The Shit We Pulled

Part of the “Shit Starting & Shenanigans” Collectionrailroad-54350_640

Being a 15-year-old male in “the Region” was an exciting time for me; being a policeman’s son, sometimes made it that much better.

I was daring, reckless, maybe a bit of an idiot.  Some may even say that I was a complete lunatic, but whatever it is you’re told, they’ll also tell you that they’ll never forget the shit we pulled – I made sure of that.

Jumping and Riding Trains

My two cousins (Mike & Bill) and I got this crazy idea about jumping and riding trains, we thought that it be a great way to get around – you know…free transportation!  The problem with that idea was that these trains didn’t go anywhere we wanted to go, so jumping and riding them was pretty much pointless and a waste of time, but we didn’t care; we jumped and rode them anyway.


One of the first incidents that almost went horribly wrong while jumping and riding trains was with my cousin Mike.  Mike and I talked and planned about jumping a train that carried brand new (tough built) cars from a nearby auto plant.  We thought that we could hop a train car that carried these new cars and then take the radios out of them.  I’m not sure what we planned to do with the radios once we got them…we didn’t plan that far ahead.

I mean, it’s not like we knew anyone that was in the market for stolen, factory built car radios…and besides, we never got that far anyway.

It was mid afternoon when Mike and I decided to head out towards the train depot.  Neither one of us have ever taken out a car radio before so we weren’t exactly sure what tools to bring – so we brought hammers.

Yes. Hammers.

Not the first tool of choice for most thieves.

These weren’t your typical claw hammers either, no, these were the odd looking mechanic hammers…the hammers with the ball point at the back instead of the usual claw.  Yeah, this was our tool of choice for such an operation, according to our calculations, we figured hammers would do just fine.

Oh, did I mention that this was our first time doing something like this?

…hammers are terrible tools to use when trying to steal a car radio. 
James Timothy Peters

mechanic-hammer-24230_640Our tool supply came from our grandfather, Grandpa Schreier (Mike’s mother and my mother were sisters and Grandpa Schreier was the father).  Grandpa Schreier had an ample supply of tools.  Masonry tools, carpentry tools, drafting tools, levels, ropes, chains, hooks and a single car garage filled to the rafters with wood.  He had a room in the basement/workshop that was totally dedicated to doors and an old bomb cellar dedicated to ladders.

When I asked my uncle why Grandpa had all that wood in the garage, the response was “In case the house burns down he’d be able to build another one.”

The Door Room: A room that is dedicated to just doors. It is filled with interior & exterior doors; closet & bedroom doors; French doors, Colonial style doors, &c.  Whatever door you may need…Grandpa Schreier just might have it.

The Ladder Room: An old bomb cellar that Grandpa Schreier built under his front porch, surrounded by brick 12″ thick (minus the entryway).  It may not have been able to take a direct hit or withstand the radiation from a nuclear blast, but you sure felt like it could when you stood in it.  After the bomb scare in the 1960’s, the bomb cellar eventually became the new storage place for all 30 of his extension ladders.

There was an opening in the chain-link fence of the train yard that was just big enough for us to squeeze through.  We brought along a pillow case that we took from our grandmothers linen closet.  We carried our hammers in them on the way to the train depot and we were going to use them to carry our car radios on the way back.

Everything was coming together.

As we crept through the hole in the fence and through the high brush and tall weeds, we moved slowly and made sure we weren’t spotted.

Now that I think about it, Mike was wearing all white.  A white tank-top; white shorts & boat shoes.  The perfect outfit for a stealthy operation such as this.

Luckily, a train carrying these automobiles was just on its way out of the train yard.  It was going so slow you could walk next to it and still keep up.  It was easy to hop on…very, VERY easy to jump and ride this train…almost too easy.

We quickly climbed on board and hid until the train made the turn at the bend in the gully.  We stayed hidden and made sure that none of the “yard guys” saw us.  As soon as we made that turn in the bend we went to work.

I instantly jumped up and ran next to the car that Mike was looking at.

“This is how you do it,” I said to Mike as I slammed a hammer against the car door window and smashed it.

“What are you talking about?” Mike said back. “That’s the back door.”

He was right.

“Alrighty then,” I answered back.
So, as casual as I could make it, I went over and smashed the front door window.

We looked at each other.  He looked at me as if I were crazy; reached over and opened the door by the handle.

There was no need to smash the windows – the doors were unlocked.

Oh well.

I jumped in the car and went to town.  I smashed the shit out of that dashboard with that hammer trying to get at that radio.  I got it down to the metal…damn, all I needed was a Phillips screwdriver.  If I had that, I would have gotten that radio out a lot faster.

Oh yeah, that’s right…I got it out – with an ugly looking hammer.
And Mike got his out of the car he was in with his.

It was time to go.
We stuffed those two radios in the pillow case and when I was about to hit another car I heard Mike say something that changed everything.

“Jimmy. We have a problem…look!” Mike yelled as he pointed outside.
Mike was standing where we climbed on.  I walked up to where he was standing and looked out.
“The train picked up speed!”

Oh my God.  It was flying.
At the time, I would have said we were going 50 mph easy, but maybe now that I think about it, it was going about 25-30 mph – tops.  That may not seem fast, but try saying that while hanging on the side of a train.

We didn’t know what to do.  Things started to speed up.  We’re like “Okay, okay…be calm.”  Then we’d look out the train again and saw a sign that read GARY, as in Gary, Indiana.  We needed to get off and get off fast.

We got our thoughts together and decided to get rid of the evidence.  We’ll toss the hammers and the pillow case full of radios off the train and then if things go right, we’ll come back and pick them up.
Good idea.

We went to the other side of the train and looked out.  There was just another set of tracks and a huge field.  I tossed the hammers first.  I tried to toss them gently and tried to remember where I tossed them, but it didn’t matter.  I tried to toss them over the other side of the other set of tracks but I missed.  Those hammers hit those tracks so hard they bounced right underneath the train.  So much for those.

Mike tossed the pillow case of radios off the train and when they hit the ground, the whole pillowcase exploded.  Those two radios flew into pieces.

So much for our BIG score.

I thought Mike was going to bounce underneath the train just like the hammers.

I thought Mike was going to bounce underneath the train just like the hammers.

We had to get off this train because we’re headed for Gary, Indiana… and that doesn’t mean it’s going to stop in Gary either. With our luck, we’d probably end up in Ohio somewhere if we didn’t do what we did next.

