GGGHOSTS!

GGGGHOSTS!!!!

I can see ghosts! Did you know that? Yes, I can see them, but there's only one problem. They all need my help.

This is Gladys. She died over 20 years ago, and she needs my help setting a few things right before she can move on. Basically it has to do with an argument over actor Raul Julia. She and her sister Marie were having lunch in 1987 at a now closed Greek restaurant called "Dino's pizza Parthenon and salad bar." Gladys was having the stuffed grape leaves and her sister was having a side salad with dressing on the side. Marie and Gladys were having a heated debate about the 1986 Oscars or the 58th Annual Academy Awards. At first, they were both in agreement that a lovely film like Out of Africa should  have never been up against a film like Kiss of the Spider Woman (a film they had not seen of course, but they had heard from a friend that it was pure smut). However, the conversation turned hostile when they began to disagree on the name of the "hispanic gentleman" that had been in the film. Marie was sure that it was Andy Garcia, and Gladys was sure that it was Anthony Quinn. Well, Marie was sure that she had caught Gladys in a mistake because as everyone knows, Anthony Quinn was Greek. Gladys disagreed and an argument ensued until they were forced to ask the waitstaff of Dino's whether or not Anthony Quinn was Greek. Well, the busboy (a Portuguese man) and the waiter (Scotch Irish) both came down on opposite sides of the Anthony Quinn debate.  They even involved the owner of Dinos who turned out to be Lebanese and had simply named the restaurant due to his love of Greek mythology. In the end no one could be sure of what nationality Anthony Quinn was, although everyone agreed that Andy Garcia was Cuban. Two days later Gladys choked on a peach pit and since then she has been trying to get word from the other side to her sister Marie that she was right as Anthony Quinn was born in Mexico. She is however willing to admit that they were both wrong in a way because it was in fact Raul Julia who was in Kiss of the Spider Woman. He was born in Puerto Rico.

 

     This is Renee Chapman (on the left). Her friends called her "Renee Chapstick". Renee died tragically in a horrible fire. In 1998 she was babysitting and had decided to reward the children with homemade smores. Well the children were so excited that they neglected to remember that they did not have a fireplace and therefore could not melt marshmallows properly. However, they had their hearts set on smores, and Renee was reluctant to disappoint them as she had been the one to suggest smores in the first place. Eventually Renee realized that she could probably melt the marshmallows on a gas stove top. The children were delighted, until they realized that they in fact did not have a gas stove, but an electric stove top. Well, by then the smores frenzy had reached a fever pitch, and Renee was hellbent on providing the children with the promised treat. Eventually, Renee decided to place the entire smore in the microwave. Although the graham crackers became soggy, on the whole the smores were melted enough to every one's liking and the children went to bed happily. As the children slept, Renee cleaned up the mess that making smores in the microwave had created. She realized that in their haste to check the stove for it's melting abilities, they had  also left the oven on and a small piece of last night's dinner that had fallen through the bottom racks and into the bottom of the oven was now smoking.  Panicked, Renee turned off the oven, and attempted to retrieve the smoldering piece of food. She reached deep into the oven and grasped frantically at the burned piece of food. Eventually, she was able to retrieve it with the help of plastic salad tongs. Unfortunately, the plastic tongs were unable to withstand the heat and they began melting. As she pulled the stray piece of charred food free, the plastic dripped from the tongs onto and onto her poly blend top causing it to singe. Well Renee, trained in fire safety, quickly placed the tongs in the sink and dabbed her shirt with cold water. She then proceeded to drink a root beer and fall asleep on the couch to an episode of the X-Files. Unfortunately, Renee had taken up smoking the previous week and she fell asleep with a lit cigarette in her mouth and half a root beer leaving a water stain on the coffee table. The whole house caught fire killing Renee and the two small children she had been hired to watch. Now she roams the netherworld lamenting her fate. When she came to me to pass a message along to the living, I agreed hoping that it might give her family or the family of those poor children peace. Renee's only message however, was to her friend Arthur (seen on the right). It seems that Arthur is the friend who came up with the nickname "Renee Chapstick".  Renee wants Arthur to know that she has always hated the name, and that she thinks he's a dick.

