Rax Fingerbangerz are the only chicken fingers shaped like real human fingers. Which is frankly to be expected, since we get them from corpses Mr. D has stolen the wedding bands off of. And before you protest, remember that chickens don't even have fingers.

They stopped Mr. D two verses into his performance of "Gravy Runs Down My Thighs." But the rest of the audit was just soooo boring.

Believe Mr. D, the sneeze guard is there to protect you from the food, not the other way around.

We don't have a lot of rats here, which is unsurprising if you saw what happened when we fed our food to lab rats as a test.

Where can we find strippers that regular clubs won't hire for various reasons? Mr. D has an idea that's going to turn Rax around, or get into a lot of trouble trying.

Chuck E. Cheese is where a kid can be a kid. Rax is where you grow up fast and hard, as cold and disturbing realities about life quickly set in.

Mr. D messed up, and sent the TV station the folder labeled "Porno" instead of "Promo." Long story short, many Ironton residents learned a lot about German erotic cinema last night, and Mr. D will be busy with numerous hearings over the next few months.

Trying to rebrand Rax as "Club Puddles" not only exacerbated our problems, it created many new ones.

If dolphins are so smart, they wouldn't wind up in our Filet O' Mammal.

We picked the worst time to open a restaurant in Greenland. Which is sad, because by being at the glacier-locked, icy edge of the earth's habitable zone, it would have been one of the more accessible Rax locations.

Mr. D lists "beef pervert" as his occupation on his tax forms, because that's what HR here calls him.

Yes, Mr. D put a small camera into the bottom of your beverage so he could stare into your mouth as you swallowed. But what you have to understand is that it was purely sexual on his part, and he only did it to secretly get off while you drank.

When Mr. D asks to drink your bath water, what you need to understand is that it's totally sanitary because of the soap! Unlike our own Meatosaurus Rax sandwich, which spends a lot of time under a colored light that we pretend gives off heat.

Only 5% of our bathroom visitors suffer from catastrophic glory hole failures resulting in total organ severance! Despite all the rusty, jagged metal edges and sharp, crusty buildup, we're still the clear budget choice for your perverse needs. Rax: Wait, we're also a restaurant?!

Mr. D is just going to come right out and ask. Can he hunt you for sport? He doesn't have a lot going on now that most of his neighbors have pruned the hedges outside their windows, and invested in thicker curtains.

We learned that chimps like to eat people's faces, so we made a face-flavored sandwich, marketed towards chimps. The Rax Faces of Deathwich only contains 5% real human face, but has 100% real human face flavor. Mmm... oily! Rax: Oh yes we did.

Rax is an important part of the food pyramid - the dusty, grey, dried-up mummy right in the middle. Rax: Above and beyond in the field of food preservation.

Mr. D is starting to wonder if his many legal issues could be helped by not using an attorney who files everything on Shrek stationery. Though he will admit, he did indeed "have a Shrektacular vagrancy trial!"

Thank God that awful Stranger Things ending took the public's attention away from our "Filet-O-Food" fiasco.

Our "Grip the Drip" campaign to promote the Personal Plopper sandwich resulted in obscenity charges. But no publicity is bad publicity! Except any publicity involving us.

Our business model mostly involves sneaking into other restaurants, hiding until after closing time, and then changing the locks. And through the miracle of squatting, a new Rax is born!

And what rough feast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Ironton to be born? It's the Personal Plopper Meal Deal! Pick any eight gravies to plop onto your sandwich, and get the ninth free! Offer void anywhere anarchy has not yet been loosed upon the world.

Things just haven't been going well for us ever since we lost that Supreme Court decision in the case of Rax v. Food.

Mr. D refers to the erotic act as "porking." And when he eats at the same time, it's "pork and beaning." The proof is in the divorce filings presented by Mrs. Delicious to the court.

Mr. D doesn't have to silently ogle you while you chew; he can talk about his controversial opinions re: the melting point of steel if you prefer.

If Mr. Delicious wears a name tag that says "Daddy," you have to call him that. Don't make him legally change his name when he's not even trying to avoid a creditor.

Many restaurants claim to offer Greek yogurt, but when you read the fine print, it didn't even come from real Greek women. Only Mr. D flies lactating Greek women to Ohio, at great personal expense, so you can get your yog on. Rax: Wait! Come back!

