You know you're dead but you're not quite sure how it happened or where to go?
You never got a chance to realize the dream of eating oysters on the half-shell?
You insist your spirit can't move on until you find that 1995 issue of Jugs Galore with Miss February before your wife does?
You're still not quite sure you're actually in dead mode?
Come on in! Uncle Billy can steer you on the right path!
West of the bustling metropolis of Phoenix along Interstate Highway 10, you'll discover a place as alien as the planet Mars and just as foreboding nestled between two majestic mountain peaks and sitting in paranormal obscurity and trans-dimensional anonymity. Part diner, part carnival with equal measures of whimsy and just a smidge of nightmare, this most incongruous edifice is hidden away between peaks and valleys and desert vistas, located smack-dab between the Eastern boundaries of imagination and the Western shores of spooky. You can't get there by car or plane, helicopter or even horseback. You won't find it on any map in existence. You can't stumble upon or surprise-visit this spot. Well, unless you're dead...
Welcome to Uncle Billy's Chicken Hut & Salvation Emporium. Just who is Uncle Billy--the 6'6", 300-pound Texan that resembles a psychedelic St. Nick--and who or what conferred upon him the God-like ability to ease the passing of muddled souls? Angel, demon, or former bouncer at O'Reilly's Chinese Cantina & Pub? Who knows? Who cares? Suffice it to say that Uncle Billy and his menagerie of helpers have been here for centuries. The only thing that could threaten his very important job of transitioning the dearly departed to the appropriate afterlife are interdimensional pests called punstafulz...and they've infested the Emporium, excuse the pun, like there's no tomorrow. Getting rid of them will take some doing for Uncle Billy and the gang, but, hey, in the meantime, come on in and set a spell. It's not like you're going anywhere, right?