Roberta Simmons has roamed the netherworld for many years. She can be found on the staircase of her mansion waiting for a passerby to whisper her ghostly tale in his or her ear. Hers is a story of desire, unfinished business and a death that came all to abruptly. Roberta died on that very staircase in what the police called "suspicious circumstances". She was very wealthy, and after her death a series of relatives and possible charlatans came out of the woodwork to claim her inheritance. I met with her at the stroke of midnight on the top of the stairs to hear her story and perhaps fulfill any last wishes that she may have regarding the placement of her wealth. Although I was able to communicate with Roberta from the spirit world, she would only speak to me about one subject. Roberta it seems was a fan of her local coffee and sandwich shop "Bagels on Broadway". She had a passion for poppy seed bagels and a large espresso. She was such a fan, that she had agreed to be part of the shop's promotional "coffee card club". Basically, the rules were simple. All Roberta had to do was purchase nine espressos (or bagel sandwiches) each time getting her card stamped. After the ninth stamp, her following trip to the coffee shop would be free. Roberta was not impressed at first by the promotion, but after realizing that she had made it to seven stamps, she began to relish the idea of a free tenth trip. Unfortunately, she was pushed down the stairs by her sister Maureen (Maureen has since fled to the Cayman Islands), and she was unable to get the last two stamps necessary for her tenth free cup. Her only request is that I find the coffee card, purchase two more cups of espresso, and acquire the remaining stamps necessary for the free tenth cup. Then, I am to take the free tenth cup of espresso and place it on her grave in a final act of triumph. Because the price of the two previous cups of coffee would come out of my pocket, I have not fulfilled Roberta's final wish. In an act of revenge, she has promised to haunt me for the rest of my days. I agreed and even suggested that for every nine hauntings, I would allow her to haunt me and a friend or family member of her choosing on the tenth day. She agreed, and was quickly disappointed to learn on day seven that I was an orphan who sees ghosts, and as such has no real friends.

The Saga of the Hamburglar

The Hamburglar home
The Hamburglar lives in a modest split level home in Hamburg County Pennsylvania. He spends about 6 months out of the year there maintaining the home and a small vegetable garden. It's his mother's house, but she lives in an Assisted Living Facility called "Cranberry Horizons" in Dillsburg Pennsylvania. She's been there for about 3 years after she suffered a broken hip and shattered knee cap in a ketchup packet accident that the Hamburglar has never really forgiven himself for.  

The problem with his neighbors
 The Hamburglar (seen here anticipating a hug) is not well liked by his neighbors. It all started one New Years eve at a neighborhood party when he accidentally walked in on Mr. Radditch's 16 year old daughter Christine using the bathroom. Unfortunately for the Hamburglar, she told the rest of the party goers that he was "a burger pervert" and he was asked to leave the party. The Hamburglar had several eggnogs under his belt, and he did not take the request well. He threw bread and butter pickle slices at the guests and ran crying into the snow. He was never invited to another neighborhood party again. The Hamburglar tried to retaliate against these snubs by throwing his own holiday parties, but he quickly gave up after spending a very sad Memorial Day with Grimace that ended in a drunken fistfight in front of the local VFW. Also he ran over his neighbor's Yorkshire Terrier Sandy when she was lured into his yard by the smell of burger meat and onions. Claiming that he did not see her amongst all the wrappers, he backed over her in his late model Ford Tahoe. 

