I accidently sprayed my guardian angels with RAID!

To Doc Paranormal

From: PN in TN

This all started in late March when my husband Bob and I began using our back porch for barbeques—and even a bracing breakfast or two.

We live on a lake in east Tennessee and we both love fresh air—although I must confess to being squeamish about bugs. That’s why we have a screened porch instead of a cedar deck.

Anyway, we were relaxing one night after a meal of grilled tri-tips and Bush’s baked beans when an unusually persistent swarm of bugs began assaulting the screen. It was dark and hard to tell what they were through the screen.

My heart skipped a beat because they didn’t seem to be flying at random. It was as if they were aggressively trying to get in, like a hungry dog banging at the door.

And the sound they made wasn’t that of mosquitos, flying beetles or gnats. It was more like a weird kind of singing—the distorted, staticky kind you hear on a distant radio station when a storm is coming your way.

Knowing how much I hate bugs, Bob grabbed two cans of Raid—one in each hand—and began mowing the insects down. That’s when—and I swear this is true—the screaming began.

(Sorry, I need to pause here for a moment to regain my composure…)

…Anyway, I thought Bob would laugh when I said I heard screams.

But his face was white as a sheet.

Trembling, he replied, “You must have been reading my mind. Those were screams. Millions of tiny screams.” He looked with disgust at the cans of Raid still in his hands. He heaved them into a corner.

The night suddenly silent, Bob carefully opened the porch door to examine the creatures he’d just killed. But he found nothing, nothing at all. No carcasses—only a light evening dew on the grass.

Now, I’m going to throw you a curveball. I’d been trying to get pregnant for twelve years when this happened. Bob and I had attempted everything. We were so desperate we’d even flown to Switzerland where I underwent experimental treatment.

But shortly after the tiny creatures visited that night, I felt something stirring inside. I secretly took a pregnancy test and was overjoyed when it was positive. My doctor confirmed it and I gave birth over the holidays.

Bob and I now firmly believe that the buzzing creatures he sprayed with Raid were actually tiny guardian angels. They had arrived in a swarm to bless us with a child.

Thankfully, a few of them were able to fly through the poisonous cloud, although Bob made a back-of-the-envelope calculation that he had caused several hundred thousand guardian angels to die a horrible death.

Bob’s been diagnosed with PTSD. He whimpers in his sleep.

I can’t watch a Raid commercial today without weeping uncontrollably.

We gained a baby and lost our souls.

Note from Doc Paranormal;

While the veracity of this tale has yet to be determined, caution should be exercised when using insect spray during the Spring and Summer bug seasons. The risk of collateral damage to unknown entities outweighs the benefit of a mosquito-free picnic, IMHO.

 

 

Crop Circles Appear On Hairy Guy's Back.

 I’m a man with an excess body hair problem that has made me the object of ridicule since puberty. At the age of thirteen, when most of my buddies sported a whisker or two, I grew a full hipster beard to hide my acne. I became successful with girls, I guess, as sort of a whiskery novelty item. They called me the Bearded Man, like I was some kind of sideshow act. They kept coming around, so I didn’t mind.

     

But things went haywire over the next few years. By the age of sixteen, I had thick tufts of wiry black hair on the top of my shoulders and so much “fur” on my torso and legs that the gym coach made me wear a full-body wet suit during swim class. He said he was worried my loose hairs would clog the filter, but I think he did it just to humiliate me.

     

I became an introvert. After graduating from high school, I took a job as a night janitor in an empty office tower so no one could see me. I threw in the towel and gave up on shaving. One Christmas I dyed my beard white and played Santa Claus at a shopping mall. I wound up being so popular with the kids that I quit my janitor gig. Now, I’m already booked solid for the next two holiday seasons. Amazingly, I earn enough as Santa Claus every winter to take the summer months off—when I allow my beard to go back to black.

     

This is where my problems with crop circles began. My confidence renewed, I started going out more, even venturing to the beaches of Lake Michigan near where I live. I’m sure I must have been a ridiculous sight to some eyes, what with thick body hair everywhere, but secretly knowing I was the Midwest’s #1 Santa Claus helped their wisecracks roll off my back.

     

Then, a few days ago, while on my favorite remote part of the beach, I woke up from a pleasant slumber to notice something strange on my back. Parts of it were completely bare. Large clumps of hair were in the sand surrounding my towel. I ran to my car two hundred yards away. Looking in the rear view mirror, I got the surprise of my life: an intricate pattern had been shaved on my back hair.

