Working on the pipeline

Having such a great time

All work and no play

Never know the time of day.

Toiling seven days a week

Never finding time to sleep

Work in mud up to our necks

Have no time to cash our checks.

Sleep in beds that aren’t our own

We’re so far away from home

Hungry, cold, hot, and wet

How much harder can it get?

Back at home, our lovers wait

Separated from their mates

Wonder how it would feel

To have a real home-cooked meal.

Feet are sore, muscles ache

Please God, when’s our break?

Dirt and dust and insect bites

What’s that sound?...it’s dynamite!

Welder’s torches shooting flames

Connecting pipes with perfect aim

Backhoes move the earth around

Digging trenches in the ground.

Laborer’s shovels lifting dirt

How much more can this body hurt

My fellow workers help me through

What we wouldn’t do for one cold brew.

Pride and strength and pain and time

Goes into the making of a pipeline.

They tell me that I’m crazy

That I’m ’losing it,' that I lost my marbles

But I know that isn’t true

They are in a jar on my bookcase

In my room, at home.

I’ve always been afraid

Of not remembering

Names, memories, and places where I have been

Or going to; or where I am right now.

Where did my dreams go? My hopes?

I’m afraid to go outside

Afraid that a raindrop might wash me away

That the wind will set me adrift

And any ideas that may exist in my consciousness

Will be purged from me.

I am no longer able to differentiate

Between moonlight and sunlight

Clouds appear as ghosts that haunt my saneness

I tremble when I see the stars

Believing that they are eyes in the sky.

Buried in my grey fissures

Thoughts are spinning, swirling, meandering

Winding through gates of scattered concepts

Burying paths that lead to awareness.

Fragments of memories are wispy

They grab at me but do not linger

Ideas go dormant

Erased as quick as a breath.

Lapses in memories are my companions

That I cannot escape from.

I am a victim of memory loss

One who lingers in a limbo of forgetfulness

Trapped in a mind without any direction

Whirling around like a pinwheel

In gale-force winds.

Dear Reader,

Will you help me find my lost mind?

For if it is found

I won’t be crazy anymore.

Please?

His look was nondescript and if one viewed him up close, you’d be hard pressed to give a verbal account to describe his complexion by any known crayon or paint color or any shade in between - he appeared colorless. His face was expressionless as he stepped off the cracked curb at the corner of an intersection. At first he was unaware that the roaring truck, which had appeared out of nowhere, had brushed against his rumbled and indistinct clothing.

“Hey, you God-damned fool, watch where you’re going,” the driver of the truck yelled as he sped away. A lack of conscience prevented him from caring whether or not the ‘God-damned fool’ was injured or not.

Mumbling to no one in particular, the old man picked himself up from the deserted street and heard words coming out of his mouth that he had no control over. “Well, I ain’t no damn fool so I must be God.” A still noise filled his head and in his peripheral vision he observed a black hole that sucked the world down into it in less than a millisecond. There was no ground beneath him and he was puzzled by the fact that he was still standing; the world must have ended and he determined that he was most likely dead. Several yards away he noticed an old church (must be a vision) and next found himself enveloped within its illusionary walls. He stumbled into the nearest pew and picked up a bible, only to find that its pages were blank. He heard a voice above him and knew he was suffering from shock and auditory hallucinations as he heard (or thought he heard) the voice of God. “You have been chosen to rewrite the creation of the world. I’ll lend you a pen and you can use the blank pages of that old bible there to write it down. You only have seven days so don’t waste any time.” The former God vanished.

“So, now I am the new God and can create anything I want,” he said out loud. But, he had a major problem. He couldn’t write and could barely read. But then he realized that since he was God there was no need for those skills. He could dream up anything he wanted and all of his dreams would come true.

He fell into a deep sleep and immediately began to dream. He dreamed of his baby’s first smile; of playing in snow drifts amid whirlpools of falling snow; of listening to the laughter and songs of the wind that only birds could hear and understand; of looking at the poor and the rich and the beautiful and not-so-beautiful and believing that they were all the same. He dreamed of the filtering sun hiding amongst leaves and of stillborn grass; of places where wealth is measured by the melody of a songbird whose gentle tune asks us to respect the earth; of stars that beckon one to the woods where you could plant the seeds of hope where children and generations to follow would have a place to play; of days at the seashore where one could find peace and harmony from the tides of life that tempt to create storms within one’s soul. (page 1.)