The Mayor McCheese incident
Mayor McCheese (seen here congratulating Ernie Higgins, winner of the annual "Mayor McCheese for a day - you'll flip for local government" initiative - a failed program that attempted to reach out to at risk youth through cheese and citizenship) had a major falling out with the Hamburglar in 1997. It all started when they agreed to split the cost of a time share vacation package in Key West, Florida. When they arrived at the house, they found that one bedroom faced the water, and one bedroom unfortunately faced the neighboring house and their recycling bins. They could already see a growing flock of seagulls picking through the bins and both men quickly scrambled to secure the ocean side bedroom. Mayor McCheese attempted reverse psychology by claiming that the he was happy to stay in the back bedroom, as the ocean side bedroom was bound to reek of fish each morning. The Hamburglar called his bluff and agreed to take the ocean side bedroom if it made Mayor McCheese feel "more comfortable". Mayor McCheese then attempted to pull the sympathy card by claiming that "maybe on second thought, the sea air might be beneficial to his asthma" (he then coughed weakly to accentuate his point). The Hamburglar having never heard of Mayor McCheese's "condition" prior to their arrival in Florida demanded to see medical proof of his asthma. Mayor McCheese knew he was caught in a lie and he switched gears by suggesting that they take turns sleeping in the ocean side bedroom. Tuesday through Friday he would take the ocean side room, and the Hamburglar could have it during the weekend. The Hamburglar, realizing that this compromise would lead to him having less days in the room, lashed out and called Mayor McCheese "a serious dickhead" and claimed that he had never voted for him in the first place. Mayor McCheese retaliated by calling the Hamburglar "a second rate degenerate meat thief". They fought for another hour until finally they both agreed that no one would get the ocean side bedroom and they would both sleep on the pullout couch in the den. The solution appeared to work until the following Tuesday night when Mayor McCheese awoke at 2am to find the Hamburglar trying to steal his head. They both packed their bags, took separate vehicles home, and never spoke again.

Soup Times!

It's soup weather...

Cream of Chicken Soup
Everyone loves cream of chicken soup, it's a fall favorite. Of course it is important to remember that cream of chicken is actually a misnomer, because as we all know to make authentic cream of chicken soup you need 2 pounds of freshly ground seagull. "What if I only have frozen seagull", you ask? Well frozen seagull, which can be easily found in the frozen foods section of your local grocery store, may be used as an acceptable substitute.  However, for a full bodied taste and a richer soup, I highly recommend procuring your own seagull and seagull grinder.  Now the first step in obtaining your seagull is to head to the beach. If you don't live by the water, try the parking lot at Kohl's, or a discount home improvement store. Seagulls are notoriously hard to catch. They're distrustful of others even their own kind, they are born thieves, and they're cruelty is unmatched. They've been know to steal a man's wallet, wait an hour, return the wallet with it's full monetary contents and credit cards, however they've flung any pictures of his children far out into the sea. The only surefire and easy way to catch a seagull is to soothe them by reading passages from Charles Dickens "Oliver Twist" aloud until they get close enough for you to throw a pillowcase or a plastic bag over their head.
*Chef's tip- try reading from the middle of "Oliver Twist". Seagulls really respond to the rampant thievery, domestic violence, and child endangerment portion of this classic Dickens tale.
After that it's quite easy to pluck, and grind your seagull. Don't forget to salt and pepper to taste, and then slowly add to your vegetable broth. Add generous helpings of fresh cream and lasagna noodles, and you've got yourself a great rainy day soup. Serve with a maritime place mat.
*Chef's tip- leave in the seagull beaks when grinding, I think you'll agree the flavor can't be matched.

Luna Bar Bisque- a soup for women
I can't tell you how much I enjoy a bowl of luna bar bisque. It's simple to make and it's a natural diuretic. The recipe is very easy, all you need is 24 luna bars, 3 bottles of any low calorie sports drink, and some tarragon. Blend until smooth and garnish with some shaved white chocolate. It's important to remember that this a summer soup, so always serve chilled with some watermelon slices.
*Chef's tip- please don't replace ingredients in this soup. Cliff bars will not be an appropriate replacement for luna bars, if you replace cliff bars for luna bars, that's cliff chowder, which is an altogether muskier and less inspirational soup that cannot, I repeat cannot be used to celebrate the new moon.

