Scenic, Twisted Missouri. . . . .

 

Hobgoblins of telecommunication have knocked-out my internet here in St. Louis– as seen on the national news where flooding is a story. You’ll see lots of rolling, bumpy green hills from the sky-chopper, incidentally “a notion of where Beetlejuice 2” might be filmed.

And what’s this business of creepy clowns? You hear these stories about perverts in the woods messing with kids’ minds as this sounds more like “tall tales” and mass panic.

Though in Eureka we do have our share of weird happenings.

Just think of this place as a township a few miles outside of the city, beyond the county, and deeper in-state. If Lodi, New Jersey produced Glenn Danzig and Aberdeen, Washington calls Kurt Cobain a home-town son, this place would draw a comparison.

Through the haunted woods– you might here stories about hidden meth-labs. . . . . or was it just a hotdog cook-out? Or twisted imbeciles left abandoned in the woods “by their handlers” to pull on car door-handles and garble unintelligibly. . . . .

It is a world of camp-fire lawn chairs and beer coolers where you see the rugged nature of the outback mixed with zany artistic-impulse, like rusty nails dipped in buckets of diet cherry 7-Up and a whole lot of mind-altering drugs for skaters and BBS internet-pirates “back in the day”. Drifters, drift-wood, and homebrew wailing guitar. 1920’s hunting lodges and whorish Bettie Page spanking-gear with bee-stung lips and 1950 Atomic X-mas as told by serial killers like Ed Gein– and rockabilly mutton-chops.

The coldest touch. . . . . like crib death or a toddler with a Frankenstein haircut as it’s “The Munsters” or “Garfield’s Halloween Special” or even “Return to Oz” for green, foaming dark fantasy death with claw-footed bathtubs and the gray, leaden sky out the window.

Beetlejuice would be under the bridge, fishing. His friend, a black, scruffy poodle with giant, swinging, tumorous balls and blind to the world.

Someone call the health department– or maybe the dog-catcher. We don’t know, for who.

As the story goes, “living in a van– down by the river”.

The cops will hose him off in the drunk tank “because of the unbearable smell” and tell him to raft away to the next town. He’s the Missourian vagrant. . . . . or maybe it was Florida.

Moving south for the winter as an itinerant carnival worker if not a kids’ show host on television. Don’t dress up as Chuck’ee-Cheeze and keep a clean police record. . . . .

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Scenic, Twisted Missouri. . . . .

“Relatively Speaking”– Cousin Hugo

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Yes, and The Academy Award goes to “the best supporting actor”. . . . . COUSIN HUGO!!

Who of course, could be played by a rotund, hand flung-back demon in face-paint as I give you “Insane Clown Posse” for all of your shock rock inspiration as he helps flesh-out the movie and gives it a spine.

Of course, the entire film can’t just be Beetlejuice up to hyper-active hijinks as he’s best when he has someone to play-off, of. You think of modern-day character-types or some scum-mongering opportunist sipping a soda behind a broken-down Windows lap-top and otherwise setting-up his computer “to make money”.

(Not talking about myself, obviously)

If you think about it– all that scratch/dab of online data like a crashing sea of badly-written code “sloshing-around” in cyber-space ought to be geared to generating income, or processing it like a gold-panner scraping-out mere increments of a single penny, but then add it all up and you might have quite a fortune, there.

Cousin Hugo is far ahead of Beetlejuice on the ole’ technology curve and otherwise tries to introduce him to the 21st century. His uncle is so much a part of paint-flecked, old aluminum fences and other garbage, like cans & sticks scraped-together that he can scarcely imagine all of this new-fangled computer business and gets tangled-up in a messy mud-pit of unteachable ignorance.

Hugo corrects him, sarcastically and is a bit of a link to the younger generation as a modern-day cynic, internet libertarian, and pot-smoker like many people we know in the online “spamming” business. A good contrast, and eventually he goes off on his own and eventually works as a hired office-hand or system adminstrator for a corrupt St. Louis property developer, mixing his practical and netherworldly skills to eventually threaten all of existence through a cosmic hole torn in the universe by a military research installation.

The ticking clock. . . . . will Beetlejuice save the day? He, himself is zapped-down into earthly realms and wandering around like a lost soul as he otherwise gets into trouble around my own local backwoods– chased by the military “on the trail” of runaway ectoplasm, barfed out of the shooting furnace of an experiment gone terribly wrong.

Hugo will either take over the world or destroy it as he must be stopped, either way. Will Lydia and her motley crue of skaters, punks, and misfits do their part to save the galaxy? Near a water-bong, near you as this movie has to be seen to be believed.

We’ll be back, tomorrow as I thank all my readers for following this blog. So say it three times– not “orange juice”, not “tobacco juice”, but BEETLEJUICE! BEETLEJUICE! BEETLEJUICE!

You have been warned. . . . .

“Relatively Speaking”– Cousin Hugo