Slaughter Haunted House 5

Professional Poltergeist Practices Patrolling Phantoms

By Bartholomew Blackwater Screen Shot 2015-11-11 at 7.25.36 PM

The Ghostbusters most famously stated that they weren’t afraid of no ghosts. But what use is that phrase in a world dictated by our contemporary Western ideals and philosophies, where ghosts have as little to fear as… an honest politician?

By that I mean ghosts don’t exist, as don’t honest politicians. Trust me, I have experience with local government. It’s all earmarking until the cows come home.

But what if I were to tell you, fair reader, that perhaps ghosts do exist? What if they walked amongst us every day, unseen, unobserved? What then?

Recently the Silvery Surveyor has been receiving leads (that is, I’ve finally remembered my Twitter password and I’ve been searching for the hashtag #interesting to pick up on any juicy news bits) and it has come to my attention that a professional ghost hunter, Susan Slaughter, is in our neighborhood.

Now what’s a ghost hunter doing here? Checking out affordable real estate? Sure, if that real estate is for the dead, those who have moved on from the world of the living to the world of someone’s owned home.

No, fair reader, it looks as though recent goings ons have attracted the attention of this Susan Slaughter, and I find myself asking me if I believe in ghosts (by the way, every time I end up asking myself anything, it turns into an incredibly interesting interview). And do you know what my answer is, fair reader?

A resounding, undeniable, unwavering:

absolutely not.

There is no way to prove that ghosts exist. That this Susan Slaughter can speak to ghosts. As far as I’m concerned, this is all just falsehood and shennaniganery. If you see this Susan Slaughter, feel free to giver her a piece of my mind. Ghosts don’t exist. They’re not real. And we should all move our attention onto more pressing issues. Like whether or not the press should be exempt from parking tickets. I was covering a bake sale and all the spots were taken! Come on.

Blackwater out.


Site Incites Unsightly Sights

Pop Up Webpage Welcomes Unwelcome Wishes

Just as the old children’s playground lullaby goes: one, two, three, paw, I declare a monkey’s paw.

Traditionally speaking, a monkey’s paw was a paw (most often associated with a monkey) that one could purchase from some sort of stand, trade post or oriental grocery shop. The buyer of said monkey’s paw would make a wish and the paw itself, although deceased, would curl up its finger.

But along with unpasteurized milk and over the counter dialysis machines, the days of monkeys paws have come to a close as a medicinal and recreational item. Or have they?

There’s a new website that’s popped up recently that might have brought back this outdated threat. A contact of mine brought to my attention, a website where one can enter their wish and hope to have it come true.

Being the daring and exploratory journalist that I am, I gave this site a little whirl. My first wish was to be published. Moments later, I received a phone call that a piece I had run last year (about a law student I had been working closely with, who had uncovered information about the assassination of two Supreme Court justices and was on the run in New Orleans from the assailants) would be featured in the New York Times!

My second wish was to be recognized by some journalistic authority, which is when I got a call from the Atlantic saying that my piece had actually plagiarized from an article someone on their staff was working on and a court order was on its way to my residency.

So finally, fair reader, I just wanted things to return to normal. And that’s when a lawyer from the New York times phoned me and informed me that while I had plagiarized this story, it had not been from the Atlantic but instead from the 1993 film The Pelican Brief (which itself is plagiarizing from the John Grisham book of a similar title) and that the whole situation would be dropped.

There you have it, fair reader. When you mix luck and hard hitting truth, all you get is trouble. Do not, again I repeat, do not use Wishes are like alimony payments, they sound simple at first but they’ll chase you for 18 years.

Blackwater out.

Virtual Reality or Virtual Fearality?

Game Generator Grapples With Garish Glitch

By Bartholomew Blackwater
Sincerest apologies to Doctor Sherlock Holmes but the game these days is not a foot.

With gaming culture on the rise (boy have things moved quickly from my wee days playing pong. Not the video game pong but literally the plastic white ball with two paddles) it was only time before simulated entertainment took the main stage. My sister’s children are constantly on their screen-devices, clicking away, collecting coins and raising crops in their digitized farms.

But perhaps, fair reader, this fertile land of 1’s and 0’s isn’t without its own cloud of locusts (Biblical reference for those not of the fold) for there is most definitely some bugs in the system.

Recently an inside source informed me that a local gaming start up came across some sort of inexplicable virus while designing their game. Apparently this glitch has halted the release of their farming simulator and has frozen them out of, if you’ll pardon the phrase, raking in the dough.

While representatives of the company failed to return my calls, assuming those were the right numbers, that napkin was a bit smudged… I was able to find out from my inside source that the error-at-hand doesn’t come in the form of a blue screen or Nintendo Shark but instead as an 8-bit chupacabra.

You read that right, fair reader, the lored goat eater that haunts our southern neighbors.

Now a lot of strange and almost inexplicable events have occurred in the last few weeks to our quaint neighborhood, and a lesser man might give in to full-stop superstition. But until I figure out how to use these games without having to make a Facebook account, I’ll withhold judgement. All I can say is don’t hate the designer, hate the gameplay. (My niece said that would make sense.)

Blackwater out.

Angel or Angle?

Interested Investors Include Incorporeal Identifiers 

By Bartholomew Blackwater

Start up or start running?

That’s the question a lot of up-and-coming app designers, software engineers and failing filmmakers are asking themselves.