Pineapple Surprise Soup
Ok, so I'm late, really really late. I don't know how this could have happened I'm always so careful. Well not always, there was that time a couple weeks ago. Oh shit, what was I thinking? What was his name again, Tom? Dom? What the hell kind of name is Dom. Oh god, I didn't sleep with a guy named Dom did I? God like Dom DeLuise, that can't be good. Great now I can't get the image of a sweaty, naked Dom DeLuise out of my mind. This is terrible, this is all my fault. I have to stop going to parties where they serve sangria. That's the problem, god you think it's harmless like fruit punch or something, and then 5 drinks later you're naked with a man possibly named after Dom DeLuise. Any drink with that much fruit floating around in it shouldn't have consequences. But see that's my problem, the fruit. This is just like the raspberry vodka incident all over again. God what was his name, Troy? Lloyd.? Like Lloyd Bridges, oh that's gross. Why do I do this, why do I think of the grossest possible version of the guy I might have slept with. It's because I don't have any confidence, that's what it is. I've never had any self confidence. I suppose if I did I wouldn't be writing free lance soup recipes. God my life is bleak. John! John, that was name. John, not Dom. Ok, that's a little better. John, like John Goodman. Oh god, naked John Goodman. I have to stop doing this. Oh- the surprise in pineapple surprise soup is cilantro.
*Chef's tip- ease up on the sangria.

Aliens or Starbabies from another galaxy, and Dan Aykroyd.

 Starbabies!

Everyone knows that aliens exist. All you have to do is just look up into the nighttime sky (not during the day or you will hurt your eyes, unless you have sunglasses in which case I guess you can, that's kind of a gray area I guess- look I'm not an opthamologist) and you will see proof that aliens exist.  The stars are only there as a road map for them to come visit us whenever they like! It's all preplanned, all of it. Our very existence was already thought out and approved by alien beings. That time you had diarrhea in the car in 6th grade on the way back from that Chinese buffet place that you can't remember the name of- that's right it was all part of the alien's plan for our race, so stop being secretly upset about it every time you see an egg roll. Aliens! No one knows more about aliens than Dan Aykroyd. It's true! I know he looks like a potato latke, and he wears sweater vests, and he sells bbq sauce out by the Chicago convention center (he had all of his blood replaced with bbq sauce in 1997), but he also knows the secrets of the universe. That movie Coneheads was actually a serious detailed account of an alien family that had infiltrated our universe, and Ghostbusters is a really dark cautionary tale about the occult. Why should you know less than Dan Aykroyd? Shouldn't you too know the secrets of the universe? Don't be like Jane Curtain, believe in these secrets.

Secret # 1
Aliens built the pyramids. Yeah it's true.  There was a time when Aliens were really into triangles, it was their thing.  One of them put on a v-neck sweater, and it caught on from there. It spread like wildfire. So, at the height of their triangle phase, they came to Earth and decided to tell us all about it. Well we weren't that impressed, we were really into cats at the time and fishing with reeds. Well, when the aliens saw that we weren't impressed by triangle mania, they decided to place a bunch of huge triangles around in the hopes that it would really take off. It didn't, we put dead people in them, and started worshiping birds.
Aliens- 0, humans - 1. 

Secret # 2
All aliens look like this.  Look, I know it's common for us to envision aliens in all sorts of crazy get ups. You know, they have tentacles, or scales, or their exoskeleton is covered in a fine layer of Vaseline. Nope, sorry aliens only look like this. They all look like Ralph Fiennes without the lights on. They have thin lips and amazing cheekbones. They take a lot of pride in their looks, which is why they are insufferable to be around. Any time spent with them usually devolves into a one way conversation about their exfoliation techniques. They're dicks, but they're dicks with amazing skin.
Aliens- 1, humans -0.

Secret # 3
Aliens are really easy to capture. If the triangle thing didn't tip you off, aliens aren't that great at reading humans. They have a lot of convoluted ideas about how we're gentle savages and we just need to be taught some basic interstellar manners and then we will be able to handle the rest of the universe. With that in mind, when they do encounter us, they tend to get too close, or hold out their hands to us like they're feeding a pony a sugar cube. It doesn't work, we almost always lash out and attack, and that poor alien who just wanted to get a good picture with a human winds up in a lab deep within the bowels of the painted desert. Once they're in the lab, it's vivisection time. We will slice up any alien we find. We don't even need to at this point, we figured out the secrets of those cheekbones years ago, but we do it because we're dicks too.
Aliens- 0, humans -1.

