September 01, 2009: PBS Town

LOLSCHACH's Journal: September 01, 2009.

Sent twelve prepubescents to the emergency room before lunch. Four were stripping cars. Six were mugging. Two were raping. Hurm. American youth. Gone down toilet. These punks are the future of this country? Not happy.

Need reassurance American youth can be salvaged. Decide to take a trip to PBS Town, the last place in America where children are brought up right, properly educated and grown into constructive members of society.


Decide to take trolly to Imagination Land first and visit Mr. Rogers. Good friend back in the old days. Taught LOLSCHACH how to use imagination to solve everyday problems, like where to hide the bodies. Unfortunately, visit is short.

Hurm. Depressing. Can't be helped. Rogers was possible homosexual, anyway.

Next stop: the Reading Rainbow in the sky. To get there, LOLSCHACH must fly twice as high.

No need. Reading Rainbow has been cancelled, apparently. Show cultivated love of reading in America's youth. Unfortunately, majority of America's youth do not know how to read, thus rendering Reading Rainbow obsolete.

Damn. Now nothing will keep Lavarr Burton off the streets. Will be keeping eye on him.

Saved most important stop for last: Seseme Street. Last remaining vestage of morality and education in American entertainment. Concerned. Last time LOLSCHACH visited Seseme Street was 1991. Upon leaving, noticed Grover observing animated primetime television program marketed toward adults.

Brushed it off at time. Certainly nothing could currupt the wholesome neighborhood of Seseme Stree--

Damn. It is small mercy that Jim Henson did not live to see Seseme Street become a ghetto.

PBS Town is beyond saving. Will have to cleanse it. Not with lessons learned from PBS Town: reading, writing, arithmatic. But with lessons learned on street: fire.

May 27, 2009: The Manburger

LOLSCHACH's Journal: May 27, 2009

Observe horror at local eatery. Ever since canister of green ooze from the Techno Cosmic Research Institute was thrown from that truck, there have been Millions of Unusual Small Creatures Lurking Everywhere.

I dubbed this one, "The Manburger". Probable mutant. Or possibly from the land of Rand McNally, where they wear hats on their feet and hamburgers eat people.

Further investigation required. After lunch.

May 07, 2009: Ghostbusters

LOLSCHACH's Journal: May 07, 2009

11:45 AM. Found myself in New York. Don't know how I got here. Last thing I remember, I was falling asleep on a Greyhound bus. Hurm. The plot thickens.

Walking across Central Park, today. Observe yuppies stuffing overpriced, mediocre-tasting food down their throats within Tavern on the Green. Launch a chair through the plate glass windows, then exit at Central Park West. Pass by the Shandor Building. See a sign next to the door:

"Meet the Ghostbusters in Person! May 7th at Noon!"

The Ghostbusters. Remember them well.

In 1984, they prevented the coming of an all-powerful supernatural entity named Gozer the Gozerian.


In 1989, they prevented the coming of an all-powerful supernatural entity named Vigo the Carpathian.


In 1997, they prevented the coming of an all-powerful supernatural entity named Jesus the Nazarian.


Clock strikes noon. Hear crowd cheering. Hadn't been paying attention to time. The Ghostbusters must be coming. Been years since I've seen them. Remember they used to look like this:


The Ecto-1 pulls up. They step out. It's been twenty-five years. Now, they look like this:


Hurm. Not sticking around for any autographs.

April 15, 2009: Clowns

LOLSCHACH's Journal: April 15, 2009

Picked up newspaper today. Headline same as its been all week. Mysterious, monstrous clown has been kidnapping children. Children never seen again. Police baffled. LOLSCHACH several steps ahead of them, as usual.

Know who freakish childnapping clown is.



Not that one.

Or that one.



Or that one.



Yes. That's him.

Ronald Willard McDonald. Last I heard, the clown went crazy. Not in funny, wacky circus way, either. Clown stitched fourteen toddlers together with rusty knitting needle and yarn, painted them purple and dubbed them "The Grimace". Believed Grimace to be best friend. Dragged screaming children around town on old Radio Flyer wagon, screaming "Do you believe in magic!?" repeatedly, like broken record.

