Friday, October 31, 2025
Day of the Dead Update
Oak Grove Halloween
I got a lot of videos too, none of Mothra. We've had such a busy day. It started during the wee hours for breakfast at a busy diner. Wonder Woman waited on us. I had a bit of a nap and dreamed about Anne Rice. Then we went to The Mad Hatter, an antique store, and The Green Dragon, a big farmer's market, auction, and flea market. Can hardly believe I didn't buy a new crystal, I have so many. Off to Klinger's soon, that's the airport bar. I like it. Probably will crash hard. I'll upload the videos when I can. Happy Halloween! TTYL...
🍂🎃🍂
Thursday, October 30, 2025
Wednesday, October 29, 2025
Pumpkin O'Toole
I'm in love with my pumpkin this year. Both Frankie and Arthur are afraid of him. Good. 🍂🎃🍂
Halloween Himmies
Monster High Season Two
Whatever I said, nickelodeon's Monster High season two is hilarious. Ghoulia's anxiety is no doubt a Jewess. I'm up to Fatty Noir. She's even fatter than the doll.
The leaves are filling up the backyard, and the boys and I will be carving our pumpkin tonight or tomorrow. I grew fifty gourds, but only one silly green goblin pumpkin who is rotting on the vine, so I left him for next year. I have no luck planting seeds. The mother must fertilize and warm them. That's why the farmers leave so many pumpkins to rot in the fields. Stay tuned for Frankie versus Mothra and have a Happy Halloween! 🦇🎃🦇
Tuesday, October 28, 2025
Cthulhu Concierge
Mattel might redeem themselves with this Lovecraftian delight. Fun fact, (thanks Jason Colavito), Cthulhu was inspired by Tennyson's Kraken and the ancient alien cult by Lovecraft. Honestly Lovecraft hated everybody equally just like John Lennon. Hades, but I'd settle for Romulus. He doesn't have to have balls, just no teets.
Fakebook & Lost Girls: Revenge Blog
Got my $14.28 payout from Fakebook selling our information. They made a killing as usual. Considering SPAMMING Mattel as well. Here's why: I reviewed the Kiefer Sutherland The Lost Boys character doll titling it David is a Boy because, like Beetlejuice, I was dismayed to see that they gave them breasts as big as Elvira's and reimagined them as girls. I'm choosing my words wisely having cracked the code against asshole intelligence with real intelligence. I'm a poet, woke will know it. I thought The Lost Girls was about the Long Island serial killer, another ogre, probably attended Monster High. Following that, looks like the Long Island cops did too. Are they still in prison? Anyway, was surprised to get a response from Erica at Mattel telling me about the childrens' "little hearts" because they sell Skullector dolls for adults, at least that's what the listings say. Kids can't afford hundred dollar dolls. Mattel asked for another review. This also bewildered me, but now I see how sneaky they are. Their motive is a blatant as their agenda. They had sicced their woke cronies vetoing my honest review. I was dumb enough to take the bait. My review was likely getting thumbs up because we all know the woke are really the 2% and paid for by the government, (New World Order). That has finally been proven like The Rig and CONVID with No Kings. No way these people are giving up their Saturdays for nothing. I edited my review saying that I boycott Hershey, (they fired all of their unvaccinated employees), that Draculaura dumped David when Clawdeen revealed he was a trannie, and that I make David look like a pussycat. I usually get emails from Mattel in my inbox, but I had to dig through promotions to find that they had unpublished my review. I didn't think that I liked Picasso, now I know why this one calls to me. Does the keyboard beat nuclear weapons? Why does Mattel hate boys? I wonder. Have a Happy Halloween! TTYL... 🦇🎃🦇
Monday, October 27, 2025
Doll Magic
Sunday, October 26, 2025
Saturday, October 25, 2025
From The Black Death
"By modern standards, medieval plague remedies seem ludicrous, but, given the state of medicine in the mid-fourteenth century, they were rational and well-advised. The Greeks and their Islamic commentators were fine theoreticians and, by their own standard, competent physiologists, but they based their ideas on theory rather than direct, clinical observation and experience. Medieval physicians stressed argument, especially syllogism. Consequently, they were poor anatomists, pathologists, and epidemiologists, and were able to do little to fight the plague."
Robert S. Gottfried
No more ludicrous than CONVID and opiates.
Holy Spirit Farm & Monster High
A lot to be said about Monster High. After posting my review of David, The Lost Boys doll, at The Mattel Shop, titled David is a Boy, and telling them it was terrible that they are turning boys into girls; I was surprised that they asked for another review. I saw they were siccing their woke cronies after me, so edited my review telling them that I even boycott Hershey since CONVID, (they fired all of their unpoisoned employees), and that Draculaura dumped David after Clawdeen revealed he was a trannie. I also told them that I make David look like a pussycat.
Speaking of reviews I beat Amazon's asshole intelligence with my reviews, I cracked the code with real intelligence. I had given nickelodeon's first season of Monster High four stars. That review was titled Beware. I said it was so cute and creative, but parents, beware, it wasn't for children. By disc four it got real woke, and Mattel's agenda was unmistakable. Can you believe that when Erica from Mattel sent me a response concerning my David review she had the balls to talk about the childrens' "little hearts"? I thought Skullector dolls were for adults. What kid do you know has a hundred dollars to drop on a doll?
Anyway, I've started season two, which I bought. I laughed when Frankie called Superintendent Smudgerton, Mr. Smudgypants. He has a woman's voice, but I suppose he is a mollusk, and I can assure you they fuck themselves. My black orchid Betta, Lennox, who ought to be named Nino Brown, and his Druidic themed tank, New Jack City, because he has been alone for months after murdering all of his tank mates, just got The March Hare. He is my first rabbit snail, has already had babies, (overnight), and even glides across Lennox, himself. Lennox's tank had sludge on the bottom. He even murdered the catfish. The March Hare is doing a clawsome job cleaning it up. I've never had one before, just Mystery Snails. This guy looks like an octopus. He's really cool. I hope he was worth the nine dollars. The Mystery Snails only cost a couple of dollars, but they don't live long.
I won't be upsetting myself with the paid for trolls vetoing my reviews. I don't give a fuck. Keeping it real. TTYL... 🦇
Thursday, October 23, 2025
Vintage Pittsburgh Doll & Sale
Very close to finishing my Christmas shopping now. Thanks for shopping my ebay sale!
Wednesday, October 22, 2025
Sale: Dark Shadows Originals, The Vampire Lestat, Gatsby Jewels, & More...
Tuesday, October 21, 2025
From Hot Blood
Five
The next morning nobody mentioned anything. Norton downed his breakfast, but still wasn’t talking. “Mother Agatha wants us to try out Brother Norton with the choir.” Abbot de Brinkeley attempted nonchalance.
Brother William looked up from his porridge, startled, he was our resident composer and choir master. “Brother Norton can’t sing.” There was a general snicker carried amongst the brethren. Brother William was Norton’s friend, but everybody knew that he couldn’t carry a tune if his life depended on it. He was one of the few brothers left out of choir practice. He couldn’t even hum.
The abbot cleared his throat. “Just try. Maybe start with a chant.”
William shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. Nobody argued with the abbot. His word was law. Nobody questioned him as he was as fair and wise as Solomon himself.
The choir gathered in the loft. The morning light spilled in from the stained glass window and cast a green glow upon our faces. Tommy was allowed to sing with us as he was our only soprano, seated to the far left. He would probably become one of us in time. He sang quite well, although his voice would certainly change with age. I was a tenor and sat directly behind him. Norton looked uncomfortable and out of place. He usually swept the nave and scrubbed the mosaic floor while we practiced. Brother William composed original pieces, but we also sang Gregorian chants. I presumed that was on the agenda for this morning, but William passed out a new piece for us, a polyphony, and not in Latin, but English. This was all very strange and whispers began around before Brother William hushed us by tapping his baton on his podium and raising his hands. The basses, Brothers Benedict and Bruno, began, sounding like thunder in the woods. My heart quickened in time with them when Alphonsus, Sebastian, and I joined them with, “Lord of light, lead us through the darkness. Lead us through the woods…” That was when it got very weird. Tommy was supposed to come in just now with a sweet solo, like a whistling of a bird. Just like in the forest with the wild girl, the hair raised on the back of my neck. We all stopped, stunned. Brothers’ mouths were agape, some dropped their music.
Brother Norton came in with an amazing falsetto like none of us had ever heard. His voice chimed like a bell and rang around the chancel in a tinkling echo, eerie, and sublime. If I was a cat, I think my ears would have laid back. I closed my eyes, picturing his song running round my head in a pool of color. “Oh, Father! Light up thy way! Lead me through your forest this glorious day!” Then he just stood there with an idiot smile stretched across his face rivalling Tommy’s.
Thanks for following! I'm excited that this horror just crept up on me. Based on true crime it will capture all of my lifelong obsessions: Faeries, Druids, The Green Man, plague, mystery, and more. I'm going to try to make Hitchcock happy. I'll let you know when I've finished, (sooner than later), and it is available in all formats on Amazon. TTYL... 🍁
Monday, October 20, 2025
From Hot Blood
That night a while after we’d all gone to bed a soft rapping came to our door. Grafton woke up first. “Francis,” he whispered, “someone is at the door.” I forced myself awake. It was strange, indeed, to be woken at night. I got up and let Brother Eustace in. He held a candle in his hand and looked ghoulish in his nightgown.
“Sorry to disturb you, but Norton is gone again.”
“What?” I was incredulous. Grafton lit a lantern and the room glowed. We cast long shadows on the stone walls.
“Where could he have gone?” Grafton asked. “Back to the woods?”
Eustace shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know. Will you help me find him? I’d rather not disturb the abbot at this hour.”
So the three of us in our nightgowns searched the halls up and downstairs. The tight staircases wrapped around. Eustace was tall and had to stoop so as not to bump his head. Norton was nowhere to be found.
“We are going to have to look outside,” I acknowledged. Grafton huffed but followed us outside where the crickets were chirping. “Shh…” I held my index finger to my lips. We all stopped and listened. I could hear something past the bugs. “I think it’s coming from the garden,” I whispered.
We kept a garden full of medicinal herbs: hellbore, lady’s mantle, monkshood, nightshade, pennyroyal, sage, soapwort, thistle, thyme, vervain, woad, wolfsbane, yarrow, and the like. Brother Ignatius was the head gardener, and Edmund, the alchemist. I helped them with my bees. I saw something white floating through the dark garden and for an instant mistook it for a ghost. The abbey had its share of wandering spirits before the Pestilence. Afterwards we were a virtual zoo of spooks for a while until Mother Agatha and Sister Sarah set most of them free. None of us scoffed at ghosts. Grafton held up the lantern.
“Is that him?” Eustace asked softly. He stepped quickly towards the white figure and we followed behind timidly. Neither Grafton nor I were up for ghost hunting. As we closed in I noticed it was indeed a living being, Norton, and he seemed as if he was under a spell or in a trance.
Eustace shook his shoulder. “Norton?” His mouth was hanging open and his pupiless eyes shone in the night, rolled back in his head. “Norton!” He shook his shoulder harder this time, which seemed to have some effect as it looked as if Norton was waking up.
“He’s asleep,” Grafton was flabbergasted as were we all.
“Sleep walking, somnambulism, my little brother used to walk in his sleep and scare the hell out of us.” I revealed.
“Yes,” Brother Eustace was relieved. “Let’s get you back to bed. Thank you.”
We nodded and all went back to our rooms. Once in bed and the lantern extinguished Grafton looked over at me. “That was a damn scary thing.”
“Yes.” I rolled over and fell back asleep. I dreamed of the wild girl in the woods again. This time she was playing a flute and beckoning to someone.
Sunday, October 19, 2025
From Hot Blood
Brother Norton was never the same afterwards. Before his disappearance he was very friendly and jovial. He stopped talking. We didn’t know if he had lost his voice or if it was some other malady that caused this. “Give him time,” Brother William said. “Maybe he had a fright”.
“Perhaps it was exposure to the elements,” I wondered. “He was out all night, and it was damp.”
“I am worried for his soul,” Abbot de Brinkeley remarked. “I’m going to take him to Mother Agatha.”
The cloister on the grounds housed twenty-nine sisters. Like us their numbers had been decimated by the Pestilence. Unlike us, the townsfolk still held them in reverence and sent their daughters to replenish what had been lost. Half of the sisters had only just reached womanhood. Mother Agatha was their Mother Superior and the closest thing to a doctor that Bury St Edmunds had. Her wisdom was held in high regard throughout the land. During the Pestilence the cloister had become a hospital. The sick and dying were piled high. Although the dead were not given funerals, and like everywhere else were laid to rest in a mass grave on the outskirts of the abbey, near the tree line of the ancient forest; the sisters worked tirelessly to ensure that each person was given a proper shroud and kept records as to where each individual was buried. The fact that none of the sisters had run away further endeared them to the survivors of the little community. This was another thing that the monks could not boast, but we were not proud.
I went along with the abbot to the cloister that was a stone’s throw from the cathedral. Brother Norton was silent as ever but came along willingly. A tall middle-aged nun with dark eyes let us in.
“We’ve come to see Mother Agatha.”
She led us to a kind of parlor off of the stone foyer, to the right. Mother Agatha looked up from her reading and stood up to greet us. “Thank you, Catherine.” She motioned to a seat. Norton and I took it, but the abbot remained standing and took the plump little woman’s small white hand. “My old friend, what can I do for you?” She smiled. Her cheeks were rosey.
“Mother, Brother Norton, here, will not speak after having spent a long night in the forest.”
“When was this?” She went to Norton, touched his chin, and looked into his eyes.
“Just the other night.”
Now she looked to the abbot. “Not Walpurgis Night?”
He nodded. “Yes, the same.”
Suddenly she seemed concerned. “I presume he had no problems speaking before this?”
He shook his head. “No, none.”
“Can he sing?”
The abbot chuckled. “Brother Norton was never known for his singing voice.” It was true, he was tone deaf and could not carry a tune.
“Well, try. Any other troubles with him?” She was studying him intently again. Took his hands and opened his mouth. He seemed obedient as a poodle.
“Well, he was always outgoing and gregarious, now he is withdrawn.”
“Maybe had a fright.” That’s what William had wondered. “Take him back. Feed him up, and keep him warm. If you have any other troubles with him, sleeping, or behavior, bring him back to me. We will keep him in our prayers.” The younger nun was still standing in the front of the room by the door with her back against the wall. Mother Agatha raised her eyebrows to her and gave a little nod. “Sister Catherine will show you out.”
The abbot took both of her hands this time. “Thank you, mother, we will do as you say.”
Flowers had sprung up along the path and colored our way back to the hall. Brother Norton seemed to be intent on studying a busy bumblebee.
Saturday, October 18, 2025
From Hot Blood
His cassock was gone, nowhere to be found. His eyes looked wild and confused as he rose from the ground. I ran towards him. “Norton! What in God’s name?” I bent down, took his hand, and helped him up. He stumbled as if he was drunk. I didn’t smell any wine on him. He smelled terrible like a cave. “What happened? Where have you been? Abbot de Brinkeley is worried about you. We feared the worst.” We had come to expect the worst. It was easier. My father had said, “Hope in one hand, shit in the other. See which one fills up faster.” That was how it was, or how it had been for years now.
He rubbed his throat but did not speak. I turned him around on the path and started out of the woods. I thought I had. I thought I had only come off the footpath into the trees a bit before seeing the girl. Where were we? My breakfast rolled over. I removed a handkerchief from my pocket and mopped my worried forehead that was breaking out into a cold sweat. “Can you walk?” I let him go. “Where are we?” I felt dizzy and lightheaded as if my blood pressure had suddenly risen and dropped.
Just then a May Day parade broke through wearing animal masks, all whistles and bells. I stepped back, putting my hand against Norton’s chest, holding him back, off the deer path. There were foxes, owls, badgers, and boars. They picked up their feet and held out their hands. Their tambourines were strung with colored ribbons that they shook and patted against their hands and hips. I followed at a distance hoping they’d lead us from the woods, but they seemed to go on for miles deeper into the forest. I became tired and thirsty. Norton dropped to the ground and stared up at me like a child. I would’ve panicked if I wasn’t exhausted. I dropped down beside him and fell asleep for a long while.
I dreamed of the girl. She ran from me on and on through the forest and the trees. It was getting darker, and she laughed like a bird before disappearing into a mossy chasm hidden in the rocks.
I was woken by somebody shaking my shoulder. “Brother Francis, get up.” It was Brother Luke and Vigilius, two of the youngest brothers in their late twenties. Brother Norton was already standing beside them. I rose and downed a good bit of wine that Vigilius handed me in a skin. “We got lost.”
“I see that. How?”
“I don’t know.” I rubbed my head. “I didn’t think that I had come far into the woods. Then I made the mistake of following the mummers. They got us lost.”
“Hmm…” The two of them took us back to the abbey. It was late afternoon by the time we got there.
From Hot Blood
I didn’t know where I was going. The abbot didn’t ask much of me, so I wanted to find Brother Norton for him. If I was him, where would I go? I heard a strange sound coming from the trees and stopped. What was that? A flute? It sounded weird and unfamiliar. I found a deer path and took it into the woods.
It was darker, cooler here. The May breeze didn’t stir. It smelled like moss, and the earth was moist beneath my feet. I could still hear the flute, lilting, but it was faint. My heart beat into my ears like a Druidic drum.
A young girl, perhaps thirteen, stepped out from the brambles and startled me. She was very pale and thin, wearing nothing but a filthy shift. Her feet were bare, and her arms were scratched. Her matted and tangled hair kept tiny blossoms and blooms as if they had grown there. She was eating something, looked like a ripe sort of fruit that I had never seen around here. It was too early for fruit. She wiped her mouth with her dirty hand and smiled. She offered me the half eaten thing that she held out to me.
I shook my head. “No thank you. Have you seen my brother? He’s dressed like me.” I plucked at the skirt of my cassock.
She tossed the fruit into a thicket, waking little buntings who rose up like spirits and vanished into the morning shadows. She walked towards me. I noticed her left eye was a bit lazy. As she approached the hair rose up on the back of my neck, and I shivered. Then she laughed and ran off like a doe. “Hey!” She was gone as was the eerie flute. I rubbed my head. What was that? Birds? Insects? I don’t remember hearing it before. Then something stirred in the leaves to my left. I looked back. It was Brother Norton. Thank God.
From Hot Blood
“I don’t know.” I looked to Brother William. If anybody knew where Norton had gotten to it would be him. Brother William Blundeston was the newcomer, only joining us last year. He was young and goodlooking. He had lost his entire family to the Pestilence. He was Norton’s best friend. Brother Norton felt sorry for him and took him in under his wing. William did not meet my eye. I felt uncomfortable and clammy. What was going on?
“You are excused.” The monks got up at once and cleared their places. There was no chatter. They all went about their work.
The abbey had bee hives for honey, apple, plum, and pear trees for preserves and cider, and a vineyard for wine. We traded with the townsfolk very little and kept to ourselves. We were mostly self-sustainable. Brother Henry fished the brooks for trout, and Brother George set rabbit traps. Brother Gregory kept the chickens, and Brother Michael tended the goats. Tommy helped Brother Mark with the sheep. In all there were only nineteen monks left. The Pestilence had cut our numbers in half, taking young and old alike.
I moved through the Great Gate. St Edmunds dated back to 1020 when the original stone Saxon church was built to house the relics of Saint Edmund, the martyr. He had been king of East Anglia when the Viking hoard invaded. He gifted them a set of fine horses in attempt to spare the land from rape and pillage. They took the horses and hunted him down. When they found him they shot him full of arrows so that he bristled like a hedgehog. Then they cut off his head and threw it into the briars of the oak wood. His ravaged body is the foundation of our original church constructed of blue stone and river rock. The hexagonal Norman tower and limestone hall, the Black Hostry, came later. Abbot Samson had done much to improve the place a couple hundred years ago. That was back when we were still loved and respected. So much had changed.
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