Selected Interviews

Indian Summer

Pearl Langly

In our Continuing series "Hey Old Timer", we at KPPL asked local seniors to share their stories.  Today we asked octogenarian Pearl Langly to share her story about that rare occurrence when the summer extends far into the fall.  It's a beautiful weather anomaly called Indian Summer.  We asked Pearl about her most memorable Indian Summer

Pearl Langly- "My most memorable Indian Summer.  Well let me just say that I don't care for Indian Summers as a rule. I'm a fall fanatic. I love the foliage, I love the weather, and I love hot apple cider.  So it would seem that I might not find Indian Summers particularly memorable, or at the very least I would find my memories of them to be unpleasant. Truth be told my favorite summer was the year that it rained for most of August and the temperatures never went above 60 degrees. Oh that was phenomenal.  I know what you're thinking, that sounds like the perfect recipe for cabin fever, well I suppose it would have been had I not began a correspondence with a nice young boy in Romania that July.  He was a wonderful pen pal, although he died 2 years later in a tragic thresher accident on his family's farm.  Despite the fact that his death did tinge those letters with a terrible sense of melancholy, it was a beneficial experience none the less to make a new friend. Now, as for Indian Summers I do have a memorable one.  When I was 16 years old, I gained employment as a camp counselor at Camp Crystal Lake. It was a lovely old camp along the lake, it's been closed for decades now, but when it was open it was a wonderful place to spend your summers. Now, I was in charge of the 4 to 5 year olds and our group was called the Snails.  You see each group of children was housed together and given an animal name.  Now on this particular day my little Snails had just settled down for their 3p.m. nap.  At the time I was dating a handsome Italian boy name Albert Stenetti. Albert was the archery assistant at the camp, which is surprising as you would not expect Italians to have a predilection for archery.  He assured me that his mother, who was Scotch- Irish had instilled his love of the bow and arrow.  This makes sense given that Robin Hood was supposedly of the same origin and he was a fabulous archer. Anyway, on that day, I decided to sneak out and meet Albert in the art supply room of our Craft Cabin and canoodle.  We were necking when suddenly we heard a terrible scream. Well we straightened our clothes and hair and we ran to see what all the commotion was.  Albert ran ahead as I stopped to check on my Snails.  Well as you can imagine they were woken by the scream and they were quite upset.  I had to calm them down with chocolate milk from the mess hall, as I believe chocolate milk calms all children down.  However, the sugar in chocolate milk also stirs them up so it's really a double edged sword.  Anyway, once the Snails were calm, I ran ahead to our main meeting hall called the Eagle's Den to see what all the fuss was about.  Well, when I got there I found Debby Glickman who was in charge of the Buffaloes, ages 6-7. Well she had just returned from their 2:30 p.m. nature hike when they arrived at the lake just in time to see the Voorhees boy, a Woodchuck ages11- 12, sink to the bottom of the lake like a stone.  Poor Debby was so upset, she was such a lovely girl, unlike her sister Maureen who I personally didn't care for as I found her to be a bit snotty. Coincidentally Maureen was the leader of the Woodchucks, and we all went searching for Maureen and the Woodchucks to tell her about the Voorhees boy.  Well we found Maureen out behind the Timber Teepee, or the woodworking shed, with a boy who's name I can't quite remember.  Well once Maureen realized what had happened, she was broken up.  Maureen then told us that as it was an overcast day, and she had left the Woodchucks alone in their cabin with a small transistor radio and a stack of comic books.  Poor Maureen thought that would be more than enough to keep those boys busy, but the Voorhees boy snuck out and made a b-line right for the lake.  Well, as I said I didn't like Maureen, but you couldn't help but feel bad for her after all she only snuck out for a minute, and everyone knew that the Voorhees boy was a terrible swimmer and the lake was the last place any of us would've expected him to go.  Well, just as we were about to fish the poor boy out, Mrs. Voorhees, who happened to work in the mess hall, came running around the corner to see what had happened.  Well, once she learned that her son had drowned, she was very upset.  She screamed and cried, and finally we had to take her to the Medicine Hut to giver her an aspirin and a cold compress for her head.  Well, that didn't work in the slightest and she demanded to see Maureen and hear the full story.  Once she heard about all of the canoodling she was even more upset.  She called Maureen all sorts of names I won't repeat, and Mr. Gelson who ran the camp at the time, had to ask her to please watch her language.  Well she wouldn't and she called us all "filthy canoodlers" and she swore her vengeance.  Well I had had enough. I snapped "Look Monica (that was her Christian name) why didn't you teach your son to swim in the first place." That may have been cruel to say, but you do have to question the reasoning of a woman who enrolls her son for a summer camp that is lake adjacent and doesn't teach her son basic swimming safety.  Well, she flew into a rage demanding all sorts of crazy "blood vengeances" and she stormed off.  All in all she was an angry woman in a cable knit sweater. Well, I never heard what became of her, as the following summer I began working at the local library as a librarian's aide.  Also I should say that I never heard what became of Albert Stenetti as dating Italian boys had become passe by the following summer."