Now, fair reader, you and I grew up in an era where if you wanted to get something done, you did it. You didn’t ask for help, you didn’t reach around, groping in the dark for a helping hand. You tightened your belt, pulled up your boostraps and started your independent newspaper that would ask the questions no one was willing to ask. And eventually, ask the questions that no one was willing to read.

But now, the youth of the nation can turn to online websites like Patreon where complete strangers send money electronically to fund certain projects.

Robert Dylan was not wrong when he sang “The times/ It looks like they are/ A’changing.”

Now this all seems quite problematic (and honestly, quite a bit hurtful considering my Patreon page has been up a month now and we haven’t received a single contribution) but where there’s fire, there’s smoke.

On top of the oddity that is “crowdfunding” another ghost has arisen in the machine. It seems that some of our neighborhood’s projects are being funded by phantoms. Contributors who have no actual record of existing. Their money is good, but are their intentions? Good. Are their intentions good? I just want to make it clear that I’m saying that their money is good but are their intentions good? It reads better in my head.

I have received a tip from a local cryptosleuth that a possible angel investor (or demon investor, if you will) has been backing projects, with the hopes of getting something very important back.

Can we use cyberspace to finger the culprit? Are paranormal entities enticing local business? Should young inventors start funding their own projects?

The answers to these questions, fair reader, respectively, are maybe, probably and absolutely, it’s called getting a job kids we all had to do it you’re not special you shouldn’t be treated differently just because you know what a Tumblr is.

So until this gets sussed, I’d keep a close eye on my bank account, fair reader. You never know what spooky specter is poking around.

Blackwater out.

Gentlemen, Start Your Collisions

Men Mangled in Music-Related Musings

Songs drive us in many directions. Sometimes songs drive us to dance. Sometimes songs sound us to sleep. Each song has a specific impact on us. And sometimes, songs drive us to walk out into traffic or stumble out windows.

In a short period of time (I forget exactly how long) three men have been severely injured while jamming out to some new sick beats on their personal listening devices. I myself do not see any reason to listen to music in public, let alone be in public.

What’s peculiar is that each man was listening to the same band. Knives and Phorks. While investigating their website page, they came off to me as exactly the horrible garage-jumble these types of men would stroll out into the street listening to. Give me some good old fashioned Duke Ellington, Buddy Holly or Annie Lennox any day, thank you.

But, in order to maintain no bias, I listened to Knives and Phorks on this program called Spotify and let me tell you what I think of the, fair reader.

They are lovely. I mean just really, wow. Heh I… am I smiling, I just can’t stop smiling. Their new wavy, groovy sorta jangle sound is- well it just fills my heart with joy and wonder and I didn’t know I could feel like this. I feel like… god I feel like how I wish I had felt falling in love with someone in middle school. I never did meet any compatible mates in my early to middle life, but that’s okay! I’m fine with that! Because everything has lead me to here. To this moment. Listening to Knives and Phorks. All of those struggles, all that loneliness… it’s all been worth it. So I could be here. Telling you about my new frie— was I about to type “friends?” Haha my new favorite band, I should say, fair reader. Do give them a listen. They’re just… you know, I’m glad that success is going to these people. I want all the good things in the world to go their way. Because they make me feel good. They make me feel loved. Like I’m a good person and it’s good that I exist. I think I’m going to walk outside and think about how wonderful they make my heart feel. They make me feel whole, you know? Just a little walk. I feel like I’ve never felt before. Just a stroll across the street.

Blackwater out.

Just Read The Story


By Bartholomew Blackwater

Okay, at this point, fair reader, I’m getting pretty tired of reporting on our local boneheads putting themselves in danger. 

Jose M. Cuevas, your run of the mill gym subscriber, was saved from plummeting to his demise. Was he rock climbing? No. Was he swimming off of an infinity pool? No. Was he reading Dostoyevsky and understanding all the subtext? No, fair reader, he’s not like us.

Instead, according to eye witnesses, he was doing something called trunk lifts when Cuevas suddenly got up, adjusted the volume on his phone (phones can play music now?!) and he walked straight for the third story window.

While the gym has said they won’t press charges or shut down (gyms just perpetuate unhealthy body image issues, in my opinion), Cuevas is. Apparently he’s starting an investigation into Spotify because he claims his playlist brainwashed him into losing control of his motor skills.

If you really wanted to be in charge of your life, Cuevas, I’d recommend working out your body less and working out your mind more. But hey, that’s just me, someone who didn’t almost fall out of a window.

Blackwater out.

Runner Runs Reds, Read Rights

canstockphoto20540969Lights, camera, action!

Sure, if you mean red lights. 

By Bartholomew Blackwater

That’s exactly what happened yesterday when film studio internDaryl J Parat climbed into his consumer-grade sedan and blasted through seven traffic intersections. Talk about moving pictures.

Now I don’t know exactly what kind of people these film studios are bringing into the fold but long gone are the good old days of Gregory Peck showing up on set, standing in front the camera and delivering an incredible performance before hopping back on a horse and safety getting back to his estate. Now and days with Twitter and Facebook and Friendster, the young people’s attention is so all over the place that they can barely focus on one specific task.

Finally pulled over by police, Parat stated that he did not realize that he had broken any transportation rules. When asked if he had been using his phone, Parat said that was only streaming Spotify and had kept his eyes on the road the whole time.

My question, fair reader, is why does this Parat land a job at a major studio and I struggle to finish an interview at a book store without the words “please, leave.” How is that justice?

How is that justice?

Blackwater out.