You know that pizza place, with the pinball machines and the good food? Yeah, we're not it. We're just the best you can get in this shit hole of a town. Reruns of baseball games from the 70's play on an endless loop above the bar counter, and the lights along the walls have long since burned out. Don't even get us started on the sign matienance; we know the letters are missing, shut up and order your cheese covered cardboard already. The food sucks, but, hey, it's a nice place to dodge the Black Sticks if you don't mind the chance of being ass raped in the bathrooms.

Deep within the disease pit that is Foodcourtia, there's a place where little children gather in an attempt to regroup the scattered shards of their broken childhoods--The Candy Carousel. Nothing screams 'I AM CHILD' like flowing sugar and dancing gumdrops, all distributed via the Man Behind the Counter, himself, Mr. Lonesome X. Nobody remembers when X swept into town, but they know the crooked old man's been here for ages, passing out the goods that, if only for a moment, bring all of the droll gray crashing down.