Back To School

Helen Shapiro

Next up we asked local septuagenarian Helen Shapiro about her experience in returning to college in her early 40's. Helen shares this story with us.

Helen Shapiro- "Well it all started when I lived in the green house. My late husband Ronald and I purchased that house in the summer of 1968 with a small loan from my aunt Louise who later died from an accidental head injury. Anyway, it was our dream home.  It was a lovely Victorian with a rose trellis and a cherry tree in the front yard.  Our neighbors to the left were the Martins, and the house to the right went through multiple owners until a quiet man named Mr. Krueger moved in and he stayed there for many years.  Well, like I said Mr. Krueger was a quiet man who mainly kept to himself.  The neighbors didn't care for him, but Ronald and I didn't mind. He kept his yard clean, and he didn't leave trash all over the curb. Well, as I said, I wouldn't say that Mr. Krueger was a friendly man, but one Thanksgiving I invited him over.  He declined, but I still sent Ronald over with a plate after dinner, because I didn't see a Mrs.Krueger anywhere and everyone needs a nice hot meal.  Well, I wouldn't say that he became our new friend, but he did seem to warm to us as the following Hanukkah he dropped by with a lovely assortment of hard candies.  Well, I went right to work making him a hand knitted sweater. Oh he loved that sweater he would wear it all the time.  After that he would come over occasionally, and he and Ronald would tinker in the garage with his sailboat.  Well unfortunately Ronald died very suddenly.  Ronald loved his red meat and he hated to exercise, he collapsed from a heart attack and left me a widow at the age of 40.  Well Mr. Krueger didn't send me a sympathy card, but he did come by and drag my garbage to the curb, tinker with the wiring, that sort of thing. Once, he ripped his sweater on a rusty nail and I fixed him a peanut butter sandwich while he waited for me to repair the hole.  Well we didn't talk much while he ate, but when he left he did thank me for the sandwich and the sweater repair.  Like I said the neighbors didn't care for Mr. Krueger, but I will take good manners over good conversation any day.  We went on like that for some time, he would help me with the house and I would fix him a plate of food, and then suddenly he passed away.  Well, I got out my best suit and I made sure to go to his funeral. I hate to say it, but I was the only person there.  I always told Ronald that our neighbors were snobs, and he would say to me "well you can pick your dream home, but not your dream neighborhood." I have to agree with my late husband on that.  Well, actually it's funny that at this point I mention dreams.  Not three months after Mr. Krueger's death I had the most vivid dream about him.  We were sitting in my kitchen eating peanut butter sandwiches when he turned to me and said "Helen, did you remember to put in the storm windows?"  Well I shot straight up in bed.  The dream was so vivid, and what's more it was so odd as he always called me Mrs. Shapiro and never Helen.  Well sure enough I woke up and checked the windows, and I had not had the storm windows put in. Well 2 days later I had them fixed, and don't you know it was just in time for our first winter storm of that year. Well dream or not Mr. Krueger saved me 30% in my heating bills that winter. I was so empowered by fixing the storm windows that I decided right then and there to stop rambling about in my old house and take some night classes.  So I did, and I became a court stenographer and that's how I met my second husband the judge.  Eventually I sold the green house, and moved down to Florida with my sister's youngest son David.  I should say that I had one last dream involving Mr. Krueger.  We were sitting in the kitchen eating peanut butter sandwiches just as before, but this time he said to me "Helen, your gutters need cleaning."  Well say what you want, but Mr. Krueger was a wonderful neighbor."