COSMIC ASHES

Yesterday I was dead and today I’m alive. My ashes were trapped, locked within an earthly urn, unable to escape the walls of fear and despair of my confinement; unable to escape the phantoms of my past lives. But when I awoke this morning, some omnipotent power from the soul of my ashes had freed me from those confining walls and now I am free. So, what next?

I now find that the wind is carrying my ashes through skies of freedom that blow over land and sea, traveling to lands that are both known and unknown to the minds of man. Perhaps my ashes will land on the wings of an eagle and I will spend my rebirth as a wanderlust. As a time traveler, I will be resurrected again and again on the whispers of the wind, and seeds of repeated conceptions will take flight and be beholden only to the winds of time.

Past reincarnations can now be born again since my ashes are no longer hidden from sunlight and breezes and the songs of the birds. My spirit is now free and is liberated from the forces that constrain the physical presence of the human body and its spirit on earth.

I am now released from my tomb of imprisonment. My journey through the terrestrial world has ended and the winds have dispersed my cremated remains to the ashes of time.

Dear Mom,

Me and my brother are writing this letter because we are desperate. We love you so much and this is why we are risking your anger and hate towards us for writing this letter to you. We are hoping that this letter will make you look at yourself and change your behavior before it is too late. We know you are hurting inside but we are just little children and we just can’t take it anymore. We feel like we are going crazy and that we are the ones to be blamed for everything. We are under so much stress and you make us feel guilty. But we did not do anything to deserve this. You tell us you hate us and to get out of the house and to go live with our father. That you are moving away and leaving us. That everything is our fault and not yours. But you are the parent. Whenever we are with you, you just sleep. You don’t feed us and lately, you don’t even wash our clothes. I have been doing the laundry and trying my best. My brother hides in his room and doesn’t eat and you make us feel we are in the way and the cause of all of your problems. He is falling apart and you don’t even care. All you do is yell and swear and scream at us. The house smells and is a mess. We can’t have any friends over because the house is so dirty and there is so much stuff all around that we can’t walk without stepping on something.

You sleep and sleep all day and make us feel we are worthless and unwanted. You pick us up from school and then go back to bed. There are empty wine bottles all over the house. Other families laugh and eat meals together. We haven’t sat down at our table for a meal together or been happy for five years. During the divorce, instead of spending time with us, all you did was to sit in front of your computer all day doing ‘divorce’ things and blamed us for the divorce. All you do is complain about money and we cannot enjoy anything because we feel so guilty. You told us that our aunt and cousin said, “I was just like my father,” over and over again. This hurt me so badly until I spoke with my grandmother and she told me that it wasn’t true. All of our memories are sad and bad. All of our childhood has been stolen from us - we didn’t have one like other kids. Ours has been full of stress and worry. That is all we do - worry all of the time. We can’t do our school work because we always have so much on our minds. Even our dog has been sad. You act like you hate us but Grammy says you don’t hate us - that you hate yourself and that is one reason why you act like you do. One moment you are nice to us and then the next moment you treat us like you hate us - this is what gets us so mixed us. We are not crazy - we didn’t do anything to deserve this and it is not our fault. You tell us we are bad and that it is our fault for all the bad things happening. We can’t go on like this, we can’t take it anymore. You don’t care for us, you only care about yourself. You only think about how you feel and never think about how we feel. You don’t care that we are hurting or about our schoolwork or about how we feel. When you go into one of your rages we are so afraid and terrified and want to run away - it scares us so much; your eyes get so full of hate that we get so scared of what you might do to us. When we were little we would cover our heads with pillows but that doesn’t work anymore. You always want us to agree with you and if we don’t you get mad at us. My brother wouldn’t need pills if he didn’t get so worried and depressed and scared and living in all of this mess - he has given up on hope or having a normal or happy life because of all of the bad things that are happening around him. You make fun of us and never ‘listen’ to what we’re saying. You have no clue as to what we are feeling. Every morning before school it is so stressful and we are afraid when we wake up that we will be late for school again because you run around like a mad person and all we remember when we run in the door of the school is your yelling and swearing at us and telling us that it is our fault that ‘we are running late’. Then our day is already ruined and instead of concentrating on our school work all we can do is remember your angry face and your screams. We are so afraid when we see you sleeping on the couch all day with those empty bottles on the floor, that you will die. When we are at school we worry that you won’t pick us up and that you have died. It takes us so long to wake you up every morning and we lay in bed the night before thinking that tomorrow morning we won’t be able to wake you up. If you loved us you would stop drinking. You are never happy so we are never happy. We don’t want all of those gifts you get us for Christmas or on our birthdays. The only gift we want is for you to change and to get better. You think we want to live with our dad because he has a nice house. That is not true. We would be happy with you if we lived in a shack as long as it was neat and maybe, just maybe, for once we could come home and have a snack and a meal ready for us and we could all sit together and laugh together and not be afraid that the next minute you would start screaming and yelling at us and tell us to get out of the house. We don’t feel safe anymore and are so afraid when you go into one of your rages.

