It started off as a night just like any other.  The warming Spring breeze sweeping through the house as the curtains bellowed like friendly ghosts clamoring at the windows.  The air bore a light hint of Jasmine from a glade plug in simmering away at the hall outlet. It was, in a word, peaceful. 

Yet beneath this serene scene a corpulence lurked.  She sat hidden away from all, lurking in her parents basement, a ball of furious rage.  Illuminated only by the blue glow of her computer screen MrsNekoJeans fumed.  "How could this be", she exclaimed, nails clawing into the cardboard box which served as a crude desk.  "How could I be shunned by the Internet. They should worship me.", a woeful lament which had become all to commonplace.  Alas Neko once again found her racist, boorish, and enigmatic personality the butt of everyone's jokes. She eased back on her milk crate, "I'll show them...I'll show them all".......
As she suited up in the massive quilt of chain-mail which draped her like a circus tent. Then she grabbed her hairdryer to dry the moldy folds of fat around her ankles. Last but not least with a flick of a well worn butter knife she scraped the sores from her lips and applied a fresh coat of bacon grease....