January 17th, 2000

Hey-ho, let's go,

Oompa, lompa, dippity, doo, I've got another story for you. Through a friend of a friend of a friend (sound like an urban legend now don't it?) I found a guy who says he has a Jersey Devil baby in a jar. Now if I had a Jersey Devil baby in a jar, I'd be jumping up and down, calling the news and informing anyone who wanted to know. But not this guy. Nope, he's Mr. Secretive, Mr. Hush-hush. He doesn't want to let the cat (or in this case the Jersey Devil) out of the bag. Well I called in some favors, did a little pleading and got allowed to go see the thing. Of course this guy has no idea I run a web site but he was real keen on not letting anybody take pictures of this relic so I had to be a little secretive about the whole thing. I went down to the Spy's R Us store and bought myself one of those mini video cameras you can hide on your person and hid the lens right at a button on my shirt. So I got EXCLUSIVE footage of a Jersey Devil monster baby in a pickle jar.

That's right, another ultra exclusive hook up for you and yours courtesy of Derek Barnes and his amazing self. I tell you I'm so proud of myself I could dance the lambada (but I won't)

This week's strange photograph came to me via snail mail with no return address on the envelope. Since I can't figure out if a patriotic alien belongs in hate mail or love mail I'm posting it here. You figure it out.

The new entry has this carnival sub-plot running through it and it made me start thinking about the fascination me and my brother had with carnivals when we were young. Not the circus, mind you, but carnivals. Cheap looking, white trash owned, unsafe rides, bad food, rigged games, the whole kit and caboodle was one of the only things that could pry me and my brother away from the Atari. (and Yar's Revenge is still a kick ass game, and you can tell those Mario brothers I said so)

Mom would finally cave in after about an hour of us yelling and screaming that the CAR-NI-VAL was in town and promise to take us. I remember one time we both spent the 20 bucks she gave us at this one game where you tried to cover an image of a circle by dropping these smaller metal circles over it. Finally when we were out of money the carny guy must have been feeling sorry for us loser kids cause he gave us each one of those weird stretch soda bottles. Believe it or not, I still have mine, displayed proudly in my room. For the longest time I thought that the Carny guy was a God among men. Then I got older and figured out that he was just happy to get his beer money for the night from us.

You see, it's all cotton candy dreams until you wake up and find out the nice carny guy is actually a drunk that probably beats his bearded lady wife. Life is like that sometimes, ya know?

hurdy gur,
Derek "Guess your weight for a dollar" Barnes

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