Mike thought quickly and came up with the idea of hanging on the side of the train and try to run with it – while still holding on to the train.  When he thought the time was right, he would let go and just gradually slow down from running on his own.

At the time, it sounded like it’d work…
but it didn’t.

Mike took about three or four HUGE running steps and started somersaulting head-over-heels right next to the train.  His boat shoes flew off in opposite directions.  He had to have flipped six or seven times before veering off away from the train.

I had to have been at least 40-50 yards away before Mike came to a complete stop.  He stopped in a patch of sticker bushes just to make matters worse.

“MIKE!” I yelled out from the train to see if he was all right.  I saw him pick his head up and his arm signalling me he was okay.

I hung from the train like he did and decided that this was NOT for me.  I climbed back in the train and decided to just run and jump off.  That’s more my style.

I landed; rolled a little bit; jumped to my feet and ran over to see if Mike was okay.

Guess what?
He was a bit bloody, but he was okay.


To be continued.

James Timothy Peters:

Being part of filming BEWARE OF THE KLOWNS was one of the MOST exciting things I’ve ever done. Thanks to Tim Wolak, Alexander Hale Gibson, Rosaleah Sunserra Gonzalez and Brandon Berk.



Crawler the Klown

Crawler the Klown

Trench the Klown

Trench the Klown

Fatty the Klown

Fatty the Klown

Originally posted on HORROR MOVIES UNCUT:

Here at HMU we are some sick individuals. Even our creator Travis Brown decided to send this teaser to one of our writers Stacey Beth who is terrified of Klowns. If anything it gave us the perfect reaction to know we had to key you guys in on this film. Browsing the redditsphere we came across this teaser for a film currently under production BEWARE OF THE KLOWNS. Yes with a K folks stay with us now. The film is directed by Tim Wolak we have the plot below picked from their Facebook page. All you need to know is there is a group of killer klowns that ain’t getting out a small car for your f**king entertainment. They want blood. Check out the trailer and we will be keeping an eye out for more news on BEWARE OF THE KLOWNS in the near future.

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Ah, the summer of 1989. A lot of good times & memories (of what I can remember anyway) were made in that year.

We were a little older, a lot crazier, unfortunately, none the wiser.
We made it through the summer of 1989, however, with nothing to show for it. All except for a fridge half-full of beer and a small canon.

That’s right. We got ourselves a canon,
but that’s a totally different story.

The fact that there was absolutely NO SUPERVISION is what made all this possible.

Summer of 1989

820 Eaton Street

Hammond, Indiana

I thought I was living the dream. Probably the dream of every 18-year-old male across the country. Well, at least maybe among my fellow “Region Rats” anyway. I guess that’s why we pretty much hung out at my house all the time. The lack of supervision made it the perfect environment for all the “Shit Starting & Shenanigans” we got ourselves into.

We had a large assortment of beer thanks to the Great Beer Heists of '89

We had a large assortment of beer thanks to the Great Beer Heists of ’89

It usually started with a garage/back alley BBQ, but things always got carried away and into the basement as the evening rolled in. By this time, most of us were already half-lit. There was always plenty of beer (free of charge). Of course, this was before the “major bust” of The Great Beer Heists of ’89.
In fact, the warm keg of Guinness spent a good portion of the summer of 1989 in my basement before it was finally moved to a new [undisclosed] location for further study & observation. A few of us would always take a crack at trying to get the beer out, but it always ended up in failure. If we only had that specific tap for that Guinness keg maybe a few us would think differently about Guinness beer.

Then again, maybe not.

Thanks to the “Boys of Wildwood” we finally did get into that keg of Guinness.

 The “48 Club”

Let’s get to the point of the story.

We came up with a competition that if completed you were made a “48 Club” member. It was called the “48 Club” and to become a member you had to drink 48 beers within 48 hours.
Here are the rules:

  1.  You can NOT leave the vicinity.
  2.  You can eat, sleep and throw-up all you want.
  3.  48 beers must be consumed before the 48th hour in order to become a member.

Flaming Shots of Everclear
(an important part of the story)

Alcohol is flammable. The purer the alcohol in the liquor, the greater chance of it igniting.
It’s very flammable. Extremely flammable.

We found out that a particular brand of alcohol (liquor?) would actually ignite – Everclear!
I’m not sure if Everclear was intended to be sipped straight from the bottle, but we did it anyway.
It was horrible.
So, to liven the party, we lit a shot glass full of Everclear on fire and drank it that way.
Makes sense…right?

Yeah, right.
Now it doesn’t only taste like shit, but it’s dangerous too.

Not sure where the idea of throwing flaming shots down your throat came from, but after a few hits & misses , some of us became rather good at it. Almost expert even. May sound like a useless skill but I have to admit, it is rather interesting to witness. If you ever get a chance to witness a drunk throwing fire towards their face, take it.

48 Beers in 48 Hours

48 Beers in 48 Hours

Sometimes, things could go terribly wrong.
Like someone lighting their face on fire.

Or, things could go hysterically funny.
Like someone lighting their face on fire.

Note: On all Flaming Shots you are suppose to extinguish the flame before you drink it.
Nobody told us about that part.

(Back to the “48 Club”)
Let the Competition Begin!

By the fourth hour of the very first 48 Club Competition, there were only 6 or 7 serious (semiconscious) applicants still in the competition out of a basement full of juvenile delinquents.

You remember Cousin Mike?
He was with me during the “Jumping & Riding Trains” incident.

He was one of them.

The McDonald Brothers.
They were with me during one of the Great Beer Heists of ’89.

They were both hanging in there also.

So, there was Cousin Mike, the two McDonald Brothers, myself and a few others.
One of those still standing was Benjie Garrison.

Benjie Garrison is an awesome bowler and already a well-known competitor among his peers and other young professional bowlers. He is very, very good. I met Benjie in high school through a few of my friends. And like myself, he lived with just his father. I remember spending many days ditching school at his house when mine was “unavailable”. We dominated Super Mario Bros. on Nintendo.

Region Rats - photo by Open Clips

Region Rats – illustration by Open Clips

My house, however, was the hub. It was a bit bigger, plus it had a basement that was equipped with a bar. The bar was nothing fancy but it served its purpose. Built in the 60’s by my grandfather, this bar has seen its fair share of shit starting & shenanigans…

…and today was no different.

