"You is justa boy, you best not say them things"

Carl Childers

United States 

I was born in a small town in rural Arkansas. I was raised in a Christain family, my father was a drunk and my mother died giving birth to my brother, which my father ended up burying in the backyard. He made up some bullsh*t story and got me sent to a mental institution. He told them I had killed my mom and her friend with a lawnmower blade and I was like "wtf bro!?" So I have spent the last 20 years sitting in this cell reading the bible and fixing lawnmowers and I finally get out today. I met this lil boy named Frank, he wants me to come over to his house and play some foozball with him and his friends, but all I really want is some of them french fried potaters with that mustard sauce.

Hrm Erm...