Why I am not afraid of Freddy Krueger

Look at this guy.

Look at his fucking sweater. It's like he picked it up in a dumpster outside a Goodwill.

Look at his fucking face. Did he put his head in a pot of boiling water and then sit in the sun for five hours? He looks like a dried peach.

Look at that hat. Why a hat? I mean, he clearly doesn't have much style because look at his fucking sweater. Is he still trying to cover that bald spot he got when he got his fucked up burned face? Is he still trying to pick up hot ladies in their dreams? Because honey, that hat is not going to do it. You should invest in a toupe or some rogaine or something.

Look at his claw hand. What the fuck is that about? Was he rooting through his mom's basement full of old ass boxes and found a collection of old thimbles he could stick hypodermic needles through? With all that sewing equipment on his hand, you'd think he'd take some of his downtime during daylight hours to fix his fucked up sweater.

Look at that pose. Is he about to break into song? Nightmare on Elm Street, the musical? Freddy Krueger does "I Dreamed a Dream"?

But mostly, look at that fucking sweater. Even my grandpa didn't wear clothes that lame.