    

I thought I had been the victim of pranksters until I saw an online photo of a crop circle that had appeared in a farmer’s wheat field. Shockingly, it was the exact same pattern that had been fashioned in my body hair this September. I tried to find who had posted the picture with no success. It appeared have been generated from somewhere in Eastern Europe. And it was gone when I searched again just before creating this post.  

     

That, to say the least, was a crushing disappointment. However, I will swear to this day that the same entities that created the crop circle in the farmer’s wheat field cut the pattern on my back.

     

While I feel honored that I was chosen as the first human “canvas” for their mysterious art, I am now afraid to go outside for fear they will strike again. And Christmas is coming up soon. I’m terrified I’ll have to cancel all my Santa Claus bookings. My sole source of income will disappear. I’ll get evicted from my apartment. Where will I hide then?

Here’s what I’m urgently trying to get through to all readers of my cautionary tale:

   

This is a horror story not just for me, but for all hirsute men.

by: Anonymous

Transcribed by Dawnlee Hope, Jr. 

Paranormal Journalism Curriculum

Edgar Allan Poe Community College

Baby's diaper deposits tell gambler grandad how to bet.

 Dear Doc Paranormal:

Sometimes a gift falls into your lap in the strangest of ways. Whether it was the work of god, fate or spirits from another plane of existence, I have been so blessed. That’s because I have been taken from poverty and the edge of despair to prosperity and an extended cab Ford 350 pickup thanks to my nine-month-old grandson.

   

I live on the coast of Oregon and let me tell you something—if you think unemployment is bad where you live, move out here where the good jobs in fishing and timber disappeared decades ago. The only way to earn money is twisting wax paper wrappers around salt water taffy for the wealthy whale watchers who come here from all over the world. Call me lazy, but I’m not doing that, not at age sixty-seven, no sir.

    

So I was living on disability and odd jobs I could scrounge up until my grandson was born nine months back. Now “Brad” is a wonderful kid, already feisty and plump, so it was no problem for me when my son and daughter-in-law started dropping him off when they had out-of-state business to attend to.

    

Anyway, I found that taking care of Brad at home got tired real quick, so I decided to combine baby-sitting with pleasure and bring him gambling with me. There are a couple of Indian casinos hereabouts, and I have been known to attempt to augment my income on the roulette wheel.

    

One fine evening, I was at such a casino and down in the dumps. I was losing pretty big and was worried because the $500 I’d lost had been borrowed from my son’s cookie jar. I decided to take a break from the misery and look in on lovable little Brad, who was having the time of his life in the casino day care center.

    

Well, when I showed up, the day care girl was changing Brad’s diapers. He had just gone #1. Since my usual roulette system wasn’t working, I hit on a brainstorm: When Brad went #1, I’d put my chips on red. When he went #2, I’d play black.

    

Inspired, I raced back to the roulette wheel and placed my last nine dollars on red. I won! The hot streak kept going for about six minutes, at the end of which I was up five hundred and thirty-seven dollars.

    

At this point I took another break and strutted like a bandy cock back to the day care center to see if Brad had made another “prediction.” He hadn’t, so I decided to kick back at the all-you-can-eat popcorn shrimp buffet. Man, those suckers tasted good dipped in catsup.

    

After this, I returned to the day care center where blessed Brad had just gone #2. Electrified with excitement, I ran to the roulette wheel and won another seven hundred and one dollars playing black. Weirdly, this made me hungry again, so I splurged on a hot fudge sundae—making sure, of course, to reward Brad with a heaping spoonful.

     

To make a long story short, I have since discovered through trial and error that Brad’s power of prediction is only good for about six or seven minutes after he does his duty. Why, I don’t know, but beyond that, his ability fades.

    

Brad and I are inseparable now. I baby sit him all of the time. The ladies at the Indian casinos dote on that little boy.

    

I plan to buy Brad his own F-350 when he gets older. My only big worry is whether his forecasting ability will continue when he’s out of diapers and into pants. And how he’ll react when I knock on the stall door when he goes to the men’s room.

Thanks for opportunity to tell my story!

Daniel in Florence, Oregon

Meet the distinguished faculty of Edgar Allan Poe Community College.

 Noteworthy Faculty Members:

Janie Rulen:

Adjunct Professor, Cryptozoology and Civil Disobedience

Ravishing red meat-eater (cattle are not an endangered species), yet fierce defender of paranormal animals, Janie, 32, heads the International Society for the Preservation of Paranormal Abominations when she isn’t teaching cryptozoology and civil disobedience at EAPCC.

A native Amazonian, Janie grew up on the banks of the mighty river; an orphan who spent as much time with wild animals as with people. A messy divorce from a rapacious rubber baron who forced her into a youthful marriage has left Rulen with a fortune estimated in the hundreds of millions.

