They tell tales of rotten hosers in this town, going back, oh, as far as anyone remembers, every one of them rotten in their own special way, all of them complete hosers. Something about the water, the weather, the genes...no-one knows why. But this town has turned out legions of them--lacklusters, ne'er-do-wells, fuckups and bums, slackers moochers, sponges and losers. There's a new crop of them every few years or so. They run training sessions down at Molly's Midnight, the young ones gathering around the veterans, picking up tips on how to screw their lives up completely.

They grow up in nice suburban homes out by Fergus Estates, or on small farms in places like Joyland or Udney or down the shores of Simcoe.No matter. When the loser's streak is in your genes, you gravitate to Molly's, or the Palace over on Queen, or some dump like the Rooftop on Gill. Not just weekends. These hosers will roll in at opening any day of the week. They'll stretch two bucks worth of beer until closing time, shooting off their worthless mouths and starting fights.

Officer Dana knows them all, and she keeps a list in her squad car of the worst ones. My name's at the top,

They call me Shane. I'm a hoser."