So, mom, please don’t drink anymore and please take care of yourself. We just can’t take it anymore. You make us feel that we are a burden to you and that you want to get rid of us. We are so afraid when your blood sugar is low and the ambulance has to come. Other people have diabetes but they take care of themselves - you don’t - you eat too much candy. We are so afraid you will die. If you loved us you would take care of your diabetes. What will happen to us if you die? We want to stop feeling so sad and scared and not cry all of the time.

The worst is the unknown - not knowing what your mood is going to be or how you are going to treat us from one moment to the next - that is why we are nervous all of the time. We deserve to be loved and we did not do anything to make you feel this way about us. I can’t take it anymore how you yell and scream and the times you kicked my little brother out of the house. It breaks my heart so much.

We love you but we don’t think our hearts can stand to be broken one more time. Please love us and get better. We miss how you used to smile and laugh and love us. We want to believe that we are worthy of your love. The only way we will know that you love us is for you to take care of yourself. So, please, please, change right now.

Your sons.

Dear Mom,

Me and my brother are writing this letter because we are desperate. We love you so much and this is why we are risking your anger and hate towards us for writing this letter to you. We are hoping that this letter will make you look at yourself and change your behavior before it is too late. We know you are hurting inside but we are just little children and we just can’t take it anymore. We feel like we are going crazy and that we are the ones to be blamed for everything. We are under so much stress and you make us feel guilty. But we did not do anything to deserve this. You tell us you hate us and to get out of the house and to go live with our father. That you are moving away and leaving us. That everything is our fault and not yours. But you are the parent. Whenever we are with you, you just sleep. You don’t feed us and lately, you don’t even wash our clothes. I have been doing the laundry and trying my best. My brother hides in his room and doesn’t eat and you make us feel we are in the way and the cause of all of your problems. He is falling apart and you don’t even care. All you do is yell and swear and scream at us. The house smells and is a mess. We can’t have any friends over because the house is so dirty and there is so much stuff all around that we can’t walk without stepping on something.

You sleep and sleep all day and make us feel we are worthless and unwanted. You pick us up from school and then go back to bed. There are empty wine bottles all over the house. Other families laugh and eat meals together. We haven’t sat down at our table for a meal together or been happy for five years. During the divorce, instead of spending time with us, all you did was to sit in front of your computer all day doing ‘divorce’ things and blamed us for the divorce. All you do is complain about money and we cannot enjoy anything because we feel so guilty. You told us that our aunt and cousin said, “I was just like my father,” over and over again. This hurt me so badly until I spoke with my grandmother and she told me that it wasn’t true. All of our memories are sad and bad. All of our childhood has been stolen from us - we didn’t have one like other kids. Ours has been full of stress and worry. That is all we do - worry all of the time. We can’t do our school work because we always have so much on our minds. Even our dog has been sad. You act like you hate us but Grammy says you don’t hate us - that you hate yourself and that is one reason why you act like you do. One moment you are nice to us and then the next moment you treat us like you hate us - this is what gets us so mixed us. We are not crazy - we didn’t do anything to deserve this and it is not our fault. You tell us we are bad and that it is our fault for all the bad things happening. We can’t go on like this, we can’t take it anymore. You don’t care for us, you only care about yourself. You only think about how you feel and never think about how we feel. You don’t care that we are hurting or about our schoolwork or about how we feel. When you go into one of your rages we are so afraid and terrified and want to run away - it scares us so much; your eyes get so full of hate that we get so scared of what you might do to us. When we were little we would cover our heads with pillows but that doesn’t work anymore. You always want us to agree with you and if we don’t you get mad at us. My brother wouldn’t need pills if he didn’t get so worried and depressed and scared and living in all of this mess - he has given up on hope or having a normal or happy life because of all of the bad things that are happening around him. You make fun of us and never ‘listen’ to what we’re saying. You have no clue as to what we are feeling. Every morning before school it is so stressful and we are afraid when we wake up that we will be late for school again because you run around like a mad person and all we remember when we run in the door of the school is your yelling and swearing at us and telling us that it is our fault that ‘we are running late’. Then our day is already ruined and instead of concentrating on our school work all we can do is remember your angry face and your screams. We are so afraid when we see you sleeping on the couch all day with those empty bottles on the floor, that you will die. When we are at school we worry that you won’t pick us up and that you have died. It takes us so long to wake you up every morning and we lay in bed the night before thinking that tomorrow morning we won’t be able to wake you up. If you loved us you would stop drinking. You are never happy so we are never happy. We don’t want all of those gifts you get us for Christmas or on our birthdays. The only gift we want is for you to change and to get better. You think we want to live with our dad because he has a nice house. That is not true. We would be happy with you if we lived in a shack as long as it was neat and maybe, just maybe, for once we could come home and have a snack and a meal ready for us and we could all sit together and laugh together and not be afraid that the next minute you would start screaming and yelling at us and tell us to get out of the house. We don’t feel safe anymore and are so afraid when you go into one of your rages.