Took seven cops to subdue McDonald. Three were injured to the point of early retirement. They were the lucky ones. Took doctors hours to unstitch the giant purple lump of screaming prepubescent humanity. Meanwhile, McDonald was deemed "insane" and locked away in the deepest, darkest vault the American psychiatric system could find.

Escaped two weeks ago. McDonald's intent is obvious. Wants to rebuild the Grimace. Reunite with his "best friend". Must be stopped.

Head down to police station to report suspicion. Don't like working with cops. Hate it. But children's lives are in danger. Donut pigs need all the help they can get.

Officer Big Mac greets me. Strange-looking man. Head is made of two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles and onions on a sesame seed bun. Dealt with him before. Not friends. Pays no heed to my warnings. Responds with standard tripe, "Do you have any proof that Ronald McDonald is back in town? No? That's what I thought. Ronald is a victim; a sad case. Even though he did escape from the Golden Arches Sanitarium two weeks ago, I don't think for a second he'd commit the same, tragic crimes."

Hurm. Big Mac and McDonald were friends prior to the clown's sudden bout of insanity. Old ties still bind. Cop trying to cover for friend. Sickening.

Decide to go over Big Mac's head. Next stop is City Hall. Intend to share suspicions with highest authority in town: Mayor McCheese.

Stupid. McCheese is in on conspiracy. McDonald once rescued him from man-eating serial killer and compulsive larcenist, the Hamburglar. McCheese obviously still owes McDonald a favor.

This city is grotesquely corrupt. Obese. Aiding and abedding known torturers of children. Their non-recycable behavior sickens me. Stomach in knots. Haven't felt this bad since time I ate that McBoo pail full of fries.

Prowl city. Hit the usual places where child-hungry pedophiles and freaks lurk: elementary schools, ice cream parlors, playgrounds, anime conventions. Patrol lasts all night, but eventually hit paydirt.

Strange creatures, like anthropomorphic pom-poms with googly eyes, run away at high speed with children strapped to backs. They're called the Frykids. Work for McDonald. Harvesting children. Big haul tonight. Enough to complete a new Grimace.

Can't let that happen.

Give chase. Frykids lead me to abandoned remains of Albert's Abattoir. Busted a child harvesting operation there on the 22nd of March. Place appears to be magnet for horrors in this city. Hurm.

Burst in through skylight. Frykids panic and escape through the windows. Let them go. Only after the big fish, tonight. Spot McDonald in back of empty room. Rusty meathook attached to length of chain in hand. Children cowering in corner. McDonald looks different. Darker. Knows LOLSCHACH is here. Doesn't even look in my direction while addressing me.

"They took my best friend from me. Then, they took him apart. I didn't sew him together well enough last time. Gonna use chains this time. Then they'll never take the Grimace apart again. And we can go back to the Hamburger Patch where we belong...forever...and ever..."

Clown is out of his mind. Pull out grappling hook. Aim for head. Prepare to fire.

Dark, caped man in large black Andalusian hat attacks me from behind. Drop grappling hook. Man has me in choke-hold. Chomps into ear with large buck-teeth. Whispers "Rubble Rubble!"

The Hamburglar? McDonald working with the Hamburglar? Insanity makes for strange bedfellows. Fought Hamburglar once before. He and partner in crime, Captain Crook, had taken a schoolbus full of McNugget Buddies hostage. Shot Birdie, the busdriver. Dreiberg and I managed to subdue the villains and put them behind bars.

Long time ago. Younger then. Let criminals live. Hamburglar had his chance. Now, he will be put down.

Slam head backward into Hamburglar's jaw, knocking out buck-teeth. Hamburglar stumbles backward, gripping bloody mouth. Grunts "Warghggle Warghggle!" repeatedly. Kick him in ribs. Hamburglar falls over on back. Assumes a position of surrender. Begs for mercy.

Hamburglar is way past his expiration date. Dispose of him like a feces-flavored McFlurry. McDonald is next.

Clown is fast worker. Children have already been doused in purple paint. McDonald is about make the first stitch. No time to think, only to act. See canisters of helium used previously for inflating balloons. Grab one canister and rush towards the clown. Knock him to the ground, knee at his chin. Cries of children pound at my ears. Think fast. Raw instinct.