When not devising clever strategies and facing physical danger as ISPPA’s founder and president, Janie relaxes by butchering beef with classic Old World methods. Favorite paranormal animal: The Mongolian Death Worm.

Andrei Duprei:

Adjunct Professsor At Large in Europe

Speciality: E.U. Occult

Father of eight, this rising Romanian entrepreneur’s earliest venture was hawking vampire kitsch to gullible tourists outside an ersatz “Dracula’s Castle.” He was five years old at the time.

Desperate creativity led to his first real success: Romanian Werewolf Bus Tours, where wealthy sightseers observe werewolves in their natural Transylvanian habitat. Despite last year’s gruesome rendering of an American couple, Mr. Duprei assures all, “Romanian Werewolf Bus Tours are absolutely safe if you remain in the vehicle, which the unfortunate but very stupid Americans did not.” 

Now well-off himself despite being deeply indebted to the Russian Mob, this foremost expert on occult behavior in seemingly rational European Union nations is a welcome addition to the EAPCC faculty.

Doc Paranormal:

Adjunct Professor Without Portfolio

Diagnosed as a young boy with a bi-polar I.Q. of 34 to 171—that could shift between one extreme and another within minutes. In other words, one moment he’d be drooling—the next he was solving complex equations and writing his first symphony (which he later abandoned after dousing the score with Log Cabin Syrup, then shredding and eating it during a "low I.Q." episode.)

 Doc is the only individual on record to have both flunked out and become valedictorian of his high school. At the age of sixteen, he was the first student ever to repeat first grade and be accepted by Harvard. After graduating six months later, without forewarning he became a paranormal reporter, composing a landmark investigative piece on invisible dogs.

 Today at age 31 Doctor Paranormal’s I.Q. is fairly stable, ranging between 98 and 105, a level appropriate to his current status as journalist and adjunct chancellor of EAPCC.

At EAPCC, he is “proud to be training the next generation of working-class paranormalists, including apprentice dowsers, séance coordinators and UFO research technicians.” In addition to his other duties, this tireless professional serves as executive editor for cutting-edge school newspaper The Bird. Lacking any special paranormal abilities, no one really knows why he is here.

Prefect Tabernacle Perfect:

Visiting Professor, Film Production and International Finance

EAPCC is honored by the presence of Prefect Tabernacle Perfect, Supreme Oracle, Advisor to World Leaders and Sole Proprietor of the Holy Umbrella of Spiritual, Awareness, LLC, a center of prophecy, sound advice and junk bond trading found in several undisclosed locations in Lagos, Nigeria. “While some egocentric prophets claim an accuracy rate in the 80^th percentile, over the years, mine have been correct 137% of the time,” the Prefect says, “That’s right! Often my prophecies are accurate in several areas at once, such as politics, romance and sports.”

The Prefect’s main business, The Holy Umbrella of Spiritual Awareness, “is an employer of so many people I cannot tell you, for my competitors would be jealous. Suffice it to say that I am the biggest owner of e-mail servers and international phone lines in Festac and have caused countless parishioners to become rich beyond their wildest dreams. Without taking an American cent in compensation, I might add!”

As a hobby, the Prefect has produced 800 Nollywood suspense films with combined budgets in excess of $750,000 U.S. Among the titles are “Vultures Kill People,” “Where’s My Leg?” “Attack of the British Lepers,” and the #1 selling pirated copy of the Hollywood hit “The Expendables,” subtitled in 327 of Nigeria’s 521 languages, with 30 bonus minutes of inserted footage featuring a close relative of West Africa’s biggest star, Chidi George.

Once again, EAPCC is proud to host Prefect Tabernacle Perfect and wishes him a successful conclusion to the legal entanglements that have forced him to ankle his beloved Nigeria for the foreseeable future.

Dr. Abraham Tribesky

Adjunct Professor, Afterlife Issues

Only son of a widowed Viennese charwoman, self-taught psychiatrist Abraham Tribesky analyzed his first patient at the age of nine, when his mother’s unreliable client, pioneer shrink Sigmund Freud, blew off another appointment. Abraham, prematurely gray and balding due to childhood exposure to char, successfully pulled off the ruse. His mother pocketed the fee and the pair launched a successful career, filling in for an unwitting Freud when the legend forgot to show up.

The subterfuge worked so well that some early photos of Freud are actually Abraham. Unfortunately, that phase of his life came to an abrupt end when Freud was tipped off that Abraham had booked an American lecture tour under Sigmund’s name. After changing his appearance radically to avoid further confusion, Abraham fled with his mother to Los Angeles, where he established a flourishing trade catering to the vanities of neurotic Hollywood stars and starlets.

