Three depressed clowns stuck in a dead-end office job.
Smiley is sad and depressed about his recent demotion. Slightly suicidal.
Frowney is happy on the outside about his promotion but sad on the inside about how rubbish the promotion really is.
Happy has been building up rage for twenty-five years and has finally killed his boss.
Smiley sat up from his bed. Sleep inertia. He put his feet into his slippers and trotted to his bathroom. A mirror. He looked in there, observing the pale, miserable face that he had worn his whole life. Sigh. He took out his comically large toothbrush from the cabinet next to his grimy sink, knocking over a few bottles of shampoo and shower gel in the process. He struggled to get it into his mouth and grunted in frustration. A clock. He was late for work. He growled as he threw his toothbrush into the equally comical mirror that distorted his image. He crawled into the dusty corner, buried his head into his hands and began to cry.