Although the rules simply state that nobody may leave the vicinity of the competition, Benjie and the younger McDonald  got hungry. Since there wasn’t any food in the house and nobody delivered this late, we decided to make an exception. There was a tiny 24-hour Mexican restaurant just a block away. The infamous LAS BRISAS Mexican Restaurant was a Region Rat hot-spot.

Being that Las Brisas was open 24-hours a day, it too, has also seen its fair share of shit starting & shenanigans. Serving not just the sober during the day, but also the drunks, addicts and idiots during the night. If you ever wanted to test your self defense skills, visit Las Brisas anytime after 1 am and wait. Even though the Hammond Police Department was exactly kiddie-corner from Las Brisas, some knuckleheads didn’t care. Something’s going to happen…

…and tonight was no different.

Benjie and the younger McDonald brother left the house together. It’s best to go in pairs. Besides, Cousin Mike was in no condition to go anywhere. He was worse off than the rest of us. And since this was my house and he was my cousin, I was the one to look after him.

So off they went.

Las Brisas wasn’t the safest restaurant in the Region, nor was it the cleanest, but it sure had GREAT tacos! photo by KAM MISTRY

When they walked into Las Brisas they could already tell that something was not right. There were three employees, one up front, one in the back and another sitting in a booth next to the register. All three of them had their eye on a couple (guy & girl) that were waiting for their order. They looked as if they were pissed off at one another.

The employee that was up front walked to the register and asked Benjie if they were ready to order. Just when Benjie was about to speak, a loud “Fuck you!” was shouted from the girl.

Benjie quickly turned and looked at the couple, “Wow. What was that?” Benjie jokingly snickered.

The guy looked up at Benjie for a moment and then went back silently speaking to the girl looking rather irritated

“What the fuck?” the younger McDonald said to Benjie.

“I don’t know. Whatever.” Benjie said back and then placed their order.

You were to pay right after you order at Las Brisas. This prevented ‘Dine & Dash’. When the employee gave Benjie his change she quickly went to finish up the couples order and gave it to them. The couple immediately left.

Not even a minute after the couple left, Benjie heard a ruckus right outside the restaurant’s front door. Benjie and the younger McDonald went to investigate and found the guy beating the shit out of the girl. Both of them went to grab the guy and pulled him off her.

Suddenly, Benjie felt a thud on the back of his head. When he turned around he saw the younger McDonald throwing the girl a pretty good distance away. When he did, a loud clank was heard. The girl dropped a tire iron in the process of being thrown. After the younger McDonald threw the girl down he jumped on the guy and started beating the shit out of him.

Yes. This happened.

The guy was totally unconscious, but the younger McDonald kept beating away. The girl stood up and decided not to intervene. I guess she knew that it didn’t matter she was a female. It wasn’t until Benjie, when he got his bearings, that stopped the younger McDonald from beating the guy any further. They both went back inside the restaurant. The girl just stood there and continued to scream at the both of them.

The Hammond Police showed up just when they sat down to eat their tacos. It looked as though the girl was trying to explain to the police why her boyfriend was laying unconscious in a Las Brisas parking lot. She was looking through the restaurants glass, pointing to the both of them telling the police who they should be arresting. But the police never came in the restaurant and asked any questions. It seems that they just hauled the couple away to jail.

End of that story.


Back at the house, none of us knew what was going on with Benjie and the younger McDonald. This was, of course, before the readily available cell phone.

This was also when we started doing “Flaming shots of Everclear”.

Turning up the heat!

Benjie and the younger McDonald finally made it back from Las Brisas.

“We got into a fight,” Benjie announced as soon as he walked down the basement stairs. “Man, we kicked the shit out of some guy and his girlfriend.”

The younger McDonald went ahead and tried to explain what happened, but with the tape deck blaring “Sweet Child of Mine” by Guns’n Roses made it a little difficult.

Before any of us could ask Benjie any questions, he was already at the end of the bar with his taco take-out. He sat with his back to us and that’s when I noticed the blood stain down Benjie’s back.

“Dude, you’re bleeding!” I shouted.

The younger McDonald went to check out Benjie’s head.

“That chic busted your head open.”

We all checked out his wound. Yep, there was a gash alright. She bashed him good.

Benjie took his last bite and muffled with a mouth full, “That bitch.” He grabbed a napkin and went upstairs to clean himself up in the bathroom.

Meanwhile…we showed the younger McDonald what we were up to since they left. Rash Key, Jay Gee along with the older McDonald brother with myself included poured ourselves a half-shot of Everclear. Each of us then lit the Everclear in the shot glass on fire.

“What the…?” the younger McDonald said looking wide eyed. “What are you guys going to do now?”

Before he realized, all four of us at the same time, threw the flaming shot down our own throat.

“HOLY SHIT! That’s fucking crazy!”

“Oh yeah?” a voice said coming from the other side of the basement. It was coming from Cousin Mike as he stumbled toward the bar. “I’ll show ya how to do it.”

Cousin Mike grabbed the bottle of Everclear and an empty shot glass. He carelessly poured himself a FULL shot spilling alcohol all over his hand as well as the bar.

“This is how you do it.”

Before any of us knew what was going on, Cousin Mike lit his shot glass on fire.

And his hand.

And the bar.

But that didn’t stop him.

Cousin Mike went ahead and was going to finish what he started. He tried to throw that flaming shot down his throat. But it was more like him throwing a fireball at his entire face than down his throat.
Oh yes. He threw fire at his own face.

So, Cousin Mike lit his hand and face on fire along with the top of the bar. I freaked out and everybody started yelling. I just started whacking Cousin Mike in the face trying to put the fire out. He gripped onto the bar with both hands (one of them on fire) and let me slap the shit out of him. The idea soon spread because everybody stopped screaming and started slapping Cousin Mike in the face.

And I do mean everybody. Like four pairs of hands.
I then threw a towel over his burning hand and put out the bar.

After a few quick moments of trying to extinguish Cousin Mikes face the fire eventually went out.
But wait a minute.

Benjie wanted some of that.

From nowhere Benjie flew into the scene. Throwing himself over the bar and with a stretch – SLAP!
He slapped Cousin Mike the hardest of everybody…and the fire was already out.
What the…?

But hold on.
This night doesn’t stop there.

Check back and find out what happens later when we come across vomit, a beer-bong & $100.

