Authors: Wade


Mike and I have a bond forged in the fiery belly of hell, that dark hole known only as Wats.  At Wats we went mad, or would have had we not found one another.  So twisted was our time there that we began to share stress induced nightmares centered around the indomitable and demonic force that haunted those office walls.  The only cure for which was beer.  Lots and lots of fucking beer.  It was during these dumb-drunk, half-drowned days that the spirit of the Anger Parade was summoned as a shield against the sanity-sapping spawn of Satan that printed our paychecks.  Over the last few years the Anger Parade has waxed and waned more than once, but the spirit remained always within the hearts of the faithful, there to be brought to bare when we were once again in desperate need of a shield against the forces of evil.  Welcome to the Second Coming, motherfuckers.

Height: 5'infinite
Weight: 205 lbs of monster mash.
Bats: Right-handed when hitting balls, wrong-handed when cracking skulls.                            

Saved Rick's life. 
Graduated with a degree in "Who Cares" and a GPA of "Fuck Yeah!"
Became Hero of Spielburg, Prince of Shapier, Savior of Tarna, Hero of Mordavia, and King of Silmaria.  When I was 14.
Can see the future.  Like, with jetpacks.
Created new life.  With my dick.

Bacon.  It's like my Spinach and Kryptonite cooked into a crack rock and fried in grease.  Mmm.
Whiskey.  One bottle and I spontaneously combust into Charlie Sheen's Raging Bile Duct.
Bullets.  I am fatally reactive to bullets.  Shhh.  Please don't tell.