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Used to be a lot a iron foundries scattered through the Jersey Pines. I'm talkin' 'bout a hundred and fifty years ago. In them days folks'd grab chunks a metal outta the streams, or dig 'em up like wicked, hard taters or something. Kinda like the California Gold Rush, 'cept nobody invented Levi's, or did anything real glamorous like that. And when they all left (guess they hopped a train to Atlantic City, maybe), the forest got up off its big fat ass and just came back. Now, ain't nobody can see any iron foundries. Yeah, they got a ghost town or two all done up for day trippers, but most day trippers got other priorities now that we all locked into a watery shell. But you still gotta be careful . Dead, old mines like to hide out there. Chubby, little careless boys go WHEEEE, all the way down bone crushin' mine shafts all the time. Local paper used to list 'em. Kept records and everything.. Gave a prize to the lucky subscriber who came closest to prognasticatin' how many chubby boys'd go WHEEEE, all the way down to a reasonable facsimile of hell. One year my grandma won two fresh-killed turkeys. 'Cept one was only mostly dead when she got it and it shit all over the rug 'fore she could kill it a little better. She asked the paper for money so she could buy a new rug. Sears had nice oval ones for two dollars and ninety eight cents. But the wife a the man who ran the paper told her to go to hell and drop dead, which she subsequently did, although not necessarily in that order. So we just made do and learned to live with the stains. Reminded us a how lucky she was that week.
Well, anyway, that's where Pin Head Mel is. That boy got hisself flushed down to the bottom of a cold, damp mine shaft. Not that it was completely his fault. He was just runnin' 'round, bouncin' off tree trunks, gettin' pine needles in his eyes (which is a common occurrence, now that it's never light or nothing.) when two, nasty, slobberin' vampires ketched him. Not the good ones. Not the 'nobles.' These are the bad ones, the 'noxious' ones. Kinda like zombies, only they don't stagger 'round like drunks so much and they pants ain't all peed in, 'cause like vampires, you know, don't piss or nothing. Guy up in Ocean County says they have been known to fart once in a while, but I don't know...
So now that sweet, little, weird, old Piney boy is sittin' on a mess a molderin' hoomin bones (lotsa folks done fell down that one), whimperin' for his mama and singin' Happy Birthday over and over and over again. (it's the only song he knowed all the way from beginning to end.). And them 'noxious' bastids just sit there playin' canasta by the light of a Dora The Explorer battery powered campin' lamp.(it got a real pretty shade. makes them bones look all pink and homey-like). Oh, they do mean to drink him all up, 'cept they just finished vampiring two bald headed Jehovah's Witnesses, so they savin' him for later. You know, the way real people would do like with Velveeta cheese or Ritz crackers?
It's pathetic watchin' that jug-headed, l'il honey-bunch sittin' there rockin' and singin' and all. Genuine hoomins woulda gone crazy by now, but vampires seem to have the ability to ignore such things. Wish I'd a been like that, 'stead a lettin' my husband's bonafide f#*kface grandmother shove one too many heart-attacks down my throat. That little bedbug, Popeye the Sailor woman kept pickin' and pickin' and pickin'....... Why I ain't got no fancy titties?... Her granbaby like fancy titties, don't you know.... Why I make cornflakes like a real dope?... Don't even know how to pour out cornflakes... Why I ain't got purdy hair like Judge Judy?......Why my left arm pit smell like Doritos?.... How the hell am I supposed to know scientific shit like that!? I ain't never graduated from no Girl Scouts!......... I am just a jittery, newly dead, disembodied spirit what got buried in a old house dress, without no cigarettes. And if you all want a find out what them scabby-teethed suckers gonna do to that poor, little singin'-boy, you better zip it and go hide your lumpy heads up vacant asses, where they belong!!
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0--o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o--0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
good links is two posts back. please press down on that SHARE button they got runnin' 'round down there. thank you....signed, the management.
Well, anyway, that's where Pin Head Mel is. That boy got hisself flushed down to the bottom of a cold, damp mine shaft. Not that it was completely his fault. He was just runnin' 'round, bouncin' off tree trunks, gettin' pine needles in his eyes (which is a common occurrence, now that it's never light or nothing.) when two, nasty, slobberin' vampires ketched him. Not the good ones. Not the 'nobles.' These are the bad ones, the 'noxious' ones. Kinda like zombies, only they don't stagger 'round like drunks so much and they pants ain't all peed in, 'cause like vampires, you know, don't piss or nothing. Guy up in Ocean County says they have been known to fart once in a while, but I don't know...
So now that sweet, little, weird, old Piney boy is sittin' on a mess a molderin' hoomin bones (lotsa folks done fell down that one), whimperin' for his mama and singin' Happy Birthday over and over and over again. (it's the only song he knowed all the way from beginning to end.). And them 'noxious' bastids just sit there playin' canasta by the light of a Dora The Explorer battery powered campin' lamp.(it got a real pretty shade. makes them bones look all pink and homey-like). Oh, they do mean to drink him all up, 'cept they just finished vampiring two bald headed Jehovah's Witnesses, so they savin' him for later. You know, the way real people would do like with Velveeta cheese or Ritz crackers?
It's pathetic watchin' that jug-headed, l'il honey-bunch sittin' there rockin' and singin' and all. Genuine hoomins woulda gone crazy by now, but vampires seem to have the ability to ignore such things. Wish I'd a been like that, 'stead a lettin' my husband's bonafide f#*kface grandmother shove one too many heart-attacks down my throat. That little bedbug, Popeye the Sailor woman kept pickin' and pickin' and pickin'....... Why I ain't got no fancy titties?... Her granbaby like fancy titties, don't you know.... Why I make cornflakes like a real dope?... Don't even know how to pour out cornflakes... Why I ain't got purdy hair like Judge Judy?......Why my left arm pit smell like Doritos?.... How the hell am I supposed to know scientific shit like that!? I ain't never graduated from no Girl Scouts!......... I am just a jittery, newly dead, disembodied spirit what got buried in a old house dress, without no cigarettes. And if you all want a find out what them scabby-teethed suckers gonna do to that poor, little singin'-boy, you better zip it and go hide your lumpy heads up vacant asses, where they belong!!
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0--o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o--0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
good links is two posts back. please press down on that SHARE button they got runnin' 'round down there. thank you....signed, the management.
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