So, mom, please don’t drink anymore and please take care of yourself. We just can’t take it anymore. You make us feel that we are a burden to you and that you want to get rid of us. We are so afraid when your blood sugar is low and the ambulance has to come. Other people have diabetes but they take care of themselves - you don’t - you eat too much candy. We are so afraid you will die. If you loved us you would take care of your diabetes. What will happen to us if you die? We want to stop feeling so sad and scared and not cry all of the time.

The worst is the unknown - not knowing what your mood is going to be or how you are going to treat us from one moment to the next - that is why we are nervous all of the time. We deserve to be loved and we did not do anything to make you feel this way about us. I can’t take it anymore how you yell and scream and the times you kicked my little brother out of the house. It breaks my heart so much.

We love you but we don’t think our hearts can stand to be broken one more time. Please love us and get better. We miss how you used to smile and laugh and love us. We want to believe that we are worthy of your love. The only way we will know that you love us is for you to take care of yourself. So, please, please, change right now.

Your sons.

I’m stuck inside for fourteen days

Isolated from love, from sunshine’s rays

Removed from my job without any pay

I watch from my window a lone bluejay.

The virus had caught me and trapped me inside

Alone with a fantasy that has crept into my mind

On this Valentine’s Day when I’ll be left behind

From flowers and candy and all mankind.

My fantasy for this Valentine's Day

Is that we all self-quarrantine so Covid will go away

Maybe take the hint and decide not to stay

Won't find a host to kill and betray.

It would show the virus that love can't be beat

And that will be the Covid's defeat

Roses are red, violets are blue, and sugar is sweet

But you, Covid - time to take a back seat!

So, the big fat guy thought he was smart and safe from the law by living far away up there in the North Pole. Let’s face it, how often does anyone travel up there? And, why bother going there when the only occupants were a big old fat guy and his fat wife and a bunch of misfit elves that were so stupid that they worked for free. Fatso thought he was clever and that no one would ever suspect him of being a bad guy or that he would ever get caught. Who doesn't trust Santa Claus?

Well, I don't trust him and I have a bone to pick with that fat old man. When I was little he never answered my letters. I know that he got my ‘Dear Santa’ letters even though I lived on the streets but he purposely chose not to grant me my wishes. My God, how cruel could he be?

All I asked for was a little food to eat. One Christmas I didn’t even ask him for any toys - all I asked for was for him to make my mom get better. I even found the guts a couple of times to sit on his lap and give him my wish list while he sat his fat ass on a box on the corner of a street. Yeah, his eyes twinkled, all right; probably from the dope he was high on. He always had that pipe in his mouth but it certainly wasn’t any tobacco smell that was making clouds of smoke around his head. He actually laughed at me and his belly did shake like a bowl full of jelly - he laughed so hard that his beard fell off and I saw this row of black rotten teeth and eyes that weren’t very merry. I knew then that he was a fake.

Well, my mom died that Christmas and it's Santa’s fault 'cuz he didn't grant me my wish. I stood there watching him for a long time and it wasn't a bunch of kids standing in line asking him for favors. No, it was a bunch of dopers and he musta handed out hundreds of packets of dope to those dopers and he musta made oodles of money.

So, I planned and planned and waited and waited and finally got a job as one of his treasured elves and watched him carefully. He’s was so stupid and was so full of dope all of the time that he never recognized me as the little boy who asked him one Christmas not to let his mother die.