10 Items or Less

by James Timothy Peters


We’ve all done it from time to time; walk into a store for two or three things and the next thing you know – you’re looking for a shopping cart. Two or three things has just turned into nine or ten things. In my case, thirteen.

My wife, Consuela (aka Swayla) and I, along with my nine month old son, Spencer (aka Spencer) were on our back from a function. When we were about to pass a grocery store, she remembered a few things that we needed for the house.

No big deal. I’ll carry Spencer as the three of us walk around and get the few items. Swayla grabbed one of those plastic baskets that are used just for that purpose. Instead of pushing a cart around for two or three items these plastic baskets were perfect. They were neatly stacked near the entrance.

Well, as you’ve probably guessed, we needed to track down a cart. Luckily, there was an empty cart nearby, so the transition was quick & painless. It’s not that there were a lot of items it was just that they were big and/or fragile (e.g. toilet paper, milk, rye bread, &c.).

Spencer wanted to switch. So instead of me carrying him, he wanted to get in the cart and get pushed around by Mom.
Again, no big deal.

However, after a minute or two, Spencer wasn’t satisfied.
I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to push him around in the cart.
I guess I’m more fun.
I wonder why? [rhetorical question]

“Okay, we’re done,” Swayla quickly said as Spencer and I zoomed past her.

I widened my eyes and looked at Spencer, “Time to go.”

I slowed down on the horseplay and the three of us casually walked towards the registers. The lines were full and the only short line was the “10 Items or Less” register. So that’s where I decided to head to.


We were still a good distance from the register when I noticed a young woman walking past me. She was holding a 3-pack of Irish Spring soap and a tube of toothpaste. She was headed for that same register.

Not on my watch! I quickened the pace.

“Wait,” Swayla warned, “we have more than 10 items I think.”

I heard her, but there was a crime unfolding.
And I had to stop her.

Damn she’s fast.
She knew I was tailing her.
She knew that I wanted to get in front of her. And…
she knew that it wasn’t going to happen.

We both knew.Irish Spring Woman

Wait a minute…something happened!

She dropped her soap…then kicked it away from herself!

Time to make my move.

Spencer giggles as I speed up.
Needless to say, I’m in line ahead of this woman.

And yes, I’m a dick.

The woman slowly walks up flashing me her best “Eat shit & die” grin. Swayla soon walks up from behind her.

“What are you doing?” she asks me quietly.

I shake my head and look confuse as if I don’t know what she’s talking about. She looks down at the cart and starts counting the items.

“We have thirteen items.”

I keep looking around the store like I’m oblivious to what’s going on. Besides, can’t she I’m deflecting daggers from this woman’s eyes?

We were almost up.

“Jimmy,” Swayla said in a somewhat loud hushed voice trying to get my attention.

I look at her.

Pointing with her eyes by looking at the woman she says without moving her lips, “Let her go ahead.”

The woman knew what was going on. Everybody knew what was going on.
Except for Spencer. He was clueless.

“Next,” the cashier announced.

And to my surprise, I said to the woman, “Go ahead, you only have two items.”

“And you have thirteen, you’re in the wrong line!” She says that to me as she walks past sounding snooty.

She said that loud enough so that the cashier could hear on purpose.

The cashier’s face totally changed. She looked as though she was about to exercise a store policy. She was about to pull some authority.

As the cashier handed the woman her change she wished her a “Good Day”.

“I will now, thank you,” the woman responded back.

Now, it’s my turn.





He threw a towel over his shoulder and grabbed a white mesh bag full of toiletries. He walked towards the railing and stood in the walkway. He was now standing right in front of me.

All of a sudden, he stretched out his arms with the white mesh bag still in hand and he started singing.


Oh. My. God.

And he was good too!

continued from 7-30-14 

Moses Story

I saw Moses enter the shower room and disappear as he went around the corner. He began singing again & extra loud too. I think because of the acoustics. It sounded great. I looked around and saw the other inmates pointing at the shower smiling & talking to one another. It looked as though everybody was enjoying it. I’m not exactly sure what he was singing, but it was definitely from the Motown Era.

I climbed down from my rack and walked over to the handrail.

“Don’t let them see you leaning on the handrail,” D warned me. “For some reason they don’t like that.”

I took D’s advice and folded my hands behind my back.

As Moses continued singing, I walked back over to my rack and grabbed a pen & paper. This was when I decided to write things down; take little notes here & there.
Notes to this very story you’re reading now.

The song eventually ended and Moses remained quiet. The other inmates went back to doing to whatever it was they were doing before Moses took their attention away. Some went back to playing cards, the volume on the television went up, headphones went back on, &c.
You get the idea.


When Moses returned, I noticed he didn’t have any socks. He wore his jailhouse slippers (aka “Bob Barkers”) without any socks. He stayed mostly in his rack with his feet tucked in under his blanket. The rule was that you were NOT allowed to bring your blanket up past your waist during waking hours only.

I’m not sure why such a rule exists,
but I’m sure the reason is either violent and/or gross.

I admit, I felt a little sorry for Moses. But honestly, who wouldn’t? Once a week, inmates  who could afford to do so received conversary. Simple Items, like peanut butter, crackers, Ramen noodles, underwear & socks. Shampoo, toothpaste, bar soap, &c.

I bought Moses a pair of socks. I’m a softy (at heart).
By doing so, I made a jailhouse crazy friend. Which, I thought, could actually be a good thing to have – if you think about it.

Back Story

The reason Moses was incarcerated is an interesting story in itself.
Obviously, Moses is crazy. In fact, it was his craziness that landed him in the Porter County Jail in the first place. It seems Moses was under the impression that he had some money coming to him…a lot of money. However, he couldn’t touch of any of it because it was “tied up” in the court system.court-35678_1280

Well, Moses thought he had waited long enough and so he paid the people who (he thought) were responsible for the delay a visit. Not having a drivers license, he walked to the Porter County Municipal Building. Once inside, he insisted on speaking to a judge about obtaining his money. Now, I don’t know if there was a particular judge he was looking for but when they told him that they didn’t know what he was talking about they asked him to leave – repeatedly.

Moses wasn’t going anywhere…
…but to jail.

He needed $200 to get bailed out.
Moses didn’t have any money.

I was assuming that his family thought that jail was the best place for him – for the moment. I say, “for the moment” because it was obvious to me that Moses hasn’t seen the last of a secured institution. Whether it be jail or an asylum, Moses wasn’t too far away.

