It's been a long, long trip, my friends. A trip into the relm of insainity destroys most men. Not Vatslov. Not "The One With Large Biz-alls", as they used to call me, back in the day. Oh yes, my life has been an incredible ride. And, of course, Votslov has a story to tell you about it. So sit back, open your ears, and try not to pass out from the terror...

I began life in a distant land, where there are no cars, and plumbing is in the form of a bucket named, "THE BUCKET OF ASS". Life was hard growing up in such unprivilaged times, I often had to fight the family dog for a place to sleep.(I later killed and ate that damn fleabag, but that is of no relevance to this story). At the age of five, I was put to work in my father's hasbagh shop. Hasbagh is a sort of gruel mixed of lamb's meat and cheese. I hated the smell, as well as the taste of fathers hasbagh, and I refused to work there. So, as an alternative, I built a lean-to on the side of father's shop. I called it "Young Vatslov's Foreign Emporium" I sold Cracker Jacks and bubble gum that I stole from the luggage of tourists and small boys. As I grew older, and as my business grew larger, I realized I could not go on like this. I had tasted too much of the American life, and I liked it. I made my plans for escape.

When I got to America, I brought the business along. I began building a new lean-to on the side of the most reputible business I could find, thinking it would bring in more business. On the contrary, it brought me my first law suit. Losing that battle with the Anheuser-Busch empire drove me into poverty. I had nothing left in life, excpt a stockpile of asorted candies and small toys. I needed somewhere to go, somewhere to begin life anew. I finally found a home with the good people at the International House of Ass. IHOA allowed me to set up shop on their property, and I was greatful. But alas, after only 3 months, my dear friends at IHOA were forced to enter into litigation with the pancake magnate that is IHOP over the rights to the name. I was forced to leave, but as a parting gift to them, for everything they'd done for me, I gaind entrance to the IHOP compound and poured dog excrement into the pancake batter.

The following twenty-three years sence have been very......interesting. I have seen into, and through, and beyond the very center of even the darkest human's soul. The contents of this establishment are the objects of pain and anguish that Vatslov has collected through the years. The weaker of you may have to procede with caution, but procede non-the-less, for no one enters Vatslov's bailiwick without leaving with a mind burdened with pain!Enjoy........