There was Ralph and there was Jim. Both men were dying. Ralph hated Jim. Jim was mildly amused by Ralph.
Jim had earned the enmity of God, who had gazed down with anger upon his weeb-like degeneracy as it spilled over into the sabbath, and punished him with literal cancer-AIDS. It was your run of the mill Greek tragedy playing out in some American flyover state.
Jim would superglue pieces of Gunpla kits to his skin in an attempt to transform himself into a mecha-cyborg who would be able to defend Tokyo from pterodactyl attacks. His greatest fear was that the wife that he had grown from the DNA of Hitler and Emperor Hirohito would discover that Japan had surrendered at the end of World War II, and would draw him into a protracted ground war with one of Joseph Biden's elite transexual divisions. He made a living selling letterman jackets to Marty McFly who would take them back with him to the 1980s in his DeLorean. Jim liked to refer to Marty as 'Shaky' but only one of them got the joke.
Ralph had allowed himself to become so morbidly obese that, when his gunt gurgled, it sounded like the second Joy Division album. The continental overhang of his colossal belly was in the process of forming itself into a pair of drooping lobes that resembled the flaccid buttocks of a centenarian. Speculation was rampant within the medical community that he would eventually evolve an auxiliary arsehole that was necessary to void the colossal amount of shit that he produced.
Jim resided on Anime Avenue – a whimsical place place where Asian schoolgirls entered werewolves into dog beauty pageants, in the hope that they would place second and win the planet Saturn.
Ralph was a gentleman of the road. When he wasn't travelling he resided in casinos and hospitals. He had been tricked by a transexual witch into impregnating a paraphillic horse with his bonsai penis. Despite this rare slip-up, he regarded himself as a fighter, not a lover – a man who had once single-handedly beaten-off a quartet of tattooed Portuguese sailors in a Lisbon alleyway.
The only thing that the two men had in common was their love of the Canadian rock band, Nickelback. They were constantly quoting from the band's songs in their social media posts and arguing over which Nickelback album was the best. Whenever the band played the Hyperbowl in Jim's home town, he would always pay for the best seats in the house. Ralph would usually be comped tickets to the Nickelback show by whatever Las Vegas casino had taken the lion's share of his money.
Aside from their devotion to Nickelback, which was all encompassing, the two men had very little in common and did not get on well.