Moses had been incarcerated for about eight months by the time I got there. Eight months. His family couldn’t (or wouldn’t) come up with $200 for his release. It was the courts that finally decided to release him. They figure eight months was long enough for acting an ass in the Porter County Municipal Building.

Moses Departure

Time passes as time does.
It passes extremely slow when you’re sitting in jail though.

Just when I started to get to know Moses it was time for him to be released. He gathered his few personal items that the Porter County Jail provided for him, crumbled up his blanket, folded his mattress and dragged everything behind him. The inmates would wish him well as he slowly walked by. When he reached the stairs going down he looked at me.

“Thanks for the socks,” he acknowledged loudly.

“No problem,” I answered back.

He continued on down the stairs letting the mattress flop down on each step.

“I’m leaving this motherfucker,” he exclaimed. “Fuck this place!”

I think Moses will back.
If not here – somewhere else then.

[to be continued]
I’m starting to go crazy(ier).

There’s Something in the Backyard

And You’re NOT Going to Believe It

Not a typical night.
Not a typical night at all.

I know this going to sound crazy, but I’m going to tell you anyway.

In the summer of ’89 I had to attend summer school in order to receive my diploma. I was short one English credit.

No big deal, I lived 500′ away from Hammond High’s main entrance. I could wake up 10 minutes before school started and still make it on time.
Which I’ve actually done.

The rules on attendance were very strict. You were not allowed to miss more than two (2) days. If you missed three (3) or more days, you were disqualified from receiving any credit for that class. NO EXCEPTIONS!

Summer Flu

I don’t sick often, but when I do…look out. I feel I’m on the edge of death when I get sick, especially with the flu – but in the summer? Who in the hell gets sick in the summer?

Oh, wait…I do now.

I used to never get sick – especially in the summer.
But of course, when I have to attend summer school, I get sick with a summer flu.
The summer flu…? Am I kidding?sick-29351_1280

I am not.

Thankfully, it started on a Friday night. Because when I awoke Saturday morning I thought I got hit by a truck. This wasn’t a hangover either (even if it was during the BEER HEISTS era)…it was death creeping up on me. I thought I might have had a touch of the stomach flu as well, because when I unloaded – man, I unloaded.

I was losing it out of both ends.
And at the same time too!
Trust me, it’s a disgustingly neat trick.

That Saturday Night

I shouldn’t have drank as much as I did the night before. All day Saturday I felt horrible. I couldn’t keep anything down. I was constantly on the toilet. I was freezing, but yet I was sweating as if I was burning up.
I was alone and I thought that I just entered the beginning stages of death.

I needed medication; some sort of medical attention, but I was clueless. I didn’t know what to do. By late evening, I realized that my dad wasn’t coming home and so I managed to gather enough sense to get off the living room floor and check the medicine cabinet.
But soon realized that we haven’t had anything in the medicine cabinet for quite some time.

I hunted through the kitchen cabinets, looking for anything that could ease my stomach and found nothing. I went for the cabinets above the stove – nothing.

Then something happened. Through the kitchen window I saw something that caught my attention. It moved across the backyard. The backyard light wasn’t on so it was hard to see clearly. It was large, stocky and low to the ground. I immediately thought it was a dog, but then I heard the rattle of the chain-link fence as if someone (or something) was trying to climb over it. Dogs don’t climb fences…do they? I tried to take a closer look, but the backyard was almost in complete darkness.

Whatever it was – it was gone now.

Later That Night

I still had no luck on finding any relief. I felt miserable. I couldn’t eat, drink or sleep. I eventually wandered into the kitchen to take another look in the cabinets. Again, I looked in the cabinets above the stove. Nothing.

I remembered that “thing” or whatever I saw move across the backyard. I moved the curtains even more off to the side and took another look. I decided to get a better look. I walked a few steps down to the landing and opened the back door. I stood inches away from the screen door and scoped things out.

There was the garage, the boat-house, the row boat…then I saw it. The street light in the alley gave the silhouette of what looked like a small husky figure wearing a horned helmet standing on the garage roof. I wasn’t sure, but it looked like it had a beard too. Before I could make ‘heads-or-tails’ of anything, it was gone. It must have ducked towards the back of the garage roof, becoming completely out of sight.

“What the…?” I said to myself. I thought, “Did I just see what I think I saw?”

I stood quietly and tried to listen for anything out of the ordinary.
But this is East Hammond, out of the ordinary is hard to distinguish.

Whatever it was, there was something definitely standing on the garage roof. Watching my toes, I quickly closed and locked the backdoor and ran back upstairs. I went to the back bedroom (which I called the “Red, White & Blue Room” for obvious reasons) and looked out the window which faced the backyard. Through this window, I had a better view of the garage roof, which I saw nothing.

Once again, whatever it was – it was gone now.

Sunday Morningcold-156666_1280

I still felt like crap Sunday morning. This was no hangover, I knew then that I was officially sick. I hardly slept because I kept tossing & turning. Not only because I wasn’t feeling well, but the thought of that ‘whatever-it-was’ on the roof really bothered me.

I know I saw a horned helmet.
I just know it.

I laid in bed and watched the sun rise and shine through the sides of the window shades. I finally got out of bed. It was 1 PM.

Yep, I’m sick.

Perfect. And I’ve got summer school the next day. Well, I might as well start the day.

I wore my sweat pants and a Hammond High School sweatshirt. I wandered out of my room and into the kitchen. I looked out the and noticed that the chain-link fence had been damaged. I pulled up my hood and got myself ready to go outside.

As I stood and looked at the fence I noticed that something had bent the chain link. It looked as if something heavy and/or strong climbed over the fence bending it all to hell.

My dad was going to be pissed.

Just when I was about to head back inside, I noticed a rather large boot print in the dirt/grass. This boot print (and several others) had tore up the grass as if someone were running through the yard. These prints were as long as mine, but were much wider.

My suspicions that I saw someone on the roof grew stronger.
Something wasn’t right.

Later that evening I spoke to Lisa and Brandy. They happen to be out-and-about with their friend Micky. I told them how sick I was, had nothing to treat it with and that I had school the next day. I wanted them to feel sorry for me – and it worked. They went to the drug store, bought me a BUNCH of stuff.
I didn’t tell them about what was going in the backyard, I figured I’d keep this to myself…for now.

