What if Mr. D specifically mentioned he's an *unlicensed* crotch doctor? Would that make the services he offers legal?

We're a restaurant in the sense that we feed off you. Typically our patrons just can't make themselves eat anything here, even if they try.

What part of the Human Raxipede is unclear? Mr D. can point you to his many, thirsty illustrations documenting the process if that helps clarify anything.

We don't just make our staff pee in bottles during their shifts to minimize break time. Oh no, we have far more elaborate plans for those bottles and their contents.

Say what you will, Mr. D has a good feeling about things with this Russian AI catfish chatbot he's dating.

Take the Rax quiz! Are you a Wadded Plop type of person, or more of a Plopped Wad sort? Your results will play a critical role in your employment, love life, and ultimate fate.

Don't worry, Mr. D will just sell his emergency stockpile of Beanie Babies, and the resulting millions in profit will be more than enough to bail Rax out.

Why do the cadaver sniffing dogs always lead investigators here? And why don't they ever buy anything?

No one showed to pick up their 1st Annual Rax Lingerie Awards (the Lingies).

It's that time of year again, when Mr. D assumes his alter ego, Uncle O'Deliciousy! Uncle O'D's mission? To represent the naturally green food and drinks here at Rax, which contain no vegetable matter whatsoever. The less you question how this can be, the better for all of us. Dickety go bragh!

Mr. D had dreams of achieving something big, like blowing up the sun. But where would he go from there? How would he top himself? So instead, he settled for representing the crappiest roast beef restaurant in the entire Rust Belt.

For reasons Mr. D would rather not get into, we're no longer able to offer gravy waterboarding as an off-menu item.

Until all this snow thaws, we're gonna have refrigeration for a change! Let's see how those hoity-toity bureaucrats down at the health department feel about us now!

Do you like gladiator movies? Because we need someone familiar with hand-to-hand combat to fight the blood raccoons in our storeroom.

Don't make us admit why it's okay to eat here during Lent.

We figured our meat was so toxic to humans that it might make an effective antimicrobial agent. So we liquefied and distilled it, creating a meat bleach called "Meatch." I'd avoid touching, inhaling, or thinking of it for the duration of its half-life.

We're allowed to say something is taking the world by storm if people have stormed our property to stop it.

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.