Hose of cannister goes into his mouth. Hold lips tight with fists. McDonald's body inflates, eyes open wide in realization of impending oblivion, damnation. No time to prepare for the landfill of eternity. He spasms violently, like a fat child walking down the street. His body expands like a dirigible, sinews tearing and vessels popping. His last thoughts perhaps knowing what it feels like to be super-sized. He grimaces hideously.

Grimaces. How ironic.

Explosion. Blood and guts like ketchup and tomatoes and mayonaise splattered from a condiment-filled pinata of filth and depravity.

The children are scarred, but alive. Feel sorry for them. Just kids. Innocent. They begin to cry. Decide to cheer them up before taking them home. We go out for Happy Meals. Kids forget the horrors they witnessed and play with cheap plastic toys. Saunter around unhygenic playpen, defecating themselves as they go down slides, go down slides that their peers just defecated on.

Feels good.

April 11, 2009: Pac-Land

LOLSCHACH's Journal: April 11, 2009

Massive increase in ecstasy, acid and prescription drug abusers in neighborhood lately. More pills littering the streets than cigarette butts. Don't like this. Confront nearest pusher. Drag him to second floor of building. Hurl him out of window. Repeat. Seven times. Agrees to tell everything he knows after second toss. The extra five were for fun.

Pills coming from place called "Pac-Land". Subterranean world where pills grow like wheat and are harvested just the same. Mission is clear. Must erradicate Pac-Land.

Follow the pusher's directions. Head down sewer tunnels in total darkness until at last arriving in Pac-Land.



Unusual location. Never ending maze of glowing neon corridors leading no place in particular. Trail of pills dot the ground. How they got there is unknown. Fresh produce such as oranges and cherries float about the winding halls on own power. Relevance of this is uncertain.

Preceding discoveries still not strangest element of Pac-Land. No. Pac-Land appears to be haunted by formless, multicolored spectres. These ghosts roam the mazes aimlessly, taking no notice of LOLSCHACH, the pills, the fruit or anything else. Like psychadelic phantasms from an opium dream. Decide to name them: Blinky, Pinky, Inky and Clyde.


Blinky is favorite.

Mesmerizing tour of Pac-Land comes to screeching hault. A strange, colossal creature rounds the corner ahead of me. Beast is grotesque freak of nature, a tapestry of horror woven from the fevered nightmare's of a madman. Impossible to describe...

Mouth is large. Ravenous. This "Pac-Man" is greedily gobbling every pill it can find. Overdosing. Can tell by vacant, insane look in eyes.

Pac-Man spots me. Opens mouth obscenely wide, spewing froth in every direction. Emits blood-curdling shriek of "WAKU WAKU WAKU!" and charges in my direction.

Turn and run. Pac-Man is big and round and boasts an insatiable appetite. Reminds me of Dreiberg. Will need to use environment to subdue rampaging addict. Unfortunately, environment contains no useful resources. Just an endless trail of pills and fruit.

Suddenly, Blinky turns corner ahead of me and Pac-Man stops dead in tracks. Obviously afraid of ghosts. Tide of battle only turns my way for briefest of moments. Pac-Man runs to corner of maze and picks up large, glowing pill the size of soccer ball. Ingests it.

Do not understand what happens next. Look at self. Flashing blue and white. Feel weak. Feeble. Helpless. Pac-Man charges toward me. Chomps into Blinky with single bite, devouring him. No. Not Blinky. Was my favorite. Attempt to escape, but sudden onset of mysterious fatigue cripples me. Like a juggernaut, Pac-Man plows into me with mouth wide open, not stopping in the slightest. LOLSCHACH is eaten.

All goes black. Suddenly have out of body experience. Am drawn down corridors of maze by some unseen force. Look around, but do not see body. As if I am nothing but disembodied pair of eyeballs.

Heard story once. The blue-god man told it to me. Origin story. Was destroyed in intrinsic field experiment, spent months trying to pull self back together. First, circulatory system. Then eyes. Glowing blue penis next. Know now how that feels. Uncomfortable.

Eventually reach central chamber of maze. Instantly, LOLSCHACH is reconstituted. Eyeballs are returned to body. Took naked blue man months to reconstitute. LOLSCHACH does it in seconds. Amateur.