Before bed, I loaded up on some over-the-counter medication and went to bed. My bedroom was at the front of the house, closer to the front yard. I slept with the side window slightly open. The sound coming from the traffic on Calumet Avenue I found soothing.

Not even fifteen (15) minutes in, I heard the chain link fence being rattled.
Once again, it sounded as if someone was trying to climb over it.
I mean, I heard it plain as day. But I just laid there with my eyes open and feeling heavy; listening to the clank and the rustle of the chain link fence. I didn’t care.

That’s because the NyQuil gel-caps I swallowed with a couple of chugs from the NyQuil bottle made it so that I was in no condition to go and investigate.

Good night, NyQuil.

In the END

I never found out what it REALLY was that was running around in the backyard. My dad never said anything about the fence being damaged when he came home a few days later. I wasn’t really sure if I should tell anyone…so I didn’t.

That is – until now.

The War Dwarf

I’ve wanted a war hammer ever since.

We had enough of these small time heists, it's time to go to the BEER SHOW!

Boy, was that stupid.
*Names have been changed to protect the innocent… and the not-so innocent*

For the Love of Beer

The Final Chapter: Welcome to the Brewery

The Motherland of Mother-Loads

Found out we had a beer distributor here in the city.

Columbia Brewery stood on the corner of Kennedy Avenue and 165th Street.
However, it wasn’t a brewery…it was a distributor. It was a depot for ALL beers that would eventually end up on delivery trucks and distributed throughout this part of the

And when I mean delivery trucks, I mean BEER delivery trucks.

We’ve been having plenty of experience & success with beer trucks lately; and instead of tracking them down, we decided to go to their “house”.
Fuckin’ brilliant.

The beer trucks were parked in reverse against the building. The garage door that they came out of was on that same exterior wall. The beer trucks would come out of that garage door and then right away backup and park against the building making a neat little row. The driver would leave the keys in the the ignition and the cab unlocked, then go back in the building for another truck. It would take anywhere from 8-12 minutes until the next truck came out and parked.

Timing Meant Everything

We clipped the chain-link fence with bolt cutters and made an opening just big enough to slide through. Once inside the yard, each of us would run and hide in our own little hiding place. We would stay close to the beer trucks – but not that close.

Once we heard the garage door opening we knew to stay low and out-of-sight until we heard the driver get out of the cab and slam the door shut. When we heard that, we would peek out carefully and watch him. He would head back to the building and use the service door to enter. As soon as the door closed behind him we sprang into action.


  • The keys
Getting the keys were very important. Without them, you'd be unable to unlock the doors.

As I said before, the cabs were left open. door-159330_1280
We’d open the doors, grab the keys, unlock the side doors to ALL the trailers and then return the keys back in the ignition.

Now, depending on the time a heist was underway (we were unsure with their schedule), there could be two, three even six beer trucks parked at one time. After unlocking all the trailer doors and returned the keys, we would hide under the trailers using the tires for cover.

I know…crazy, right?

Now we wait.
Any minute now, the garage door will open and another beer truck will drive out and get parked in the row. We would hide under a trailer that was usually somewhere in the middle. Away from the next truck getting parked, but not to close to the garage door (for fear of being seen).

And there it is.

It gets pretty loud and a lot of dust gets kicked up but we all stay perfectly still.

The truck gets backed up until we hear the sound of the air brakes. After a moment, the driver jumps out of the cab and heads back to the building. We get as low to the ground as we can, so we can at least see the drivers legs as he’s walking back.

When he enters the building and the door closes behind him, it’s time for step two.


  • The beer
For the Love of Beer

We’d crawl out from under the trailer and begin to open the trailer doors. We would each grab a door, open it and take something we liked or something that “was-on-order”. We would be quick about it and then stash it under the trailer, close the door and hide once again under the trailer next to the beer.

Now we wait, again.
Any minute now, it’ll be the same routine. The truck gets backed up, the driver gets out and goes in the building.

This was when we would grab the beer and head back towards our slit in the fence. We’d slip out, head back to the waiting and running car and go home. Depending how many people helped out, we may do this two or three more times.

This went on for months.


It was all a matter of time until we ruin a good thing.
Things were going smooth for awhile, but then we messed up.
We started bringing “new” people into the operation.

One night when we showed up, the beer trucks were gone. So instead of canceling the heist, the assholes we brought broke into the brewery itself. They kicked in a panel on the garage door and crawled in.

What could I do?
I crawled in after them.

As soon as I got to my feet, another asshole turned on ALL the lights. It was bright as hell. I was about to say something but what I saw put me in complete awe.

Huge stacks of beer, of every beer, piled high and wrapped in plastic. People started tearing open cases of beer and drinking them right then & there.the-customary-62252_1280

What the hell…?
This isn’t how we do things.

Well, this was last time we pulled anything like this again.
It was fun while it lasted.


Of course, we all eventually got busted.


Rumor has it that somebody tried pulling this heist by themselves (or with a small crew) and got busted on their very first attempt.

“Bark” Meeden, with possibly a small crew of absent-minded minions, made a slit in the fence and got caught right away crossing the yard. They were pursued which caught them off guard. Especially, “Bark” Meeden, who was eventually caught hiding up in a tree.





For the Love of Beer

Shit Starting & Shenanigans

Nearly Busted!


The McDonald Brothers

I’ve known a lot of brothers.
Hung out with a lot of them too.
In fact, the younger McDonald brother was with me during the first beer heist in Calumet City, Illinois. He played a small role for those shenanigans (pretty much just went along for the ride).

The following week -once again, I’m skipping school with three of my friends. This time I’m with the McDonald brothers and another friend who we nicknamed, ‘Dougie-Flesh’.

We were coasting down Ridge Road in Munster, Indiana when the younger McDonald brought up how he and I took a Guinness keg out of a beer truck.

“You guys did what?” Dougie-Flesh asked.

This gave me an idea.

Region Rats

Region Rats

“Wanna do it again?” I asked.

The younger McDonald looked at his older brother who was driving the green 1979 GTO. He was looking for a reaction. The older McDonald just looked at me through the rear view mirror to see if I was serious or just talking out of my ass. There was a moment of silence – everybody was waiting for somebody else, anybody else, to say something… like “Let’s not do this”… but nobody said a word.

I guess that’s green for a go.

I then said, “Let’s drive by Santori’s Liquors.”

