Title

Understandably so, Ricky was particularly peeved off at the recent turn of events at the congregation known as Snowball Group. The Wisconsin equivalent of Alcoholics Anonymous, Snowball Group revolved around people, or something similar to people, and not actually fixing their problems, but covering them up with a thin layer of dirt. Not a metaphorical layer, either. They just threw dirt at the people and told them not to shower.

They weren't people, either. Just cardboard cut outs of celebrities. In fact, a cardboard cut out of Britney Spears was in attendance, because she has problems or something like that. This particular cut out didn't have any hair. It was also coated in an inch thick layer of dirt, which apparently did not cover the problems sufficiently, as it was still in attendance.

Nonetheless, Ricky pored over the possibility that the cut outs were planning an uprising. This week's meeting had been suspiciously stiff. Of course, no one ever moved, because they were cardboard cut outs, but this week something was different. Perhaps they quivered slightly when they didn't move at all. Ricky was perplexed.

At the same time he thought, I could care less. As such, his care level sky rocketed, to a point where it became so saturated that the extra care was turned directly into fat, which invaded his thighs promptly and then moved up his rear end, and then, strangely, up his spine as opposed to overtaking the abdomen. Thus, his back was a chunk of lard, his legs too large to fit any pair of pants on, and a rump as large as New Jersey.

Diabetes was diagnosed by the doctor he kept in his pocket. Ricky kept a doctor in his pocket to diagnose the celebrity cardboard cut outs with diseases, and supply them with pills, which Ricky would steal and consume himself.

"Oh shit I think they are going to rise up and kill me."

And, fancy that, they rose up and killed him the next meeting.

Just kidding. He just sat there, stunned, as his beard grew at a rapid rate. The cardboard cut outs of celebrities were quivering.

The End