Hurm. Am I LOLSCHACH? The same LOLSCHACH? Or am I a copy? A clone? A remarkable facsimile, but not the original LOLSCHACH?

Dreiberg fat. Hate Veidt. Beans delicious. Blow-torching delinquents entertaining.

Yes. I am LOLSCHACH.

Leave Pac-Land. Avoid any further encounters with rampaging Pac-Man. Am certain Pac-Man is still within borders of Pac-Land, gorging self on pills. Good. Walk over to primary sewer valve and open it fully. Torrent of sewage rushes into entrance to Pac-Land. In a few hours, all of Pac-Land will be completely submerged in brown, disease-ridden water. Pac-Man will be no more. Pac-Pills will never threaten city again.

Alarming and troubling thought crosses mind.

Was Pac-Man a one of a kind monstrosity? Or could there be a...Ms. Pac-Man?

Question proceeds to keep LOLSCHACH up at night.

March 15, 1937: Arkham Massachusetts

From the Notebook of H. P. Lolschach: March 15, 1937

I am not an old man, though I feel as archaic and eon-worn as the eldest pyramid beneath the deepest sands. I have lived what some might term a peculiar life, partly by choice and partly by subconscious urges far beyond my means to control. For you see, my vocation has been that of a "paranormal investigator", as layman society would describe it. Through a combination of my own upper class priviledges and resources, encouraged by my ever-increasing morbid curiosities, I have traveled the length of this world, as well as others, and seen sights that would reduce even the staunchest skeptic to utter, blissful insanity.

I have been to the secret laboratories of Miskatonic University and looked into the eyes of the dead, re-animated to a festering existence caught somewhere between life and the beyond. I have even shaken hands with their creator and tormentor, the late Dr. Herbert West.

I have read the blasphemous grimoires and forbidden texts so often suppressed by fearful, civilized societies. I have peeked into the Necronomicon of the Mad Arab Abdhul Alhazred, digested spells and incantations from Ludwig Prinn's De Vermis Mysteriis, studied the Hyperborean Book of Eibon by candle light and spent many an hour engrossed in Francois-Honore Balfour's Cultes Des Goules.

I have traversed the misty, forboding streets of Innsmouth and observed the locals offering their blood sacrifices to the ghastly Deep Ones, who in turn serve the even ghastlier Dagon.

I have recovered the Church of Starry Wisdom's talisman, the Shining Trapezohedron from its resting place at the bottom of Narragansett Bay. And through it, I have peered into the sunken Cyclopean city of R'lyeh where ever slumbers mighty Cthulhu.

I have journeyed to the lost domain of the Elder Things, frozen for all time in the Antarctic wastelands. I have read of their history and escaped the invisible, hungry jaws of their mysterious Haunter.

In dreams I have befriended the cats of Ulthar, whom no man may kill. I have toured the glorious streets of honored Celephais and dined with King Kuranes. I have descended the spiral stairway within the Tower of Koth and come face to face with the man-eating Gugs which dwell within the Underworld.

I have done many, many things. And now, it seems, I shall do nothing more with my life than end it.

For I have spent a lifetime traversing the forbidden realms where man may never be invited, and in each instance I have narrowly escaped a fate most gruesome. Regrettably, one can only outrun his pursuers for so long and mine, at long last, have caught up with me.

I can hear it, now. A formless, nameless abomination, shambling down the cellar stairs and oozing greasily toward the poorly bolted door behind which I sit, scribbling my final thoughts.

As it draws nearer, I can feel it invade the sanctity of my mind and I can feel my own mind being drawn into it's. I can see through it's eyes, now. So many, many eyes. I can see colours. Indescribale colours far beyond the scope of the human spectrum. I can perceive dimensions incalculable through a plethora of senses no human brain could feign to fathom.

And with that last, somber revelation, I realize that I, myself, am no longer human. I am it. It is me. And if that is the case, then by ridding the world of myself, I should likely succeed in ridding the world of it, as well.

I must now exchange my pencil for the revolver in my coat pocket. Excuse me.

-----------------

LOLSCHACH's Journal: April 5, 2009

Mother often told stories of Great Granduncle, H. P. Lolschach. Idolized him in youth. Foolish.