Scout it Out, First

Santori’s Liquors was on Ridge Road but in Lansing, Illinois, just across the state border and south of Calumet City, Illinois. I realized it was about the same time as before when the younger McDonald and I hit that beer truck the week before. Chances of a delivery truck being at that liquor store were like “slim & none”, so we weren’t expecting to see anything.

And we didn’t… not a Santori’s Liquors.
We did, however, spot a beer delivery truck at Cardinal Liquors which was just a little further down Ridge Road. Not only was there a beer truck there, but there were three stacks of ten cases of beer just sitting there on the sidewalk.

“Hurry up and park,” I quickly ordered the older McDonald brother. “This is it.”

Just then the delivery driver came out and grabbed one of the stacks of beer with his dolly cart and wheeled it back inside. I hit the younger McDonald brother as I exited the GTO.

“C’mon, let’s do this.”

“No way, I’m not going. It’s broad daylight. People will see,” the younger McDonald explained.

“I’ll go,” Dougie-Flesh interrupted.

“You sure?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

The delivery driver came out for the second stack of beer. There was one stack left.

“It’s now or never,” I warned. “He’ll be back out in a few… we got to go now.”

As soon as the delivery driver walked into the liquor store we exited the car and headed straight for the stacks of beer. The McDonald brothers decided to drive down a side street that was next to the liquor store. We were each to grab one case of beer and take off for the GTO…just ONE case each. That was the plan. Easy, simple, easy to remember, however… there was awrench in the works.

It seems we didn’t see the old lady who was in her car and parked right next to the stacks of beer.

As the two of us got closer to the stacks of beer we began walking faster, and faster, until it was an all-out sprint. I ran up to the stacks of beer and grabbed the top one and took off.
The next thing I heard was a car horn blaring away.

The horn scared the shit out of me. While I was running, I managed to turn around and noticed that Dougie-Flesh had taken TWO cases of beer. That old lady who was parked next to the stacks of beer was definitely trying to bring attention to us. She just laid on that horn.

I turned back around and started looking for the GTO. I spotted it just a little ways up. As I ran up to it, the younger McDonald opened his passenger door and told me to toss him the beer. I did and jumped in right after it and the door closed behind me.

Now…where’s Dougie-Flesh?

There he is.

He’s way back

“You better slow down,” I said calmly to the older McDonald.
The sound of the lady’s car horn could still be heard in the distance.

“We gotta go!” the older McDonald announced.

I crawled out the window so Dougie-Flesh could clearly see me.

“C’mon, Dougie!” I shouted with encouragement.

I could barely hear Dougie’s words… but I think he said, ‘Stop the fucking car.’

I leaned in and told the older McDonald, “I think he said to stop the car.”

He surprisingly said, “No way.”

“At least slow down,” the younger McDonald spoke up.

The GTO slowed down, but it still took a bit more effort on Dougie-Flesh’s part.
A few moments later, Dougie-Flesh finally caught up.
You could hear him clear as day.

“Stop…the fucking… car!” Dougie Flesh huffed loudly, “Now!”

The younger McDonald squeezed through the window next to me and extended his arms out, “Throw me the beer!”

I was a little shocked that we weren’t stopping and all we want now is for Dougie-Flesh to throw us the beer.
We’re assholes.

It’s like, ‘Fuck you! Throw us the beer first, then we’ll worry about you later!’

“Stop… the fucking… car… please,” Dougie-Flesh pleaded.

“Throw me the beer first!”

I couldn’t believe this was happening.
We’re driving down a neighborhood street, going just the right amount of speed to as to where Dougie-Flesh can barely keep up. Who, by the way, is carrying two cases of beer screaming at us to stop the car.

Move along folks, nothing to see here.

“I’ll grab your hands when to toss him the beer,” I instructed Dougie-Flesh. I guess I figured I was going to drag him through the window ‘Dukes of Hazard’ style – I don’t know.

Dougie-Flesh tossed the two cases to the younger McDonald and shouted out to have us just open the passenger door.
Fuck that hand grabbing shit!

The passenger door opened and Dougie-Flesh reached for the head rest. He clamped down on it like a vise grip and pulled himself into the GTO.

Dougie-Flesh slammed into the back seat and we took off for Indiana.

Mission Accomplished

Dougie-Flesh pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up.

“When I’m done with this cigarette, I’m kicking all your asses.”


For the Love of Beer

Shit Starting & Shenanigans

The Great Guinness Keg Caper


Have you ever tasted Guinness?

Guinness beer has an acquired taste
…to say the least!

Anyway, so three friends of mine and I decided to skip school and do…whatever. Pretty much nothing. Instead of attending classes at Hammond High, we decided to go drive around in Calumet City, Illinois.

As we drove along River Oaks Drive, we passed by the beloved Shakey’s Pizza. It was still rather early so we didn’t expect it to be open – and it wasn’t. However, there was a beer truck in the parking lot making a delivery.

I noticed that the cab was empty, meaning the delivery driver was inside. I asked to drive around to take another look.
Sure enough, the cab was empty and there came the delivery driver with his dolly cart.

The delivery driver opened up the side door of his box truck grabbed and stacked about ten cases of Lite beer before hauling them back inside.

“Park right here,” I ordered.

“Why…?” all three of my friends asked.

“Because I’m about to get us some beer.”

“I’ll go with ya,” the biggest of three said.



The beer truck

Playing it by Ear

There was no plan, but we were confident as hell that we were going to get away with this.

We thought we looked so suave as we stepped out of the Chevette. It was like a scene from a movie. Definitely a comedy.

The two of us strolled up to the back of the box truck. We took one last look around, then I unlatched the huge back door. There stood stacks of kegs. Each placed in a bin about four high.

I grabbed for one and pulled it. I figured it’d be heavy so I gave a good yank. I practically fell over. The keg was empty. They were all empty!

“This is crap,” I exclaimed and began to climb the stack of empty kegs.

“What are you doing?” my friend asked. “Let’s go!”

“Not without a keg.”

I peeked over the empty kegs and saw a bunch of FULL kegs.

“Here they are!”

I jumped over and knocked over a stack of empty kegs. It made a whole lot of noise. I grabbed the first keg I saw. I lifted that heavy son-of-a-bitch over the remaining empties to hand it off to my waiting friend. The problem was – he wasn’t waiting. He already started walking back to the Chevette. When he heard that crash he figured the jig was up.


The beer keg

“Hey…what’s up, dude?” I shouted out.

He turned around and headed back towards me with a quick pace. He looked as though he couldn’t believe we were still going through with it.

