relaxing job was interrupted by the other mascot, a tiger with a patchy coat. Who did this unoriginal fool think he was doing? Insulting a REAL mascot? Where do these jokers get off shit talking a true master of the pelvic thrust? Assisted by cheese pizza his pelvic was superior in every wat. The poser across the street needed to learn gis place. Strapping the sign to his back, Vicktur began to dance towards the tiger with both middle fingers on display. He then stopped in the middle of the road. Soon after he began to bust a few moves, motioning the tiger to a dance off if he had the balls. Maybe all that 2nd place cheese pizza had put them in its purse for later use? Either way a dance off was the perfect way to kill time and prove his far more better dancibg and salesmanship. He wouldnt lose.

It was like some kind of bizarre mating rituation between mascots, the kind of thing that no sane person would ever want to see. That said, furries were everywhere, you never know when they might pop up. He had known a guy for seven fucking years before he suddenly went all 'I want to fuck animals but I actually don't, they're human animals so it's not bestiality, I swear.' It was the kind of thing that really made you rethink just how much you actually knew a guy, if you didn't know that, you didn't know them. He was going to have to remember in the future to ask people if they wanted to fuck animals when he first met them. "Oi, fuckwit. What the fuck are you doing?" He snapped, waving his radical hands towards the buffoon. Was this a dance thing? He had seem something similar happen before, the kids ate that shit up. He tipped himself forward landing on his head to go into a spin. Instead, he just heard a massive crack in his neck as he collapsed on the ground, leaning on his bent neck. Saying it wasn't that bad would be an understatement, it would be like saying 9/11 was worse than the holocaust or vice versa. It didn't fucking matter, he was fucked, his neck felt like it had a hoard of elephants walk over it, comparing it to something else wouldn't change that.

Vicktur's moves were just too hot. Too saucey, too fresh, too legit, too dank, and too buttery for a manged tiger to step up too. He could bust moves as flawlessly as a nut, maybe even more so. Vicktur moonwalked in circles as he waited for his opponent to man up and get served. Served with famous championship cheese pizza and some waffles fries. And throw some buffalo chicken bites on that bitch while youre at it. No one could could face his eclectic dance moves and live to tell the tale. His foolish dance opponent wasnt very interested in how dope his moves were, and even asked him what the fuck he was doing. It wasnt until something snapped in the tigers cat brain that he realized what the fuck was going on. Vicktur started to dougie as he watched his enemy-on-the-dance-floor begin to come around to the idea. He was so bustin a move right now! His flossiness could outshine Crest, he was so flossy. It easnt until he witnessed the tiger attempt to headspin that he realized exactly how out of his depth the tiger was. Vicktur stopped showing off and made a mocking gesture; one hand on his stomach with the other pointing at the other mascot, faking a cartoon laugh. He fist bumped a dozen times to signify his victory then removed his sign from its back holster and spun it around in the middle of the street. Regularly tossing it into the air so he could flip off the tiger.

You ever see The Highlander Two? What a piece of shit, it's the worst kind of bad film. Not only is it a completely awful sequel, but it also completely ruins everything that was done in the prior film. It's bad enough you have MacLeod with his dying fucking wife, slowing growing old and dying while he remained young, unable to ever handle committing to life again, but then you have Highlander Two come along and suddenly he's also a fucking alien? It was completely fucking ridiculous. Or, what about the fact that after getting the prize Conner uses it to build a giant fucking dome around the entire planet with the purpose of blocking out the sun and then he gets accused on having a monopoly of giant shields around the planet blocking off the sun, as if their could possibly be more than one. The whole enemy plan was a complete laugh too, there was no way anyone wrote that script and then thought to themselves that they actually did anything relating to a somewhat decent job. Pushing himself to his feet, pain reeling through his body he caught his opposition laughing at him like some cackling retarded hyena. What a joke, he didn't have to put up with this shit. He was Richard fucking Cheese, this treatment was below him. Stumbling towards the side of the footpath, he pulled a loose brick from the base of the wall before hurling it at the opposite Pizza restaurants window, hearing the satisfying shatter as it hit.

It seems the other mascot didnt enjoy him laughing at his failures. Well what did he expect? His pizza shop was total trash! The building looked like someone built a restaurant using materials found in a landfill, the poor fucks. Vicktur even heard that they used actual trash on their pizza! Thats probably why it tasted like dirty trash water that had marinated diapers for a week. Not that he would know. He was smart enough to stay away from that eyesore of a building. No, he gad simply heard via word of mouth. A friend of a friend of a cousin twice removed told a stranger he spoke with once. Having a good ol' time giving the tiger the bird,he wasnt much paying attention to what the other guy was doing. Can you blame him? He was flipping his sign around like a bawss! Definitely the best sign flipper in Loguetown, 10/10 would let flip my sign if you know what I mean. He shouldve been paying attention because the manged pussy cat threw a brick through his shops window! Da fuq! Not cool, cat. Not cool. Vicktur responded the only way he knew how, by causing destruction to the other shop. He pitched back his arm and threw hus sign like a shuriken. It flew right over the tigers head and smashed the shops window. But thats not all! It kept spinning until it smacked a chef on the head, slumping him into the pizza sauce and ruining the whole batch!