Well, this Christmas I stole Santy's stash of dope so he was forced to take a little trip down to the big city to get a little more dope for the holidays. I had sent a telegram to the cops down there and they were waiting for him when he dropped out of his sleigh and copped some dope.

When they arrested Santy he was so high that he thought it was funny and all he could say was, "Ho Ho Ho!"

So boys and girls, sorry to say that Santy aint't coming to town this year - but, at least you'll be safe from that dopey Santa.

Merry Christmas!

The glass jar filled with eyeballs sits upon the cob-webbed shelf in the basement of your hell, but you don’t know that yet - but you’ll soon have the opportunity - you won’t have a choice. The floor is wet with the blood of your sins that is dripping from the floorboards above, but the layer of crushed bones covering the dirt floor keeps it from getting too sticky - let’s face it - if you were in my shoes would you want to get stuck in a place like this? The bare light bulb is hanging from a beam above my head, casting dark shadows upon the row of corpses - well, not all of them are corpses - I can see that some of them still have a little breath left in them and if they don’t stop their moaning and groaning I’m gonna slash them again and again and again until the little skin that’s left on their bones will splatter on the crumbling walls of my personal morgue - hell, maybe it’ll act as insulation and keep out some of that damn cold wind that’s always trying its best to creep in between the crumbling mortar - maybe I’ll warm up a bit.

I’ve always wanted to be a coroner or one of those guys who do autopsies - but when I was ten I got caught stealing a corpse and cutting it up so they put that on my record and there went my chances of becoming a coroner or medical examiner or whatever he hell those guys are called that saw through your chest and then peel away your skin in one perfect piece. Well, didn’t matter to me - I’ve been collecting those guys who’ve ruined my career and have hidden them in this basement once I got strong enough to grab ’em and stab ’em. And one guy - well he’s been down here for maybe four, err, I’ve gotta be honest with ya - more like twenty years! I’ve been slicing inches off of his skin, a little at a time, and force-feeding him with his own skin. I’m smart enough to know ya need fluids in order to survive - so, drain a little blood from him now and then and watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows his own blood.

Sometimes I give them a little treat if they do a little trick or two - ‘tongue toast’ - considered to be a breakfast specialty - they have no choice but to listen to me as I describe to them the technique I’m using to pull out one of their compatriot’s tongue with this nice pair of rusty pliers down here and then stuff it down their greedy throats.

The best part is that every Halloween for the past twenty years I’ve dressed up as ‘The Father’ and gone out trick or treating and enticed those little nobodies to my hallowed ground. They thought they could get away with it, all those years ago, ruining my prospects for attaining my career goals, but I was too smart for them. Bloody fools! And I’ve had so many years of practice now, I’m probably better than any of them ever hoped to be.

Yes, this year, once again, I’m dressing up as the ‘Our Father.’ That’ll fool them. ‘Who Art In Heaven.’ Ha! Ha! Let’s be honest here. This ain’t no heaven. Well, maybe it’s my heaven but it’s sure gotta be hell for you. ‘Hollow Be Thy Name.’ Sound like a priest, don’t I?

Here - reach out and touch them - there ya go! Some nice slimy eyeballs for you to touch and swallow. No. No. Don’t you dare choke! You try to spit them out and I’ll ram them down your bloody throat!

“Knock, knock, knocking on someone’s door.”

“Oh, God, do come in. Hallow be thy name, Father. Please, please, enter. Won’t you have a treat?”

“No thanks, buddy. Ya know, with the virus and all, I think I’ll pass. But, how ’bout if I do a little trick for you?”

“Oh, Father, that would be so nice. Please come in.”

“Well, here goes. But ya need to come to my Kingdom, it’s just down the road. It’s like a little heaven and I have a little special treat for you after you watch my little trick - it’s called, ‘Our Daily Bread’ and it is sooooooo good. And don’t worry about those trespassing signs you’ll see - no sir. I just put them up to scare away those little devils hanging around that try to lead us all into temptation. Ha! Ha!”

The two gentlemen - one a killer and one a retired medical examiner have reached their destination. Hell, it’s cold outside but inside the killer’s home, it’s as hot as hell. They remove their outer wrappings and it is then that the killer does his little trick. He removes his mask and exposes his true self - the devil in disguise. And his visitor dies of fright and then is dragged down the stairs and hung with the rest.

