Boris "Christopher Cushing" Lugosi

First of all, stop thrusting your fucking fist against my post. Second of all, there isn't a God Damn ghost and stop insisting there is because you're scaring my kids.

Laptop stopped working. Took it to the shop. "Your computer doesn't believe it exists anymore," the man said. "What do we do?" I asked. "You need to find a philosopher. They live in the sewers. With the truth." He then handed me a flashlight and wished me luck.

Goblins are shitting in our Jack O' Lanterns, and I have the Polaroids to prove it.

No, but seriously, I am being hunted by a French chef because my bones would make the perfect soup stock.

Night of the Living Dead should be the God Damn national anthem. No, I don't know how that would work. You don't pay me enough to figure stuff like that out.

No, but seriously, I am being hunted by a French chef because my bones would make the perfect soup stock.

Night of the Living Dead should be the God Damn national anthem. No, I don't know how that would work. You don't pay me enough to figure stuff like that out.

Whenever a scientist, prominent and respected in their field, tries to explain the extraordinary events plaguing my small village with tales of the supernatural, I'm always like, "Surely, as a man of science, you don't really believe these old wives' tales? This superstitious clap-trap?!"

Probably going to eat an egg sandwich in about an hour so I'm looking forward to that but I should really stay focused on the night and the terrors it holds if I'm being honest.

I swear to God armed fascists forced me to eat all the Halloween candy we bought so we couldn’t give it away for free. It was like that scene in Seven but with Tootsie Rolls. Please believe me. Please tell my family it wasn’t my fault.

Do you think anybody who's thrown the switch for the electric chair has ever showed up dressed like Igor with a hunchback going, "Yes, master!" and then everyone accused him of being disrespectful and he was all, "We're murdering someone."

It turns out that the pack of Trick-Or-Treaters that attacked me last night and threw my sneakers in a toilet were all me from the Halloweens between 88' and 95' which lends credence to my haters(mom) theory that I'm having a psychotic break but I still feel a sorcerer is involved somehow.

Phone just updated. It's now telling me I'm too ugly to use Face ID and that I must wear gloves because my touch repulses it.

Forcing people to cut me out of their lives by insisting that Jack O' Lanterns are called Candle Brain Men.

Probably going to eat an egg sandwich in about an hour so I'm looking forward to that but I should really stay focused on the night and the terrors it holds if I'm being honest.

Got a package in the mail filled with my baby teeth and a note from The Tooth Fairy that said, "Through the light of Christ I now know that what I did was occult and wrong. Return money now to weaken Satan." Anyone else get one of these?

Phone just updated. It's now telling me I'm too ugly to use Face ID and that I must wear gloves because my touch repulses it.

It turns out that the pack of Trick-Or-Treaters that attacked me last night and threw my sneakers in a toilet were all me from the Halloweens between 88' and 95' which lends credence to my haters(mom) theory that I'm having a psychotic break but I still feel a sorcerer is involved somehow.

Raven dropped a crucifix on our bug zapper and now instead of killing, it zaps new bugs into existence. Fleshy arthropods. Throbbing, greasy millipedes. Butterflies with scorpion tails and mantises that speak their prayers. We should turn it off but it's way up high and the ladder is in the shed.

These new Godzilla movies have got me wondering where Godzilla falls in the order of operations.

I feel that police helicopters should only be allowed to fight sky crimes.

Raven dropped a crucifix on our bug zapper and now instead of killing, it zaps new bugs into existence. Fleshy arthropods. Throbbing, greasy millipedes. Butterflies with scorpion tails and mantises that speak their prayers. We should turn it off but it's way up high and the ladder is in the shed.

I love how our bodies disagree with each other about whether pollen should kill us or not.

Yes, in 2003 I had a doorbell surgically implanted in the palm of my left hand so if I needed to get out of a conversation I could squeeze my fist, set off the ding dong, and say, "This is fascinating but I am the man who answers the door," and just walk away.

I think when you nap you should see previews for the dreams you will have during the main sleep.

When my dad was 13 he worked as a dishwasher in a steak house and at the end of the night he was allowed to take steaks customers hadn’t finished home but he ran the steaks under the sink first to get rid of germs making him one of the early pioneers of sloppy steaks.

I think when you nap you should see previews for the dreams you will have during the main sleep.

Never ate my Halloween candy. Saved it in a vault. In times of despair, I visit the vault, look upon my riches, and heal. Today, the vault was empty save for a note which read: "Thanks for the treats, fatso! Regards, The Candy Bastard" Where did God go?

I hadn't realized that the doorbell cam recorded me kissing the dangly skeleton we hung on the porch, but if Mother expects me to feel shame then I have only this to say to her: I do not.

My ventriloquist dummy, Candy-Korn Jonathan, is pregnant. The Devil is the father. "How did this happen?!" I asked. "We fucked, you loser," Candy-Korn sneered and then threw my sneakers in the toilet. Not even being home-schooled could save my precious wooden boy.

I flunked out of Goblin school. I will never be a Goblin. I hope you're all proud of yourselves.

I hadn't realized that the doorbell cam recorded me kissing the dangly skeleton we hung on the porch, but if Mother expects me to feel shame then I have only this to say to her: I do not.

Never ate my Halloween candy. Saved it in a vault. In times of despair, I visit the vault, look upon my riches, and heal. Today, the vault was empty save for a note which read: "Thanks for the treats, fatso! Regards, The Candy Bastard" Where did God go?

I flunked out of Goblin school. I will never be a Goblin. I hope you're all proud of yourselves.

Discovered a new book series called SCUM TALES. It's like Goosebumps for dirt bags. Some of my favorites include: Bride of the Chemical Toilet Creature From the Arby's Parking Lot John Carpenter's The Plasma Center is Closed Fucked Up Bus Stop Don't Come to Dad's Funeral

Apparently somebody bought me on Temu and now there are men with blades outside demanding I get into a box.

When Bros Brunch: The Secret World Of Masculine Brunching

The Mothman prophesied that I’d kick your fucking ass.

Talking to my neighbor. He'd carved a face into a pumpkin. "It's you if you were handsome," he said. "Like a reflection of my soul?" I asked. "No," he said, pointing, "THAT'S the reflection of your soul." I looked at what he was pointing at and screamed and screamed and screamed.

Went to the Backrooms and wrote BUTT on a wall.

My favorite Fantasy book is a toss-up between Dumbass Goblins Everywhere and Son Of A Bitch It's A Centaur.

Do you think the Count from Sesame Street loves eternity because it means he never has to stop counting or does he hate eternity because it renders all numbers meaningless?

An Angel appeared to me in the night and granted me the knowledge of what Shrek’s flesh tastes like because I’m the only one strong enough to handle it.

I’ve been yellow pilled. They held me down and forced a bunch of yellow pills down my throat. They’re just watching me now. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me and I don’t think they do either.

Listen to them - children of the night. What music they make. Bat Ska. WolfCore. Panamanian Night Monkey Blues. Just terrific stuff. You should check it out.

Talking to my neighbor. He'd carved a face into a pumpkin. "It's you if you were handsome," he said. "Like a reflection of my soul?" I asked. "No," he said, pointing, "THAT'S the reflection of your soul." I looked at what he was pointing at and screamed and screamed and screamed.

Injecting human blood into ventriloquist dummies makes them real. Real jerks.

You have to do good things so your soul will be smoking hot in the afterlife.