Today, the 95-year-old therapist has a practice consisting entirely of deceased celebrities. You heard correctly—the spirits of dead Hollywood stars, including Marilyn Monroe and other ghostly glitteri. But that didn’t happen the day he arrived in Tinseltown. “No, no, no,” Dr. Tribesky admits, “That came decades later when my original clients began dying off. I mean when you’ve been in practice for nine decades like me, it happens, you know.”

Thankfully, Dr. Tribesky’s sage expertise is now available to EAPCC students.

To schedule an interview, contact:

Peter Fenton: Creative Director/Janitor

Edgar Allan Poe:  Creative Director Emeritus

I fear widespread panic if this post goes viral.

I fear widespread panic if this post goes viral.

Which is why I’m releasing it here. To the special few with the ability to process fear and horror. And then bravely carry on, when every fiber of your being is screaming: Run! Hide!

I can confirm the following: Reports from my sources indicate that hundreds of South American night monsters—or chupacabras—are pouring across the U.S. border.

"Strict new immigration laws have caused a steep drop off in human activity along the U.S./Mexican border. The void has been filled by chupacabras, which avoid human contact unless threatened. For the first time in history, hundreds of the flesh-eating abominations are on U.S. soil,” Janie Rulen, president of the International Society for the Preservation of Paranormal Abominations told me in an exclusive interview.

“Now they threaten U.S. residents with their ungodly howls and diseased talons. In one under-reported case, a female Arizona gardener was eviscerated by a chupacabra that was seeking water from the hose she was using to spray petunias. In another, a young tree-climber was never again seen (in one piece) after happening upon a chupacabra that was dozing on a limb.

“That said, it is the position of my organization that chupacabras remain rare and deserve federal status as an endangered paranormal species.

“We are aware this is a controversial stance, but are unbending in our defense of all dangerous, but misunderstood paranormal abominations. Just because chupacabras, like Mothmen and Mongolian death worms, can cause lingering and awful death, doesn’t mean they should be denied protection.

“Paranormal monstrosities are part of Mother Nature’s divine plan, no matter how many people they kill,” she concluded.

My say: Obviously there two camps on the subject of offering sanctuary to horrifying mythical beasts driven from their native lands by genocidal authorities. Hopefully, the domestic political debate will not result in carnage that makes the chupacabra’s deadly work seem like child’s play.

reported by:

Doc Paranormal

Adjunct Professor without Portfolio

Edgar Allan Poe Community College

Edgar Allan Poe Community College: About Us.

About Us

Welcome to the home page of Edgar Allan Poe Community College. We’re a paranormal trade school located in the charming desert town of Pahrump, Nevada. Nestled between sunny Death Valley and the historic Nevada Proving Grounds, site of 900 nuclear explosions, and at the epicenter of Nye County’s thriving brothel industry, EAPCC offers an unparalleled range of educational and recreational opportunities. Graduates earn an associates degree in the Applied Psychic Arts across a variety of disciplines. Students range from unemployed construction workers looking to retrain, moody girls with “artistic temperaments,” moms who want to track their children with ESP rather than GPS units and failed jocks facing a lifetime without cheers. And that’s only a sampling of EAPCC’s diverse student body. Faculty members are physically on campus or telecommute to the classroom via astral plane or bilocation.

The origins of EAPCC are currently unknown. One day students simply began showing up at an undistinguished bungalow that popped up overnight on a lot owned by no one, according to Nye County records. The building was later found to be an exact replica of the house thought vaporized in a 1955 A-bomb test a stone’s throw across the mountains at the Nevada Proving Grounds. Inside the 443 square-foot hovel is a sprawling 15-acre campus, complete with classrooms, well-stocked library, multiple research labs, cafeteria, beach volleyball courts and Olympic-length swimming pool.

But perhaps the most unique facet of EAPCC’s grand plan is its unique financial structure. With undergraduates across the United States burdened by monumental student loans, EAPCC offers a new paradigm: Free Tuition. How can we do that while offering a world-class educational experience? The answer is painfully simple: Upon obtaining a job, EAPCC grads pay the school a 2% cut of their salary for the duration of employment.

And faculty? Well, all are adjunct—on contract— to be paid from a pool of monies to be determined by their role in their students’ eventual success. Unconventional? Yes. Does it work? Time will tell—as EAPCC graduates begin to enter the workforce. What is undeniable though, is the subtle, but energizing pressure it places on teaching staff to foster student achievement.

Well, that’s the nuts & bolts. How about the people? Explore our Faculty and Student pages!