“Encore”, you say?
I’ve got the itch for comedy, not just your ole’ bathtub ring-worm, hives n’ wives as I’m resurrecting my franchise, “no-jive”. . . . . “high-five” as death comes knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door– and I’ll tell you more, dead bodies hitting the floor, struck dumb with laughter, from the here-after” driving down my claim on the haunted star-walk of fame as I’m named for a forbidden light, up in the heavens and I don’t mean, just the sign– hanging-up my shingle.
So tingle, people– comin’ atacha for some REAL bio-exorcism when you can’t get those house guests out of your hair, like bats– or I ain’t a door-to-door salesman offering you relief n’ belief, WITH A CAPITAL “B”.
My name isn’t Beelzebub, or Barry, or Bob– just your court-jester, as my name, is– Beetlejuice!
Third time’s a charm so turn on the juice, and see what busts loose, in my upcoming sequel! B-there or B-square, autograph-hounds, memorabilia vultures, and maggots–