Episode 7: Sock it to me! – As the Disq Turns

As I’m sure you (don’t) remember, last time Tex bit off part of The Reverend’s nose in a fit of pique. Now The Reverend has no nose! How does he smell? AWFUL!

Anyway, that incident drove The ol’ Rev over the edge. He broke Grandma Moses out of the asylum, took all of his savings, and bought a dilapidated old VW Microbus and a beaten up old tent. Together, they’ve taken their show on the road, stopping at highway rest areas across the country and attempting to spread the Gospel of the Evil Pets to any poor soul who will listen.

Their tent is always empty, barring a few homeless people who just want to get out of the rain. Every time, without fail, he and Granny immediately accuse these people of being Acolytes of the Evil Pets and scream at them until they leave.

The World’s Dumbest Secret Agent’s Clone, Secret Agent 2, having been left up to his own devices, has somehow managed to make additional clones of himself out of his dandruff, bellybutton lint, and toe fungus. Of course, he names them Secret Agent 3, Secret Agent 4, and in a flash of unwarranted brilliance, Not the Dark Secret Agent 5. He then claims that he doesn’t know who any of them are.

Since the Reverend has abandoned his church to go on the Evil Pets 2016 Tour, a new cult has taken it over: Upvotology. Upvotologists believe that the more online upvotes you get for absolutely no reason, like for hitting on commenters in every thread or for making posts about attending funerals in posts in, say, a channel about weddings for example, the more likely the aliens who live inside you will take you to their home planet. There’s candy there. The more downvotes you get, the more likely your forced to listen to Barry Manilow records forever and ever when you die.

The Upvotologists, although new, have already started growing more and more insular and weird, and are now insisting that the world is out to get them even though almost no one knows they exist because no one will take the UPVOTE ME OR DIE, YOU FUCKING SWINE pins and pamphlets that they attempt to foist on unwitting passers-by.