All right, listen up, you savages. The meat sacks are back with normal episodes next week,

but we have one more bonus episode or you beforehand. It's about ghost hobos or train

spooks or some crap, I didn't pay attention. Either way, I hope you hate it.

Railways are naturally odd places. They can cut through urban and rural

areas. They're absolutely different than most of their surroundings at any given spot.

They sit and solemn silence half the time. The other half, they scream with unnatural sounds,

wailing a dirge with a chorus of steam, steel and strife.

And without a doubt, they're dangerous. The deceptive stillness of a railroad can

lull a living being into a false sense of security. For the railroad sole purpose is to convey

that marvel of engineering, that paragon of ingenuity, that weapon of mass conduction, the train.

Take tons of metal and wood, mix in an enormous amount of power, and multiply it all by speed.

And tell me you don't have a menacing missile rocketing down the throat and tranquility.

That sense of security be damned. For if you're oblivious, out of it, or otherwise occupied,

that missile of steel and energy has obliteration written all over it.

They're called iron horses, battleships, hot shots,

raddlers, wind cutters. These are not names for safe machines.

And the operation of said machines is just about everything but safe. A slip can name.

Neglect can kill. A distraction can lead to an engine jumping the tracks like a jackrabbit,

an imagination will suffice for now for the aftermath.

These brutish behemoths crawl across country sides on webs of delicate peril.

They eat fire and speak thunder. They wear a crown of warning,

wreath in city gloom. For all the added convenience and efficiency they brought with their proliferation.

...