Ghosts

When I was a kid, I was afraid of ghosts. My dad was always in the basement fixing televisions proving that he was not afraid of the ghosts down there. So, I assumed that people out-grew their fear of ghosts.

That is not the case. I am still afraid of ghosts. When I’m alone in the house, I throw wrenches at the closet. When the phone rings, I answer it crying. I can’t go to the beach because of the beach ghosts.

My dad is so lucky. He did not grow up in a time of advanced special effects from the cinematic industry. His imagination couldn’t create the kind of demonic, messed-up bullshit that my mind can create. My dad probably doesn’t know about the demons that rape families.

I tried to make my own ghost-busting backpack but the fucking government is all over my ass about the proton acceleration. So, I’m suing them.

How come ghosts only hang out in basements and creepy abandoned places? If you had the power to go anywhere you wanted, wouldn't you haunt Dave and Busters? It shows how fucking stupid ghosts are. Sometimes I change the channel when something interesting is on television, just in case there's a ghost in the room who was trying to watch over my shoulder. They hate that.

In the movies, ghosts always get people who are showering or making love, so I’ve decided to stop doing both. I’d love to see those fuckers’ faces while I sit here all smelly and celibate.
And if you’re a hot chic sent by the ghosts to make love to me in the shower, forget it. I’m not falling for it.

So, it's on, ghosts! You fuckers have hung out in my basement making noises long enough. Stop making the microwave clock run slow and I'll stop hanging around getting drunk on Sundays and writing about how much I hate you.