Johnny C. had grown accustomed to life in the mental institution. Not only had his insomnia ceased, but he had finally overcome his fear of cheerleaders. His lackey Todd "Squee" Casill, who shared his padded cell, had benefitted from the funny farm as well, losing a significant amount of weight and gaining his share of rest in exchange for an anterior temporal lobectomy.
But unknown forces in the outside world troubled Johnny. Though he had quit questioning sleep in the traditional sense, his dreamtime often led to a recurring nightmare, one in which his vagrant-approved alternative comic strip "Happy Noodle Boy" had been replaced with a much more threatening and disturbing form of sequential art. Johnny bid adieu to Squee and his psychoanalysts-the latter of which had already been awaiting his departure for years—in search of his old hovel on 777 Vasquez Terrace.
Indeed, 777 Vasquez Terrace was still intact, but Johnny found its newly manicured lawn and pedicured porch to be revolting in the highest degree. He sharply overlooked the Misfits flag hanging over the window, believing whoever now owned his house to be mere yuppie scum in a suburb steadily growing socioeconomically integrated. Brandishing a hatchet that doubled as a file, Johnny picked the front door's lock and skulked into the foyer.
Lazing on a black leather couch was a post-pubescent girl who would have weighed no more than 95 pounds if her aristocratic face was not drenched in ebony eyeliner and seventeen other varieties of makeup. Said makeup refused to obscure the frailness of her features, no doubt attributed to malnutrition. Her nine-inch nails grasped a raven's quill with which she was currently doodling a series of nude caricatures of herself in a hardcover journal—one with Johnny's cartoon image plastered on its cover. As the girl stood up, Johnny noticed that the same cartoon rendering of himself had been pressed on her black baby-doll top.
"Squee!" squealed the girl, and Johnny got the horrid feeling that she was not referring to his pint-sized accomplice. "Like, I was just talking to my friend Cleo about you about fifteen minutes ago! The name's Anne, Anne Gwish, ugh, I'm planning on changing it, it's my parents' last name, y'know. I'm like your biggest fan, no joke. My folks rented this house out to me when I found out you were in the institution for good. I would have, like, visited you, but, puh-lease, I'm so pretty and delicate that I would never want to get mixed up with any of the losers there besides you.
"Now, I've read enough of your comic that I know all about your weird sexual hang-ups, and my gal pal Cleo and I have the obvious solution. Y'know, I experimented with plenty of Sapphic flings back in my middle school days, but it seemed just a passing trend like Operation Ivy tees or Invader Zim. But Cleo and I are so, so willing to share a night in bed with you, just the three of us. It would be my bed, of course, I've got the gnarliest Emily the Strange linens and even a freaking Nailbunny plush. I just ordered Reverend Meat and Mr. Samsa off Bookazon…"
"You said 'comic,'" said Johnny C., cutting off the excitable Goth girl. "Are you insinuating that I am now a bestselling comic book character?"
"Bestselling? Please!" said Anne Gwish, black lipstick dripping off her vain smile. "JTHM attracts only the most in-the-know consumers. My BFF Cleo and I are your only fangirls in this city, but I read the other day on Suicide Girls that the largest JTHM fandom can be found at South Park Elementary School in South Park, Colorado."
Enraged, Johnny flung his hatchet at the girl, severing her head before she could finish her final words, "Never stop killing me!"
"Well, that did nothing for me," said Johnny. For the first time in years, he proceeded to paint his wall with a human's blood, as the Moose he called the Wall Monster was stronger than ever. He then pocketed as much of the Gwish fortune as he could find in Anne's wallet (which to his dismay featured the "Z?" logo), and set off for multiple pricey cab rides which would eventually lead to his arrival in South Park, Colorado.