I peeped inside the coffin to see what I could see.

Then what was in the coffin, it peeped right back at me.

Mr. the spooked, stay tuned.

Okay, so I have a friend who always has the most wacky, ridiculous stories.

Stories where, okay, look, something like this might happen once, but it seems

like every time he checks the mail

or picks up a box of cereal, something crazy happens.

Fires, car crashes, mysterious acquaintances

from decades ago pop up, and it's

gotten so that lots of people

they think he's full of crap.

You know, believe his little tales, and I didn't believe his stories at first.

But I like hearing him anyway.

Every blue moon, we hang out.

Once we go to shoot some pool, just chilling, a couple of bruise.

Then just like in the movies, a bar fight breaks out around us.

He doesn't even blink, just misses the eight ball in the corner pocket as we scramble out, ducking punches, trying to find the exit outside.

I'm tripping. That was crazy, yo.

He's like, yeah.

Now the time, walking around Lake Merritt in Oakland,

and this huge, gigantic wolf-dogan thing comes bounding at a top speed, snodling like I made a park chop.

God damn!

...