Journals reveal Great Granduncle to be pathetic, simpering coward. Loses all composure at sight of shoggoth or perhaps mi-go. Takes easy way out. Hurm. Disgraceful.

Have spent better part of adult life surrounded by glowing blue penises, overweight men in animal costumes, slutty women with Elektra complexes, and possible homosexuals with Egyptian fetishes.

Great Granduncle had it easy.

April 1, 2009: Tomb of Chocula

LOLSCHACH's Journal: April 1, 2009

Have dispatched last of Count Chocula's minions. Used up all defenses intended for chocopire in previous battles. Going into showdown with Count unprepared. No choice. Will have to be resourceful.

Navigate crypts beneath Coco Castle. A maze of winding tunnels and corridors. Could take years to locate Chocula's tomb at current rate. Catch scent. Like packet of Swiss Miss. Faint due to musty air, but unmistakable. Recall epitaph on Tucan Sam's headstone: "Follow your nose". Poor Sam. Murdered by own trio of scheming nephews in effort to commit inheritence fraud. Solved Sam's murder. Brats got life. Sudden recollection of Sam's epitaph...like Sam attempting to give thanks from beyond grave. Hurm.

Lift face above nose and follow the faintly sweet odor of coco powder. Aroma grows stronger as I traverse crypt. Eventually becomes nauseatingly dense and perverted with stench of decay, like bathroom at Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory.

Finally arrive at entrance to Chocula's tomb. Carved in stone above great bronze double doors is ominous warning: "Blah! I vant to suck your chocolate! Blah!"

Very on the nose.

Burst through both doors with single massive shove. Chocula already knows I'm here. Might as well advertise it. Resting in middle of chamber is large cardboard cereal box. There is a prize inside this box. Not a whistle. Not a yo-yo. A chocolate-sucking undead tyrant.

Plan is simple. Will tear open box and punch sleeping Chocula in face. See where things go from there.

Don't even make it to box. Feel hot breath upon neck. Stink is tremendous, like Whitman's Sampler left out in sun, then stepped on, thrown in garbage, eaten by sufferer of halitosis, then puked into compost heap.

Very unpleasant.

Ironically, foul aroma proved savior. Alerted me to Count's presence in time to dodge before fangs could sink into jugular. Step several feet backward. Keep eyes on Count. He is floating just above ground. Grim smile on lips. Does not consider LOLSCHACH threat. Begins to speak.

"Blah! Velcome to Chocovania! I vill suck your chocolate! Blah!"

Constant use of "Blah!", very annoying. No time to be annoyed. Chocula already diving toward me. Roll to side and avoid pounce. Exit tomb at high speed and sprint down crypt. Don't have to look back. Know Chocula is following. Will have to think of something.

Too late.

Chocula is upon me. Clutches throat. Hoists me into air. We are hovering above rubble covering remains of Franken Berry. Chocula smiles and with a "Blah!", floats up into massive hole made by Franken Berry, still gripping me by throat.

We float up several levels, eventually surfacing in dark meadow just beyond Coco Castle. Tunnels of crypt reached out further than realized. Chocula slams me into ground. Toying with me. Won't stop saying "Blah!" Still do not have plan. Begin to wonder what having all chocolate sucked from body through neck might feel like.

No. That is defeatist thinking. Must improvise. Take inventory of resources: Dirt. Grass. Oxygen. Pebbles. Cow? Lone cow. Must have been separated from herd.

That's it.

Race toward bovine with chocopire a hair's width behind me. Tackle cow with last remaining strength. Cow spits out cudd in surprise and lets out tremendous "Moo!" Tips over.

Chocula laughs. Thinks I have lost mind. Reach for cow's utters. Unpleasant appendage to touch. Too much like breasts. Too sexual. Feel dirty. Squeeze teets. Feel dirtier. Ugh.

Raw, unpasturized, unhomogenized milk squirts from utters directly into face of Count Chocula. Milk: the holy water of the chocopire.

The Count let's out an ear-splitting "Blaaaaaaaaaah!" Screams like little girl with skinned knee. Amusing. Continue milking cow, ensuring every drop strikes the already smoking and dissolving Count.

