Kankakee art student, grifter and narc-a-doodle Pat Oswald Splatt posts to Redditopixly begging for volunteers to help with his “nonprofit” app project that’s really for profit.

He interviews three people remotely – all three he rejects even though they were well-qualified – simply because he is a sadistic moron who gets a high off hurting people’s feelings. The empathy is small with this one. Size matters.

Taking a different approach, Pat posts to Fakebook and the X-Parrot begging for free art, a fancy computer and people to tell their friends about his new, non-existent gadget in the making.

After asking a bunch of people if “this is still available?” he starts to get a few replies from people who are a little too nice.

“Hi, you asked about the computer?”

“I don’t like that machine. Can you give me a bigger hard drive?”

“I’ll show you my hard-drive! Click.”

“Yes, the art is available! I’d like to help out.”

“That drawing will suit. Can you make it a little bigger?”

“If you want it, pick it up. Otherwise I will sell it.”

“Come on man, it’s for a good cause!”

“It’s already framed. I put a lot of time into that picture. Time is money and mine is valuable, yes mine. Waste my time again and I’ll send you a bill!”

A “This person is no longer available” message promptly appears at the bottom of the chat window.

Pat messages 89 more people, but his calls and texts go unanswered.

Undead Greg Schneissder walks by Pat’s house, pounds on his door, busts it down.

“Got anyyy braiiins?”

Pat gives Greg the stinkeye, waves him away with one hand.

“Poopies?”

Pat reaches for his shotgun, however the zombie walks away before the non-existent warning shot could be non-fired.

Greg wanders over to a neighbor’s apartment and stares into his window, fixated on the television game-show.

“We surveyed 100 women and asked them, what about men—“

“Farts!” the contestant answers after slamming her hand down onto the set-piece.

“What about men do women find most attractive? Let us seeee…FARTS!”

“AAAANT!”

A big-ol’ X covers the screen and Greg giggles at it, slowly pointing his left arm or finger, he doesn’t remember which.

As Mr. Splatt barricades his newly broken door to keep out zombies, a newly formed text appears on his phone (not to be confused with Newly Formed Turds).

“I thought I’d never hear from him!” Pat thinks aloud, as he makes a mad dash for the door.

After moving the heavy boxes, metal sculptures and broken computers, he opens the doorway to let in his delivery.

Too late!

“Heres your free crap!” the Fakebook freebie group member yells out to Mr. Splatt.

“What? Pat shouts as the dump-truck lowers a whole load of manure all over his front lawn – and him.

“What the truck? The landlord is going to freak out!” exclaims a neighbor.

“Yummm, turds!” Undead Greg cheers as he makes his way towards the pile o’ pig poo, sits down, takes out a fork and a spoon.