that one guy/girl (or if you're REALLY lucky, more than one dopeybot) who (on a full moon, bible study, or whatever delusional crank tweek event is occurring) doses on a ton of methamphetamine and feels the hopelessly insecure need to NOT keep his or her dumb fucking tron-mouth shut.
At first you seem genuinely interested in what these mork's have to say, only to watch these future cia agents spout off inane horseshit after inane horseshit about witchcraft, psychic networks, rocket science 101, left of center but morbidly ignorant self-righteous morality, mommy, militant nazism, hokie good hearted wholesomeness, or they might just be your run of the mill sociopathic sexual deviant doing their sunday best to disguise themselves as your bestest buddy for the night (they will eventually get an even wilder hair and beg you to join them on a fun trip to the porn shop, probably to put on another disguise and talk some more).
the more you get sucked into their silly classic rock mentality and kill them with kindness, the more they kill you with their beady eyes and bad breath. your only hope is to actually have a conversation with a friend who doesnt want to start a new business with you or predict when the aliens will telepathically send us space machine blueprints through tv sets.
those who know what i'm talking about will no doubt relate to this one. and to those who don't, yes it happens and i'm sure, will happen again.
friend: hey man, jack is having a party. lets go.
me: really, sounds like a fun couple of nights. no class for me then. thanks fucker
friend: yep, out of the question cheese
*car screaches into driveway almost hitting mailbox*
*walking through doorway entering 10+ people in all of their yap-happiness*
friend: hey man, there's that crank tweek who secretly loves everything.
me: oh its no secret, and i'm using you as my human shield to deflect his god damned mouth bullets.
crank tweek: hey who knows what space chicken occult nasa tron fdkjdso79758927545074059048904³