Chocula is done for. Will never forget final look on face before he explodes in a cloud of hellfire and hot chocolate mix.

As arranged, Dreiberg arrives with Archie at eight o'clock to pick me up. Asks me how it went. Reply with "Hurm" and tell him he's getting fatter. Dreiberg drops me off a block from apartment.

With Count Chocula destroyed once and for all, perhaps the world of cereal mascots will return to state resembling peace.

As this thought crosses mind, am approached by short, red haired Irish man dressed in green. Possible leprechaun. The man, named Lucky, is in terrible shape. As if having been pursued by tireless foes across an untold distance for many days and sleepless nights. Lucky is on verge of collapse. Screams to me, "Faith n Begorrah, sir! You got to be helpin' me! They're after me lucky charms! They're always after me lucky charms!"

Leprechaun breaks down into sobs. Just then, spot a pair of juvenile delinquents rounding corner. Trying to steal poor slob's golden pot of marshmallows.

Not on LOLSCHACH's watch.

Crack knuckles, approach delinquents and prepare to balance their breakfasts. With fists.

March 31, 2009: Crypts of Coco Castle

LOLSCHACH's Journal: March 31, 2009

Battle with Fruit Brute and Yummy Mummy has left me depleted of energy. Battered. Bruised. But not beaten.

Not yet, anyway.

But defeat is assured unless wounds can be healed before facing next wave of Count Chocula's minions, much less Chocula-himself.

Frustrated. Angry. In moment of rage, punch stone wall. Stone block crumbles upon impact, revealing secret compartment containing roast chicken. Devour chicken. Full health is restored.

This is logically sound.

Now ready to face any horror Count Chocula can throw at me. Eventually find steps winding downward into crypts of Coco Castle. No doubt the resting place of Count Chocula. Descend down spiralling staircase.

Eventually reach crypts. Walls are dripping with stagnant, swampy water. The slimey walls are adorned with skeletons, still bearing their shackles. A menagerie of horror, as far as the eye can see.

Feel something.

A faint, ominous chill running up spine. Arms become rigid with goose flesh. Hairs on back of neck raise like entranced cobras. There is a presence haunting these corridors. Cannot be seen, but can be felt just the same. The torches lining the hall slowly dim. A thick, blue mist reeking of untold centuries of death and decay oozes from cracks and nitches in walls.

From out of the shroud, a shape begins to form. A vague, spectral shape only faintly implying the form of a man. The phantom is adorned with accessories from life long past. A vaudeville hat and bowtie. Heard of him. Was once famous stage performer from turn of century. Comedian. Times changed. He didn't. Years passed. No longer considered funny. Audience stopped laughing. Then, they stopped coming. Desperate. Depressed. Hung self on stage. Final performance.

Boo Berry.

The luminous blue spectre floats toward me. Through me. Blood runs cold. Heart stops for an instant. Experience a pain beyond description. Can feel actual years draining from own lifespan. Drop to one knee. Another attack like that could kill me. Will kill me.

Look back. Boo Berry watches me with dull, tragic look in eyes. Were I anyone else, might pity his pathetic existence. But I am LOLSCHACH. Boo Berry gets no such quarter.

Stumble onto both feet and reel in his direction. Drive fist inbetween sad dopey eyes. Knuckles pass right through him. Like fighting puff of smoke. Can feel blood in fist turn to ice. Yank arm back and move a few steps away. Fingernails fell off.

Cannot defeat ghost by punching it or setting it on fire. And that's all I'm good at. Hurm.

Boo Berry hovers toward me. One more pass and I will become like him, only with a better hat. Cannot fight non-corporeal entity. Must try alternative. Speak to it in language vaudeville comedian would understand.

"Heard joke once. Man goes to see doctor. Says, 'Doctor, I need help. I broke my funny bone.' Doctor laughs. Says, 'But sir, there's not such thing as a funny bone.' Man insists that funny bone is broken. Demands x-rays. Doctor concedes and performs x-rays. Man waits in office. Doctor observes x-rays and returns. Man says, 'So is my funny bone broken?' Doctor says, 'No, but you do have AIDs'."

...No. Not right.

Doctor says, "No, but you have...Cancer?"

Damn. Forgot punchline. Good joke, though. Hurm.