Deadly Women

Susan T. Beachly the Philadelphia Prostitute Pants Prankster & Murderess
Susan T. Beachly's story is one of sadness and of tomfoolery gone wrong.  Susan worked the docks and naval yard as a prostitute to make ends meet.  Although she found her work profitable, she also found it to be really, really boring.  To liven up her night time activities, Susan devised a plan in which she would drug her would be clients, remove their pants, and leave them passed out hopefully to be found and teased by a crowd of early morning dock workers and sailors.  It should be said that Susan was no career criminal, at no point in time during the alleged druggings and pants removals, did it occur to Susan to rob her helpless johns.  Instead she lost an estimated 50 - 100 dollars a night.  Susan simply became a thrill prankster and pants removal artist, content to live out her days taking  the pants off of drugged and lonely men.  However, fate was not kind to Susan, and one night her joke would go to far.  A young man awoke at dawn to find his pants removed by the newly monikered "Philadelphia prostitute pants prankster". He was so embarrassed that he scrambled to hide before his pants less state would be revealed to the morning dock workers.  However, in his mad dash to hide, he tripped and fell cracking his skull against a freighter, and falling into the harbor stone dead.  When Susan was revealed to be the prostitute in question, she was caught red handed with the dead man's pants in her possession.  As it was 1943 and Susan was woman who delighted in drugging and mildly harassing the men of Philadelphia, she was sentenced to death by electrocution.  Her final words were reported as being " it was a pretty good gag". 

Paula Glickman the Deadly Black Widow Ice Queen Honeymoon Hatchet Murderess
Paula Glickman has never been caught.  This is the only remaining photo of her modeling a wedding veil for a local television news program in an ironic front to side mug shot style.  Paula Glickman is known to have killed at least 3 husbands in Canada, Niagara Falls, and Buffalo, New York.  By all accounts, Paula lures elderly men into relationships through a series of impressive and strongly worded letters about team sports to the editors of local newspapers.  If the elderly men responded favorably to her letters in the following week's opinion page, Paula's trap of sex and greed was sprung.  To be fair to Paula Glickman, the title Deadly Black Widow Ice Queen Honeymoon Hatchet Murderess is a misnomer.  Paula has never been described by anyone she has come in contact with as being an "ice queen".  Many who have met Paula would describe her as a friendly woman with a strong love of insurance pay outs, and team sports. She is believed to be on the run with her lover Troy, a weight lifting enthusiast, somewhere in Costa Rica.

Terry Louise Fitzgibbons the Baltimore Corn Holder Killer
Terry Louise had only been married a year when she killed her husband Floyd.  Terry Louise and Floyd had very few marital problems, so it was a surprise to her friends and family when she murdered Floyd over a single comment regarding a Thursday night dinner.  Apparently Floyd had arrived home later than usual which allowed for his diner to cool. As he helped himself to a plate he commented to Terry Louise that his corn on the cob had "gone cold".  This statement would unknowingly be his undoing. Terry Louise sprang from her chair and shouted " that's not the only thing that's gone cold around here".  She then proceeded to stab her husband 36 times with a pair of novelty corn holders shaped like 2 pugs in sailor suits which in their original packaging had been advertised as "2 salty dogs". During her trial Terry Louise's lawyer testified that although she loved her husband Floyd, Terry Louise had a strong love of puns and action films, and she could not resist any opportunity to deliver such an ultimate final line.  Terry Louise was convicted of manslaughter and spent the next 15 years in prison realizing that better lines had been available all along, such as "I'm putting you on a DIEt, or "maybe you can warm your corn...in hell".

