The Menu

 Fitness freak and cat lover who’s still trying to figure out if his workout routine is more impressive than his attempts at petting cats without getting scratched. On a quest to prove that getting nude at the gym is a bold fashion statement, not a cry for help. #What a time to be alive! 

The human embodiment of a beer-soaked fish. With eyes permanently set on lazy, he

somehow manages to juggle a career as a WNNNNBC radio announcer with the Herculean task of being a sub par triathlete. It’s like watching a sloth complete the Tour de France. When he's not confusing triathlons with bags, or accidentally announcing the wrong sporting event, he's probably trying to figure out how to swim in a beer keg.

He is the less bronzed half of a dynamic duo and owner of hair that could rival a shampoo

commercial. A pizza aficionado to the point of obsession, he’s convinced he's single-handedly

keeping Best Pizza afloat. Beaches? He’s more of a mountain man. And if you’re looking for

someone to plan your next event, look elsewhere. This guy's idea of planning is deciding what to eat five minutes after eating dinner.

Here is the suspiciously tanned, more rotund twin who made the questionable life choice to

roast himself alive in the desert. His musical taste is about as refined as a rusty nail, and his

truck is so big it could probably survive a nuclear winter. His questionable fake tooth should soon be replaced by a pure gold one.

He sports a hairdo that could double as a squirrel's nest and a Seahawks tattoo, proving he has questionable taste in both grooming and football. His chariot, lovingly named Disgulf, is a testament to his uncanny ability to find the worst parking spots. He’s the kind of guy who can make granola seem like a hardcore substance and tie-dye appear menacing. Basically, he's the poster child for the term "free-spirited mess".

Here is the human embodiment of a disgruntled housefly trapped in a toddler's body. This pint-

sized powerhouse has a special talent for turning sunshine into a nuclear winter. With a

reproductive strategy that would make a monk blush, he has decided to spread his spawn

throughout the lands. Beware his penchant for fitting into impossibly small spaces; you never

know when he’ll pop out and wreak havoc. Consider him the universe's most enthusiastic chaos agent.

Residing in the outskirts of civilization, he's often mistaken for a mythical creature due to his rare public appearances and perpetually bloodshot eyes. By day, he's the king of the diaper changing station. By night, he transforms into Jack, a wild and unpredictable urinating force to be reckoned with. Mr. Mom or absolute menace?

Self-proclaimed connoisseur of fine wine and terrible accents. Believes shorts are a barbaric

invention and that Ruby on Rails is the only true path to enlightenment. Currently on a lifelong quest to prove that they're secretly royalty, despite the lack of a castle or a tiara.

A man of questionable taste and questionable bladder control. By day, he’s a highly-skilled

impersonator of Grizzly Adams, though his resemblance is often disputed by bears. By night, he’s a connoisseur of warm garage beverages and a world-class gargoyle. He also has a peculiar affinity for unconventional restrooms.

Once a towering soccer star (well, goalie), now brought to his knees (literally) by a friend.

Glassy eyes from missing the ball or existential dread? You decide. Snaggletooth included free

of charge with Jellyfish tours. #Paula?

A professional indoor sunscreen model with questionable soccer skills. Currently under

investigation for crimes against fashion (visor-related) and international relations (Irish goodbye champion). Side effects of this individual may include spontaneous vanishing and an unhealthy obsession with avoiding sunlight.

He is a walking, talking, doughy enigma. Once a founding member of the elite Nuttery, he

possesses a dulled mind that's constantly churning out get-rich-quick schemes. Don't be

surprised if, by the time you finish reading this, he has already placed an order for a new sports car. With a penchant for impulsive decisions that would make a squirrel blush, he is the huma equivalent of a primordially pouched drunk kitten.

This man's calves are so small, scientists around the world are baffled as to how he manages to stay upright. Despite his questionable lower body strength, he's got  a face and nails that say "I'm not afraid to pamper myself". While most bad decisions are made on the golf course with a half cap, his Russ Hanneman impersonation rivals no other.

Professionally awkward and perpetually gangly, he's somehow managed to survive this long. His questionable selfie game is only outmatched by his questionable taste in Delta-8. Lucky for him, his family’s brewery provides ample liquid courage to sustain his erratic behavior.

Standing tall and proud, or more accurately, tall and confused, is Loro. This gentle giant is a

walking, talking red wood wrapped in a human-sized question mark. His substance of choice is

a mystery even to himself, and his tattoo collection is a testament to either extreme bravery or questionable life choices. When he’s not pondering what bad decision to make next he's probably underwater, spear fishing for sea slugs.

A connoisseur of solitude and espresso. With a social life as vibrant as a black hole, he spends

his days perfecting the art of human avoidance and scheming world domination. When not busy developing instruments for humanity's demise, he can be found sipping fine wine and pondering the existential crisis that is his life. Warning: May cause spontaneous bouts of laughter or extreme discomfort.

A perpetual bachelor and self-proclaimed botanical wonder. When he’s not busy unlocking the secrets of the universe with his lock picks and rare earth magnets, he's hard at work throwing darts from on his slack line. Women? They're a mystery he's happy to leave unsolved. Possessing the unique talent of sweating through a blizzard, he’ll surprise you with a cup of Oolong tea at the most unexpected moment, and his rig-building skills are the stuff of legends – or at least, local bar rumors.

Hailing from the deepest, darkest corners of Boston, he is a towering enigma wrapped in a

cloud of dog hair. With a personality that veers wildly between grizzly bear and frat boy, you

never quite know if he's about to offer you a beer or a headlock. When he's not mysteriously

vanishing into thin air or attempting to domesticate the local wildlife, he can usually be found covered in a suspicious amount of fur and muttering something about cave life.

A professional curmudgeon disguised as a consultant. His idea of a good time is wrestling with IKEA furniture or excavating a backyard. Clients? He tolerates them, much like a cactus

tolerates rain. With a penchant for believing that one more teeny tiny little drink will solve all the world's problems, he's the poster child for premature blacking out. Consider him the grumpy old man of your nightmares only with a massively higher alcohol tolerance.