The devil laughs devilishly and then jumps up and down and picks up the tools of his trade: his forceps and scissors and scalpel and saw - and with his fork in one hand and his tools in the other he works into the eerie hours of Halloween night - cutting and eating and cutting and eating. Then he gracefully wipes his mouth and gives a hearty burp, gives thanks to the Lord, and yells out to his silent companions, “Hallow Be Thy Name! Amen.”

The glass jar filled with eyeballs sits upon the cob-webbed shelf in the basement of your hell, but you don’t know that yet - but you’ll soon have the opportunity - you won’t have a choice. The floor is wet with the blood of your sins that is dripping from the floorboards above, but the layer of crushed bones covering the dirt floor keeps it from getting too sticky - let’s face it - if you were in my shoes would you want to get stuck in a place like this? The bare light bulb is hanging from a beam above my head, casting dark shadows upon the row of corpses - well, not all of them are corpses - I can see that some of them still have a little breath left in them and if they don’t stop their moaning and groaning I’m gonna slash them again and again and again until the little skin that’s left on their bones will splatter on the crumbling walls of my personal morgue - hell, maybe it’ll act as insulation and keep out some of that damn cold wind that’s always trying its best to creep in between the crumbling mortar - maybe I’ll warm up a bit.

I’ve always wanted to be a coroner or one of those guys who do autopsies - but when I was ten I got caught stealing a corpse and cutting it up so they put that on my record and there went my chances of becoming a coroner or medical examiner or whatever he hell those guys are called that saw through your chest and then peel away your skin in one perfect piece. Well, didn’t matter to me - I’ve been collecting those guys who’ve ruined my career and have hidden them in this basement once I got strong enough to grab ’em and stab ’em. And one guy - well he’s been down here for maybe four, err, I’ve gotta be honest with ya - more like twenty years! I’ve been slicing inches off of his skin, a little at a time, and force-feeding him with his own skin. I’m smart enough to know ya need fluids in order to survive - so, drain a little blood from him now and then and watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows his own blood.

Sometimes I give them a little treat if they do a little trick or two - ‘tongue toast’ - considered to be a breakfast specialty - they have no choice but to listen to me as I describe to them the technique I’m using to pull out one of their compatriot’s tongue with this nice pair of rusty pliers down here and then stuff it down their greedy throats.

The best part is that every Halloween for the past twenty years I’ve dressed up as ‘The Father’ and gone out trick or treating and enticed those little nobodies to my hallowed ground. They thought they could get away with it, all those years ago, ruining my prospects for attaining my career goals, but I was too smart for them. Bloody fools! And I’ve had so many years of practice now, I’m probably better than any of them ever hoped to be.

Yes, this year, once again, I’m dressing up as the ‘Our Father.’ That’ll fool them. ‘Who Art In Heaven.’ Ha! Ha! Let’s be honest here. This ain’t no heaven. Well, maybe it’s my heaven but it’s sure gotta be hell for you. ‘Hollow Be Thy Name.’ Sound like a priest, don’t I?

Here - reach out and touch them - there ya go! Some nice slimy eyeballs for you to touch and swallow. No. No. Don’t you dare choke! You try to spit them out and I’ll ram them down your bloody throat!

“Knock, knock, knocking on someone’s door.”

“Oh, God, do come in. Hallow be thy name, Father. Please, please, enter. Won’t you have a treat?”

“No thanks, buddy. Ya know, with the virus and all, I think I’ll pass. But, how ’bout if I do a little trick for you?”

“Oh, Father, that would be so nice. Please come in.”

“Well, here goes. But ya need to come to my Kingdom, it’s just down the road. It’s like a little heaven and I have a little special treat for you after you watch my little trick - it's called, ‘Our Daily Bread’ and it is sooooooo good. And don’t worry about those trespassing signs you’ll see - no sir. I just put them up to scare away those little devils hanging around that try to lead us all into temptation. Ha! Ha!”

The two gentlemen - one a killer and one a retired medical examiner have reached their destination. Hell, it’s cold outside but inside the killer’s home, it's as hot as hell. They remove their outer wrappings and it is then that the killer does his little trick. He removes his mask and exposes his true self - the devil in disguise. And his visitor dies of fright and then is dragged down the stairs and hung with the rest.

The devil laughs devilishly and then jumps up and down and picks up the tools of his trade: his forceps and scissors and scalpel and saw - and with his fork in one hand and his tools in the other he works into the eerie hours of Halloween night - cutting and eating and cutting and eating. Then he gracefully wipes his mouth and gives a hearty burp, gives thanks to the Lord, and yells out to his silent companions, “Hallow Be Thy Name! Amen.”