I lowered the keg down and saw my friend place it on his shoulder and run with it.

Yes, run with it.

Now some of you may not understand why I find it incredible, but if you’ve ever lifted a FULL keg of beer before you know how heavy these things are.

As he took off, I continued to scale down one of the stacks of empty kegs, using the top of the opened truck door as leverage. Suddenly, another stack of empty kegs fell inside the box truck causing me to lose my balance. I held on to the top of the door, but it suddenly swung open leaving me hanging 7′ in the air!

I just let go.
I dropped to the pavement, got up and ran for the Chevette. The keg was already in the back seat, so I crammed in and we took off.

Mission AccomplishedGuiness Beer and Rainbows

When we drove away we decided to see what beer keg I swiped.

Guinness…? What’s that?
Never heard of it.

We called the liquor store when we got back to price the Guinness keg.

“$159.00, not including the deposit. Total will be $169.00,” the clerk said over the phone.

$159.00 for a keg of Guinness…? This stuff must be great!

We were never able to tap that keg. We couldn’t find a tapper that fit.
Go figure.

Months later, after the beer warmed up good & plenty, we were finally able to rip the top off (thanks to the Wildwood Boys). We tipped the entire keg into empty mugs, bottles, bowls, pots…anything that would hold liquid. Tipping the keg and pouring out was a pain-in-the-ass!

Oh. My. God.
This shit sucks.



2014 in review

Posted: January 5, 2015 in Getting FREE Stuff

The stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 8,800 times in 2014. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 3 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

This really sucks. My first night here and I have to sleep with one eye open. Thank God I kept my pen under my pillow. I slept on my stomach and kept my hands underneath the pillow, clutching my pen as if it were a knife with my right hand. I told myself that I wasn’t going to fall asleep… but I did. [continued from July 23, 2014]

My Main Man Moses

As I laid on the top bunk, trying desperately to stay awake, I suddenly heard this loud slapping noise – over & over again. I looked to see where it was coming from and saw Moses slapping the shit out of himself. What the hell? I looked down at Joe (beneath Moses), who, half asleep popped his head up. I looked at Joe with a confused look on my face. He just shrugged his shoulders at me and laid his head back down. I slowly laid my head back down also. “Welcome to Cell Pod “C”,” I heard “D” say to me from the bottom rack. He must have heard it too and knew I was awake. For the rest of the night, I had no problem staying awake, unlike Moses who fell back asleep (or at least look like he was). I began to wonder:

  • What was this guy in for?
  • How often does he slap himself?
  • Is there anything else I should know?

These were questions I wanted answered and I wanted to know Moses story… or do I?

The Next Morning

I laid there until a correctional officer turned on the lights early next morning. I looked over at Moses (being half awake) and saw that he was fast asleep. I wondered if he left a mark on his face, but unfortunately he happened to be laying on the side of his face he was slapping the shit out of. prison-370534_640

A nurse accompanied a correctional officer this one morning to dispense medications to the inmates. A line was formed in the common area then the nurse began to call out names to those who needed medication.

An old black man remained in his rack until his name was called. The nurse had to wait for him make his way across the common area.

“Johnson,” the correctional officer called out, “after your medication remain seated in the common area until the nurse finishes distributing medications.”

The old man looked confused.

“Orson,” the nurse called out. “Orson?” she asked a moment later.

“Here!” a voice yelled out from the top tier. It was a small skinny white guy. Couldn’t have been older than 21.

“Why didn’t you come down?” the correctional officer asked.

“I didn’t hear,” Orson replied as he walked down from the top tier.

“Didn’t hear? Didn’t hear?” the correctional officer sounded a bit agitated. “Don’t you receive medication every morning?”

“Yes,” Orson said as he walked towards the nurse.

“Haven’t you received medication every morning since you’ve been here?” the correctional officer started to turn red in the face.


“Then why is it, every morning we have to wait on you?”

No answer was given.

“That’s what I thought,” the officers tone changed and started to sound like a smart-ass. “Grab a seat next to Mr. Johnson after you’ve taken your medication.”

Orson takes his medication and sits down next to Johnson at a table.

While all this drama was going on, I didn’t notice that Moses had sat up. He was at the foot of his rack with his legs dangling off the end. He just sat there towards the wall looking down at his hands that laid in his lap. He looked distant.
And when I say “distant” – I mean totally insane.

I tried to see if Moses left a mark on his face but the correctional officer broke my train of thought by yelling.

“From now on,” the correctional officer bellowed, “if you take medications in the morning and you’re not down here by the time a nurse opens this cell door, you’ll be going where Mr. Johnson & Mr. Orson are headed. Cell Pod “F”… any questions?”

It got dead quiet. The only sound you heard was the nurse packing up her cart.

“Good!” the correctional officer continued. “From now on, this is law! Any questions?”

The nurse wheeled her cart out. You could hear the squeak from one of its wheels, but still, nobody said a word.


You could tell the correctional officer was getting sarcastic. He turned and faced Orson & Johnson.

“You two,” the correctional announced as he pointed to the two inmates. “Grab your mattress and follow me.”

Orson and Johnson started to stand up.

“Let’s go!” the correctional officer screamed.

Orson got so startled that he tripped & fell, but immediately ran up to the top tier, ripped his mattress from his rack and started to run back.

“Don’t run, man,” an inmate said as Orson ran past him. “Fuck that mother-fucker.”

“He got that white-boy all shook up…don’t he, Joe?” I heard “D” say coming from beneath me.

“Got that right,” Joe said back. I don’t even think Joe was really paying attention.

I remembered about Moses and decided to take a quick glance at him. He was looking at me, but his body was still facing towards the back wall. Just his head was turned. His mouth was slightly open and with his head tilted down but his eyes up staring at me just freaked me out.

I quickly broke eye contact.

“Holy shit,” I thought to myself. I went back to watching the correctional officer exit the cell pod. From my peripheral vision, I watched Moses as he jumped down from his rack. I just laid there looking straight ahead, watching his every move.

He threw a towel over his shoulder and grabbed a white mesh bag full of toiletries. He walked towards the railing and stood in the walkway. He was now standing right in front of me.

All of a sudden, he stretched out his arms with the white mesh bag still in hand and he started singing.


Oh. My. God.

And he was good too!

[to be continued]

Terminator 15,000,000 V Stun Gun with LED Flashlight