If Mr. D's photos of you peeing are in black and white, they're art, not an obscene invasion of your privacy. And he's confident the courts will agree, if he's ever extradited back from his refuge on an oil rig in international waters.

Rax is the only restaurant that places a small chair near your table for their mascot to sit and stare at you. Sometimes Mr. D may whimper or touch himself, but not in a distracting way. His therapist calls it "disturbing," but we beg to differ. The cuck chair, only at Rax. Mmm... uncomfortable!

There comes a time when you need to settle. And if you're eating at Rax, it's now. Introducing the ButtSteak. 100% pure anus, boiled as close to perfection as we get. Our delicate preparation really lets the taste of butt shine, if that's your thing. It's as close as you can get to rimming a cow.

That Claymation Christmas special we made starring the Rax Meat Wads may never get shown anymore these days. But it taught kids a valuable lesson about preservatives and their effects.

This whole operation is kind of a Ratatouille deal, except the rats are sadists who hate people.

How is Rax still in business? Every blood moon, Mr. D must wrestle God Himself atop a mountain in the Infinity Void to determine our fate. And it also helps that local political figures share in the guilt for letting us open to begin with.

Rax may be a liminal shadow realm, straddling the event horizon between life and death; a swirling vortex of concentrated chaos and existential angst. But on Fridays, our Meatosaurus Rax sandwich is 20% off. Rax: It's okay to scream.

In retrospect, yes, we do mildly regret our "Slam the filth" slogan and associated ad campaign. But what can we say? Sex sells.

A ghost came and showed Mr. D what the world would be like had he never been born. There were flying cars, home cold fusion generators, and Ohio was inhabitable. Also, the Noid ruled society with an iron fist, as Malleus Divinus Potentiae Noidvs I.

Our sandwiches are unnervingly dry, so they're extra-absorbent when you cry into them. Also, they derive thier powers from siphoning negative emotions from diners. Rax: You Are the Food

People really didn't like the edgy Rax Home Video production of A Christmas Carol, where Tiny Tim was a stripper who worked in Scrooge's Meat House. But the sequel set in Hawaii was surprisingly well-received. Some say it's Kubrick's finest later work.

The Raxland Christmas Special was notable for being one of the few holiday cartoons where none of the characters survive. But kids learned a valuable lesson about how the word "inflammable" actually means flammable, whether the suits at NBC wanted them to or not.

If we're not a front for a series of bare-knuckle underground fight clubs, where the only rule is that mayhem is survival, then what are we? A roast beef restaurant chain?

Each bite of the Rax Whatchamatasteit has a different flavor, so you'll never guess the exact species of millipede involved.

For the last time, Mr. D didn't steal Christmas! He pawned it; there's a big difference.

We considered serving our food in a bucket, so when you invariably vomited, you'd have an easy solution for containing it. Except no bucket could contain it.

Every year, Junior Delicious asks why Santa wraps all his presents in Rax napkins. And why the presents are all from the Rax lost and found. Which isn't technically accurate; many of them were stolen.

The Rax intimacy coordinator will try to balance your desire to eat your meal in peace with Mr. D's desire for a no-holds-barred, triple-X hedonistic throwdown with the entire dining area at once.

We're suing the manufacturers of the Manwich, because we're pretty sure there's more man in our sandwiches than theirs, and we have better claim to the name.

Did you know that during World War II, the British were forced to subsist off of Rax (or, as it was popularly called, "The King's Brown Porridge")? They eventually air-dropped it on Germany to force their surrender.

You might think you can escape the horrors by unfollowing Mr. D. But there's no forgetting the sight of a Personal Plopper sandwich; the stale cigarette odor of the Rax solarium; or the cold, clammy feel of Mr. D's sticky handshake. Rax: As much a part of you as that parasite we gave you.

Hopefully none of our staff was expecting a Christmas bonus this year. Or at least, one not involving Mr. D's tongue.

The only thing on Mr. D's Spotify Wrapped list this year is "Screams of the Foresaken Volume LXIX." But in his defense, it's when the series really found its groove, and some of it was recorded right here in our restaurant bathroom.