Sharon A. Little the Satanic Goat Queen Killer
Sharon A. Little had no intention of becoming a satanic goat queen.  She was simply dating a man named Claude Weathers, a noted occult bookstore owner and flutist in a local psychedelic band called "Sisters of the Paisley Moon". Sharon had never been able to resist a musician, and she soon found herself entangled in a messy relationship fueled by love, hatred, desire, red wine, and black turtleneck sweaters.  One evening Claude suggested to Sharon that perhaps at the Sisters next show Sharon could don a black cape and read an excerpt from one of Claude's books on modern witchcraft. He felt that the theatrics would surely increase slow tickets sales and boost the bands status in the small but competitive local psychedelic music scene. Sharon agreed and suggested to Claude that they increase the dramatics by performing a fake "sacrifice" on stage.  They both agreed and devised a plan involving fake blood, a prop knife, and an impromptu "sacrifice" that was sure to impress the crowd.  Claude even agreed to be the "offering" and suggested that Sharon "slay" him during the song "Spanish Moon Beam" (one of the few Sisters songs without an extended flute solo).  The plan was innocent enough, but unfortunately for Sharon it all went wrong.  In an effort to combat her stage fright, Sharon proceeded to drink copious amounts of red wine during the bands first 3 songs.  When it was finally her time to join the band on stage she made a fatal error and grabbed a real knife that someone had left backstage along with a nice cheese plate and tiny crackers.  Sharon performed the "sacrifice" in full and unfortunately for Claude she slammed the business end of a serrated cheese knife right into his jugular vein.  In addition to killing Claude, Sharon made one other fatal error.  In her drunken stupor, Sharon believed the words of the song to be "satanic goat queen" and not "Spanish moon beam" as the song title had suggested.  Witnesses of the brutal slaying would tell police that the sight of a drunken woman in a black cape screaming "satanic goat queen", during a rousing rendition of "Spanish moon beam" would haunt them in their dreams.  Her lawyers tried in vain to explain all of these mishaps to a jury, but she would be convicted as Satan's assassin, and would forever be known as the "satanic goat queen".

Darlene A. Nordstrom, the Minnesota Coat Murderess
Darlene A. Nordstrom had a very mundane life, a loving husband, 3 kids, and a part time job as a receptionist for the town's only opthamologist.  She was a simple woman with simple tastes who did have one prized possession, a Navajo tapestry coat which she had purchased on a scenic tour of America's southwest.  Although it was basically a reproduction sold in any gift shop from Arizona to Oklahoma, Darlene felt like a true Navajo warrior when she wore that coat.  She was so entranced by Native American culture after her visit, that she decorated her entire home with woven blankets and dream catchers. She even devoted a large part of her sun porch to a small but exemplary indoor cacti garden.  She was the envy of every other Minnesota housewife in a 15 mile radius, except of course for Agnes FInch, a woman who after spending 3 days in London England, arrived back in Minnesota with a shag haircut and a new scooter.  Darlene was a loving woman, but she had one strict rule in her home. "NO ONE touches the Navajo blanket coat".  So, on a Tuesday evening in early fall when she pulled her coat out of storage from the back of the closet and found that someone had left the plastic sleeve protecting her coat unzipped, Darlene was incensed.  Upon further inspection she found that her beloved coat had in fact been attacked by moths, a fact that sent Darlene into a murderous rage.  Her husband climbed the stairs to their marital bedroom in an attempt to "see what all the hubbub was about".  Unfortunately for him that would be his undoing.  Darlene Nordstrom's husband was born a true albino, his total lack of pigment and fluttering hand gestures caused Darlene to have a complete psychotic break.  She now believed that her pale, pale husband was the alpha moth sent to finish off her precious Navajo blanket coat.  She sprang and immediately covered her husband in a handmade quilt. She then beat him to death with her son Todd's aluminum baseball bat.  She spent the next 3 days in a tense stand off with police, and when they finally swarmed her home they found her wrapped in her coat surrounded by piles and piles of mothballs.  It should also be noted that when they stormed her home, her sun porch and indoor cacti garden were ruined in a cruel twist of fate.

Welcome to Australia

It's their mayor!

A friendly traffic dispute.

A friendlier traffic dispute.

Uh oh.

Excuse me sir, but I believe you forgot your shotgun.

No sir, I believe YOU forgot your shotgun.

No, it's my shotgun.

Oh right this is YOUR shotgun, it looks just like mine!

Babies!

Nuns!

It's a desert climate.

Stacy Keach lives here, year round!

Australia exports over 1000 metric tons of hair each year to America.

Leather goods are a vital part of the Australian economy.

Just like in the UK, elevators are called lifts in Australia!

Thanks for visiting! (now get the hell out)