Jumpin' Jehosaphat clanked down the hall

Jumpin' Jehosaphat clanked down the hall at midnight. J.J. was a cat with a cast in a house that was all halls. He loved this mischievousness, frightening the kids into thinking

of the old folk tales surrounding the household, although few people truly believed them. Legend had it that

if you paced counter-clockwise three times on the widow's walk and looked at the sea at the brink of sunset and held aloft a piece of wool roving and said 'his' name backwards then

'he' would think you're a right nana. Just send 'him' a text saying you're willing to participate in rituals of a dodgy nature and 'he''ll send you a welcome pack with complimentar

y "Owl Pass". My friend thought this was all a joke but I fretted about it all night. I couldn't sleep, until ninjas gassed me and I woke up at the altar in Bohemian Grove. This

Cottage next door, including Allen Ginsburg and Jack Kerouac. The legendary acid tripping was in the headlines, causing my parents to groan with disgust. I never did any drugs!

I never had to. My parents had done so many drugs that I was born stoned, and continue to be such. So I dropped in on Allen and Jack with a neighborly plate of brownies with which

I had captured three demons from the 5th Hell's External Infernal courts. I had the foresight to sell only souls of Trump supporters, never for a second anticipating how many the

re would be who knew about demonology and would be able to even from the other side exact revenge. Eternity as a proctologist for fat bastard became daunting. Rats!