Look around. Boo Berry gone. Nothing comedians hate more than bad jokes. Mist disipates and I can see down hall.

Wish I couldn't. Spot large, pink creature lumbering in my direction. The floor quakes with his every step. Creature is manmade afront to nature. Ghoulish patchwork of human body parts and steam-powered machinery. Offensive to the eye. Heard of it. Created by Count Chocula-himself as personal bodyguard. Assembled from history's greatest monsters. Talons of the Beast of Gevaudan. Fangs of the Chupacabra. Stomach of Jeffrey Dahmer. Blood-soaked skin of Lady Bathory. Legs of Walt Disney. All powered by coal furnice installed in back of skull.

Franken Berry.

With single swipe from massive, boulder-sized fist, the entire castle shivers. Large stones dislodge from ceiling and threaten to crush me. Move as fast as I can, but encounter with Boo Berry has left me weak.

Suddenly, Franken Berry stops and inhales a deep, menacing breath. Must have lungs of Superman. Whistle on right side of skull begins to sound. Something is coming.

The coal furnice ignites and an onslaught of flame spews forth from the patchwork creature's mouth. Dive to ground, narrowly avoiding incineration. Can feel back of jacket singe.

Stand back up. Franken Berry inhales for another round. Reach into pocket for marshmallows. Had intended to use these on Count Chocula, but left with no alternative. Hurl marshmallows at Franken Berry. Heat from previous fire blast melts marshmallows instantly upon impact with face. Gooey mass oozes over eyes.

Franken Berry stumbles back, loses focus and releases burst of flame directly overhead. Roof comes tumbling down on top of him, burying him beneath ton after ton of stone.

Crawl over pile of rubble and make way down hall. Should be last of the Count's minions. Nothing now between Chocula and me.

But first, must find another roast chicken.

TO BE CONCLUDED...

March 30, 2009: Chocovania

LOLSCHACH's Journal: March 30, 2009

Follow-up on General Mills case.

Got lift from Dreiberg to the darkest regions of fabled Chocovania. Dreiberg initially resistent. Sang different tune at sound of "chocolate". Hurm. Why is it that the largest men have the smallest amount of willpower?

Dropped me off at front gates of Coco Castle.

Coco Castle. The twisted resting place of the undead menace superstitious villagers call Count Chocula. Have come prepared. Brought chocopire hunting kit. Kit filled with holy water, garlic, wooden stakes, communion wafers, silver crucifixes and-

Damn. Grabbed vampire hunting kit by mistake. These weapons are useless against a chocopire.

Luckily, brought emergency reserves. Marshmallows and graham crackers in coat pockets. Dreiberg ate most of them, but managed to retain a handful.

With inventory checked, I move toward the castle's entrance; a great toothy maw, like that of a howling wolf. As I tread over the rotten planks of the lowered drawbridge, can hear the squirming and squishing sounds of unspeakable creatures oozing from the moat below. Can glimpse slimey, green tentacles stretching out from the pitch darkness. Like something from Japanese cartoon, except no elementary school girls to be deflowered.

Take first steps into Coco Castle. With speed most unexpected, drawbridge rises behind me, sealing me inside. Hear faint laughter echoing from the bowels of the dank fortress. Chocula was expecting me.

Adversary wastes no time in dispatching minions to deal with me. Two figures, abominations unto nature, shamble forth from the corridoors ahead of me.

One is a dusty, ancient corpse wrapped in bright, multi-colored bandages. Was once the consort of a great Pharoah, until fell from his liege's favor and was mummified alive. Now a moaning, hobbling creature of darkness forced to bend to the whims of a new master.

Yummy Mummy.



The second of Chocula's henchmen is more intimidating than the last. A hulking beast with slavering jaws lined with teeth like rusty nails. Coated in dark fur matted with blood and filth. Clad in colorful overalls which leave little to the imagination. Stories say he was once a guard dog named Chip, who guarded a cookie depository from burglars. Went rabid. Mauled the employees to death. Was put down. Came back from the grave as a lumbering canine monstrosity whose hunger for cookies eclipsed only by hunger for human flesh.

Fruit Brute.


Came to castle prepared only for battle with chocopire. Had not anticipated doing battle with such colorful, fruity foes. Stupid.

