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I’m about to relate a ghostly tale of such dread and poor craftsmanship, that whosoever ingests it, will be lured into a world of terror and bed-shitting. It is the tale of a man only known as “Pappy Jig“. Pappy Jig was the great, great, great Grandfather of the Hideous Hooligan of the East. Before the story of Pappy Jig unfurls, it’s probably best to give you some background on the Hideous Hooligan of the East.

In a village named Bonk Flung, many years ago, a wild haired and yet balding speed freak, the shaman of Bonk Flung, taught a Skinny White Young Man and the Hideous One about war and pestilence, of revolution and terrorism and other facts too obtuse to reiterate here. One day, the Hideous One, still an amateur grifter in his circles, began to whisper in the ear of the Skinny White Young Man.

“The Hideous One!…Using a Rod Of Iron, forged forward a world of the artistically insane…In one heartbeat, in one rapid eye movement…relocated his world, to the upper chamber of life…and incubated the Intellect of these Artistic Deviants…to a machine…called EV RI 1′s EGO….”

Skinny White Young Man thought the Hideous Hooligan insane, although he laughed with him regardless of his infliction. As Skinny White Young Man and The Hideous One made their way toward the edge a dark and mysterious wood, they began to stumble and fall. In the deep and dark bog of the Bonk Flung, the twosome tried to speak.

They could not. Their lips were sealed, their eyes bound by sharp and stabbing pain. Communication was garbled. Their minds were clouded. It was like that Metallica video. They were mute. Hideous One motioned to Skinny White Young Man and SWYM (which we will refer to Skinny White Young Man from here on out) realized that HH (which we will refer to the Hideous Hooligan from here out) were incapacitated. They were young. They were bored. They needed “Seven Eleven Big Gulps”.

To Be Continued.