The story of Mr. C is a story of heartbreak, terror, sickness and redemption. And surely it is not for the weak at heart. Our story begins in July of 1919. Mr. C was the only love child of Adolf Hitler and a llama. It can only be assumed that this is the reason that he is so full of hate.

During his childhood, Mr. C had a single toy. He called his toy Choo. It was a goose liver grotesquely swen toghether with a sock and a 2.5 inch steel guitar. He talked to Choo all the live-long day, for he had no friends around to play with. He spent his childhood in a burlep sack in the German countryside, where no children dared to dwell. No children dwelled here because they heard the legend of Mr. C. During his teenage years, when Choo had long since rotten, Mr. C would go rabbit hunting with his machete. He never caught any rabbits, since none were around. No rabbits dared to dwell in those forests, for they had heard the legend of Mr. C. At age 18, Mr. C realized that the reason that his parents were never around is because they abandoned him. So, he threw on his winter coat (made out of mud and salt) and put a stick of butter in the pocket and set out to make his fourtune. He walked all the way to Portugal before realizing that Portugal was lame. So he decided to take a boat to the United States of America. This was a bad move, for all Portugese boats are lame. Needless to say, the boat sunk about 200 miles off the Portugese shoreline, and nobody bothered to rescue him because the Portugese rescue squad is lame. He decided to swim the rest of the way. This proved to be a difficult task, because his gills were not fully developed yet. However, he made it, and struck land on the Chesapeake Bay shoreline. He cursed at himself for not eating that stick of butter before embarking on his swim, since the butter had long since melted. But just then, he had another realization. Everything he needed was here! The shorline was covered with delicious SAND! He ate and ate, til he could not breathe, at which point he stopped breathing. He woke up in a hospital under several doctors and next to about 55 pounds of sand. The doctor told him that he did not know how he got all this sand in him, but it was a hell of a task getting it out. Of course, Mr. C had never heard English before, so he got confused and began screaming at the doctor in German. The doctor tranquilized Mr. C and threw him out on the street. When Mr. C came to, he found himself in an alley next to a couple of elfs. The elfs hummed him a pleasant tune, and talked to him in German. They told him that they could teach him to speak English, just as they could. Mr. C smiled. How could this be? Well, after months of study, it turns out that they were not actually elfs, but just a midget barbershop quartet. But the important thing is that Mr. C finally knew how to speak English, the language of KINGS! From then on, the sky was the limit. Mr. C got an education, and after a short stint in politics, met the woman of his dreams, who happened to be named Ms. C. They got married, had a baby C (Now referred to as Sleslie) and settled down in a suburban home. And that, my children, is the story of Mr. C.