Being the quicker of the two, Fruit Brute makes first move. Lunges at me, leaving trail of slobber glistening in the moonlight. Too fast. Fruit Brute seizes me by the neck and with one arm, drives me straight through rotten planks of raised drawbridge. Gasping for air now. Glance beneath dangling feet. Pit of unspeakable, writhing creatures directly below me.

Perfect.

Reach toward LOLSCHACH-shaped hole in drawbridge and snap off chunk of splintered wood. With single motion, drive jagged shiv directly into Fruit Brute's left eye. Behemoth releases my neck. Tumble toward pit. Grab onto bottom of hole in drawbridge. Fruit Brute still yelping in pain. Reach up and grab the wolf by his overall strap. Fruit Brute already off balance. One good tug sends him reeling over the edge and into the moat of tentacled nightmares below.

Climb over sharp, splintering hole and back into castle. No time for rest. Yummy Mummy already waiting for me. Pink-clad Egyptian zombie grabs me by coat collar and, effortlessly, hurls me from the floor to a height of twenty feet. Can feel myself slam against a large chandelier and, in less than a second, slam even harder against the solid, unforgiving stone floor.

Dazed. In pain. Room spinning. Yummy Mummy is slow, but in current condition, might as well be faster than a speeding bullet.

The shambler is already upon me. Stumble back, narrowly avoiding another swipe of his dusty, bandaged mit. Tumble backward and into wall. Nowhere to go. Slowly but surely, Yummy Mummy closes gap between us. Distracted by sharp pain in back. Hit that chandalier hard.

Of course.

Look to the left. Nothing. Look to the right. There. Tied to a hook: the rope holding the chandalier above ground. Yummy Mummy is unaware of clever plan. Brain pulled out through nose centuries ago. Fumble with knot of rope. Head swimming. Hard to think straight. Yummy Mummy draws closer.

Got it.

The chandalier drops like a meteorite. Yummy Mummy practically evaporates beneath its crushing weight. Reduced to cloud of dust and tattered bandages.

Lean against wall. Catch breath. Can hardly stand. Sound like bellowing laughter echos from deep within the crypts of the castle.

Job not finished. Must send Count Chocula back to Hell.

Break time over. Time to journey into the labryinthine depths of Coco Castle.


TO BE CONTINUED...

March 30, 2009: General Mills Massacre

LOLSCHACH's Journal: March 30, 2009

Been following General Vladimir Mills for past week.



War criminal. Occult enthusiast. Known practitioner of the forbidden arts. Possible homosexual.

As always, I investigate further.

General Mills is up to something. Something sinister and beyond the ken of mortal men. Mills is playing with forces he cannot possibly comprehend. This will only end one way for him. Messy. Bloody. Lots of cavities.

Track Mills to abandoned cookie depository. Place left to rot after guard dog, Chip, went insane and mauled employees to death, thinking they were burglars.

Arrive too late. Place is quiet as the grave. Apt description. General Mills is dead. Archaic symbols hand-drawn in chalk all over floor indicate he attempted to summon something dark and unholy. Meddling with forces no human could ever fathom, much less control.

Mills is lying stomach down in the dust, dirt and decay. Roll corpse over. Cadaver is pale as a sheet and withered like ten thousand year-old mummy. Eyes sunken in and shrivled like raisens. Locate two small punctures on neck, near jugular. Cause of death is clear.

This man has been sucked of all his chocolate.

There is only one culprit capable of such a blood-curdling grotesquery and it isn't the Silly Rabbit. He's been locked up in rehab since '92.

No. It could only be the work of...


...Count Chocula.

Legend has it he was killed two hundred years ago by a baker named Wendell, taking vengeance for the murder of his two closest friends.

Seems the legends fell short of reality. Count Chocula survived. Or perhaps General Mills, in his folley, resurrected the scourge of the Carpathians.

Doesn't matter. LOLSCHACH's mission is clear. Will put Chocula back in the grave...by any means necessary.

Head to Dreiberg's. Will need Archie to take me to the darkest regions of Chocovania, where lies the ruined fortress of darkness known only as Coco Castle.

Time is of the essence.

TO BE CONTINUED...