I think his name was Reverend Wakefield. He was from somewhere in Georgia and he drove a tan convertible (I forget the make). Anyway, this crazy bastard set up a fake adoption agency at his church. He would take these babies from their mothers and say he would place them in foster homes. He did this for about two or three years and then shut the operation down due to what he said was lack of funding from penny-pinching parishioners.

The mothers were calling him everyday to find out where their children had ended up but the reverend told them that the paperwork had burned in a fire at the church. They were obviously furious, but what could be done?

All the while, however, the reverend has these thirty or so kids stuffed in a closet in the storage room of the church. He sneaks down there about twice a day and feeds them, but these poor babies are sleeping in their own piss and shit for Christs sake!

So, about a year goes by and all of the women who had given their children up for adoption get together and decide to find out whats really going on. Turns out that, in Japan, friggin baby-toes are like a delicacy or something. Those sick fucks pay like a thousand bucks a toe! They just dip the toe in some sauce and swallow it whole. Reverend Wakefield sees a special on Inside Edition about it and comes up with this adoption scheme. Rumor has it he was in some sort of gambling debt and needed to make some quick cash.

Anyway...so he was mailing out about 5 or 6 toes a week out to Japan and making a real killing. That fucking cocksucker probably never even would have been caught except, get this, he decides he needs to see what all the fuss is about with this whole baby-toe-eating craze. He goes down to the closet, cuts a toe off little Danny Hogan, and starts chewing on it!

Well, I guess Danny has like a wart or something on that toe and, when Reverend Wakefield sinks his teeth in, the thing pops and puss starts shooting everywhere. He slips in a puddle of puss and falls. He lands smack on his head and is out cold.

Now the Reverend is supposed to be doing the 3 Oclock mass and its about 2:00 when this whole fiasco goes down. All of the mothers who had given up their babies had decided to go to the mass to confront him and find out what was going on with their missing paperwork. At about 3:30 everyone in the church starts wondering where Reverend Wakefield is. Being so anxious to meet with him, the mothers decide to go find him. After about 20 minutes they make their way down to the church storage room. They open the door and there on the floor is Reverend Wakefield. Hes got Danny Hogans toe in his mouth and the closet door is wide open. I guess the screams could be heard 2 miles away when those women saw their babies (half of them toe-less) stuffed in a closet covered in blood, shit, and piss.

NEW IDEA WE HAD!!!

Members of Rage Against The Machine trying to complete basic household tasks, but they flip out when songs hit the amazing, yet somewhat cliche peaks. IE a repeated phrase backed by a repeated hot guitar RIFF. FREEDOM!! (smashes all the dishes in the sink) BULLS ON PARADE (snaps the broom in half)

Within the dark and tangled forest of Chicago suburban life, there lived a young boy named Brekin Wolfe, better known in the Chi-town suburbs as The Wolf. The Wolf lived on the 3^{rd floor of a triple-decker house 35 minutes outside the city. Mr. Wolfe was an assistant to the assistant manager at the auto parts shop two blocks away. Mrs. Wolfe worked every Tuesday afternoon at the Christian Science Reading room but, other than that, she just seemed to sit and cry a lot.}

Now, dont get the wrong idea; it wasnt that The Wolf was a bad kid. There was just something about him that kept people away.

It all began in a normal enough fashion. He was born in 1981 surrounded by balloons and smiling grandparents and he was brought home to his very own bedroom. For the first few weeks, his mother and father would spend hours staring in wonderment at this beautiful creature they had created together. The two of them would often sleep on the floor next to the crib, smiling at each other every time The Wolf made a sound.

When The Wolf was a little over a month old, his legendary odd behavior began.

Mr. Wolfe was sitting at the kitchen table going through the monthly bills when he heard his son begin to cry from the other room. Mr. Wolfe rushed to the scene to make sure everything was o.k. As he flicked the light switch on, he screamed. There, in his tiny crib, The Wolf was covered in blood. He had pulled one of the wooden rails of his crib out of its socket, placed it in between his feet, and plunged his left eye down on it. Blood was pouring out of where the eye used to be. Upon the site of this, Mr. Wolfe passed out on the floor at the base of the crib.

At this time, The Wolf instantly stopped crying and seemed to have even cracked a smile.

This frightful type of event happened fairly frequently over the next 8 months. At 2 months old, The Wolf got his hands on a stapler and attached his hand to a blanket. He giggled all the way to the hospital. At 4 months, The Wolf climbed onto the dining table and stuck his head into the chicken noodle soup, giving himself 2nd degree burns.

Smelling delicious, he read Run Spot Run seven times on the ride to the hospital.

Years crept by. The Wolf continued to find creative ways to injure himself, while his parents kept finding creative ways to hide his injuries from Social Services. By age five, The Wolf was terrifying to look at.

An abridged version of his visible flaws included: