In hindsight, my first mistake was walking

In hindsight, my first mistake was walking into the occult shop to begin with. After all, if I hadn't, I never would have met

that asshole, Sherry, who always brought me trouble. Like that time we repurposed the abandoned house for a modern-day Ghostbusters escapade. Arrested toute de suite. Criminal?

No we had just made the house to gauche for the postmodern post apocalyptic crowd. They sold us out to the fashion police again. Who after seeing our Ghost buster house

said, "Give up the Ghost buster house or ELSE." Being cornered by the fashion police is no walk on a runway. We had to give up someone or something. "We give up ELSE." The baton

thwacked the chief fashionista on the head, and soon the fashion police were firing upon us with glitter guns, perfume spritzers, and so forth. Blowing bobby pins through dart guns

, an army of hairdressers approached from the south, as armed, starved-to-perfection paratrooper models fought prevailing winds to make it to their targets. Failing this, fashion

istas would use guerrilla tactics until the style consultants' propaganda of repeated lies subjugated the masses: Zoot suits are back in style. Leather is for losers. Mauve is the

new Red. Old Red was the new political party formed from the ashes of the older reds, and fellow travelers. They demanded a post-modern post-punk pre-grunk riot gear aesthetic.

But where to get a post-modern post-punk pre-grunk riot gear aesthetic at this time of the night in a strange town? You couldn't, Which is why they had formed the Old Red Party. If

that was your scene, mixing your aesthetics with your politics, then the OLD RED PARTY was the party for you. "Notoriety is its own reward" was the party's motto. They were led by