"Jared, holy shit, papa Jared!" Panic and fear went through his body, his stomach sinking a thousand miles all in once instance. He felt like he was going to be sick. The sound of it, the twang it made as it connected with the side of Jared's head, turning it from less of a brain and more into some kind of soup. He wanted to be sick, so he was. Vomit spewed from his mouth, spraying over the inside of his mask filling it with its acidic stench, the kinda smell that lingered and left a message long after the act was done. Hurrying into the store with vomit dribbling from his mouth, he hurried towards the kitchen, the splatter of red tomato sauce on the wall already confirming what he knew deep down. Stumbling through the shocked crowd, he slid over the marble bench, moving into the kitchen. Pulling the mans partially caved skull out of the mixture of tomato and oil, he pulled the limp body close, embracing him as if he was trying to absorb his essence. "Oh no! Jared... Mr. Jared, wake up... Don't leave me here alone. Don't go where I can't follow... Wake up." Tears steadily trickled down his scrunched up face, mixing with the vomit turning him into a sticky mess, the snot coming from his nose didn't exactly help things either. He through back his head, dropping to his knees, Jared's body still held tight. "JAAAARRRREEEEEEEEEEEDDDDDD!"

Vicktur danced a jig and jumped for joy, clacking his heels together, as he observed the fruits of his labor. One less cook in a shitty pizza joint. He had done this town a huge favor, yo! He also rid the town of its terrible pizza sauce. I mean really, who the fuck ate white sauce? What a piece of crap pizza parlor. White sauce was the worst thing ever invented in the world of pizza. Just use red sauce you hipster fuck! What the fuck was the deal with white sauce. Like....what....why????!!!!! WHY?! He finished his victory dance and ran a few victory laps in a giant circle. Charlie's Champion pizza was the best garbage food in town, and now it was officially official. And no one could deny it anymore. Charlies mascot shrekt the other places cook with an advertisement. The tiger threw up in his own costume, causing Vicktur to almost follow suit due to his gag reflex. Had this other guy never seen some dude get his cranium smashed in before? That shit was totally normal on the mean streets of Loguetown, yo! For real, though! You should know, bro. Ho-ho-ho-ho-ho merry X-mas bitch. Vicktur repeated his laughing gesture from before as the other dude bumrushed the kitchen with vonit dripping from his suit. Perfect. No one would want to eat there again with a vomit covered mangy tiger mascot getting his throw up all over the pizza.

It had felt just like yesterday, the first time he had laid eyes on big poppa Jared, the master of white pizza sauce, the only sauce that mattered. He had taken him in by force, then forcibly made him wear a giant fluffy outfit and dance out in the street for strangers to come in and eat his pizza. Actually, the way that sounded made it seem like Jared could be the furry. He had never asked in the time they had known each other, all ten minutes of it. For all Landru knew, he could be holding the body of some dead man whose dream was fucking a human cow lady. God, what a wild ride this earth was. Spinning at billions of miles every second, hurtling through space and all he could think about was if the dead organic life form in his arms had fantasies about fictional organic life forms. Was this what life was meant to be? It seemed like some kind of sick lie. Pushing himself to his feet, he stumbled to the front door. The gentle chime from the bells almost seemed ironic now as he moved to the vending machine just outside the front door. Picking the piece of machinery up over his head, he hurled it into the wall of the opposing Pizza parlor. The hunk of metal crashed through the wall, smashing into the kitchen inside. The sound of a fire starting could be heard, perhaps some kind of gas leak?

Fire! a mob of fearful pizza-goers fled from Charlies Champion Chesse Pizza Palor. Some were on fire themselves, jumping into horse troughs to extinguish the flames. A few others only had flaming hair so only needed to dunk their heads in. But nost of them simply came running out of the shop coughing up their lungs as if they gad just smoked a Newport menthol. Vicktur turned on his heels so fast that the mascot head flipped backwards, leaving him to resemble that chick from the Exorcist or an owl. At first he wasnt sure why he couldnt see anything, but then it became all too clear as to why. He quickly adjusted the head back foward just in time to see Charlie "Charles of Cheese" Chipper dash from his store black as Wesley Snipes from the smoke and ash. Me-a pizza shop-a is-a ruined! his face contorted into an expression of pure misery Mama mia! Just keel me! he then whipped out a pistol and blew his own brains out, splattering his grey matter all over a family of four trying to escape the burning death trap that was once his pride and joy. Vicktur just shrugged and ran into the shop. He got a bottle of alcohol and stuck a rag down it next. He then lit the rag and ran back out, brandishing the Molotov cocktail for the world to see. Without skipping a beat he hurled it into the opposing shop and watched it go up in flames.