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June 17, 2011

My journals from my old home of Manchester, Vt and my new home in Brooklyn


  Joey Frost and the Pregnant Man:  My dear sweet Joey, where have you gone?  Have you passed on to a better place?  Are you buried beneath the old bowling ally behind the Manchester Shopping Plaza?  Are you living a nomads life and circumnavigating the globe on your wagon-shaped sea-going vessel called the Mule 4?  Where is the Mule 3?  And, for that matter, the Mules 1 & 2? So many questions left unanswered.  You left us in your prime, just like Amelia Earhart or James Dean.  Joey, if you're reading this, please come home.

  If you're not from Manchester or too young to remember, listen up and I'll tell you about the man they called, well...Joey Frost.  He was famous for many things, but mainly for his pussy magnet hearse that went by the name Mule 3.  He worked at the Manchester Cinema, doing something suspicious I'm sure.  Rumor has it, he was part of a satanic cult.  I wasn't surprised when I heard this, in fact I would have been more surprised if he hadn't been in one.  He was a very secretive man, always keeping his cards close to his vest.  A friend and I followed Joey home once to find where this man, shrouded in such fantastic mystery, lived.  We weren't in the least bit surprised to find out that his house looked like it could easily double as a portal to hell.

  I don't want to accuse Joey of anything illegal, but I do strongly believe that he was harvesting souls to feed his demon spawn love child.  Joey's esteemed colleague at the Cinema was The Pregnant Man.  Joey and the Pregnant Man were in cahoots.  What kind of bat-shit crazy plans they were hatching, God, and more likely, the Devil, only know.  We'll never really know what happened to Joey and the Pregnant Man, but here's my take.  The Pregnant Man was the surrogate for Joey and the prince of darkness.  Their love child was to cast the world in eternal darkness, but the demon seed never reached the light of day.  Joey, the Pregnant Man, and Lucifer's son, just disappeared one day.  Personally, I think God and his angel hitmen has something to do with it.  That or they moved to Danby.    


  The Dead Neighbor:  Nobody wants to wake up to a bed sheet covered corpse in their backyard.  Thank God, I didn't see him with my own eyes (my roommate had the pleasure of waking up to this nightmare).  Apparently, this poor fella jumped off the roof after a long, torturous night of God only knows what.  I can't make a definitive statement that he's in a better place, seeing how I've never been dead before, but at least he's not in pain anymore.

  From the time we moved in, to the time of the tragedy, we had major problems with the penthouse neighbors.  They would throw their cigarette butts, trash, and beer cans into our backyard.  One dickhead puked all over our terrace and another dickhead started throwing used rubbers everywhere.  Penthouse sex is totally rad, but do you have to throw your semen on my terrace.  There's a million other places to put your semen, why my terrace?  After the puke and used rubbers, the next logical escalation was a dead body.  People, if you're hurting inside and you need help, there's people out there that want to help you.  Just ask.  And if you're gonna kill yourself, don't do it my backyard.  Thank you