The Murdertrains-a-comin!

Swing Low, Sweet Chariot

Too tired to even comment first, I leave this to my peers.

Joey: This digital image reminds me of a screen capture I took using VLC player of a nightmare I experienced after eating 2 pounds of expired corned beef purchased at a Kroger in Doylestown.  I imagine his Match.com account has him listed as an engineer, or some other profession that does not involve a conductor’s hat with red bandana.  Watching him shovel coal into a nonexistent engine that actually doubles as a storage container for janitorial supplies is always a laugh.  Wouldn’t it be fun to see his expression as he comes around corner 6 and sees me tied to the tracks? HAHA, he might even for a moment think that its gonna take a lot more than 200 feet to slow his engine to a stop “cause all that cow manure and live stock I’m carryin’ ain’t a light load!” Front page of the Phillips Times shows a derailed ¼ scale clown train with zero casualties and one borderline personality conductor who still believes he’s in "Viet Nam" as I, still tied to the tracks, soil myself with excitement. Alright, just got the call, my permit for a nightmare powered Rail Gun is ready to be picked up at the city. Who is fucking with my medicine!!

Every lap on that train drives him closer to his goal of becoming a god.  You see, Bill and the pumpkin patch have a long and strange past together.  It wasn't always this way for Bill, he once frolicked with the gods, spilling mead all over his laurels of fresh oregano.  It was when he started using that bedazzler that Zeus struck him down and sharted himself, creating the Orange County pumpkin patch.  Forced now to work slave labor of driving some bullshit train and making up rediculous lies about inanimate objects that they pass by, including the "Marco Polo" tree.  This was when I decided this guy was an asshole.  First of all, this tree was just a bigass old tree, but everyone on the train believed him when he said "it's called the Marco Polo tree because its been around that long."  Just because you used to live on mount Olympus doesn't mean you're a birds-eye view carbon-dater.  You'd have to cut the tree down to find out how old it is, Bill.  It's like him saying that John Henry himself ate enough Po-boys to be able to drive every rail into the very tracks we ride on before the steam engine ran him over - and he saw with his own eyes as the Havok rag-dog physics engine gracefully knocked his body in the air.  Garbage.  To further my postulate that he is an asshole, we drive by some stone wall, which obviously was made only about 30 years before, and I quote "this is all that remains from the old Orange County park".  Well Bill, I'm pretty sure they're a lot of trees, grass, ponds, and most likely land that would like to argue that one.  Gaea herself almost got out of the pedicure chair to slap you in your fupa for that one.  All the Backwoods handrolled cigars in the world can't refute the fact that you're a pumpin-patch driver.  Unfortunately all the Good-and-Plenties in the world can't stop the pumpkins from laughing at you and taunting you.  We'll just sit back and watch it all happen, gnoshing on some bugles that were sold at the bullshit store, along with some apple cider.  Why the fuck does everyone want to drink apple cider at a pumpkin patch.