You go back to your room to arm yourself. All this walking has you a little gassed, but the adrenaline is really kicking in. Think about how cool your blog will be after you post that you killed a conservative. Maybe CNN will cover it? You'll be a celebrity. But first, you need a weapon. Where would one be? Nothing in the kitchen, nothing under the couch, and nothing in the closet except that proton pack you used for an Egon Spengler outfit last year. Best Ghost Buster costume ever.
Ugh, this thing must weigh, like, fifteen pounds. You equip the costume piece on your back and walk down the stairs clenching the handrails while verbally pumping yourself up. "McCain? Really Keith? Man, I thought you were cool too. Sorry I have to do this, but.. zzzzzzzZZZZZZRRRRRAAAAAAAAAaaaaa--I'M CROSSING THE STREAMS YOU OLD TURD--aaaaaaaaaaa." You stop for a quick breathe before continuing, "aaaaaaaaaa-I'm setting out the trap now-aaaaaAaAAAAAAAaaaazrack. One dead conservative." You smirk while imagining his old wrinkly body swirling down you're ghost catcher.
"Whoa, cool Halloween costume. You going to a party?"
"Oh hey Keith, I didn't see you. Yeah, umm, I'm on my way to a party, but I'll get you later."
FAILURE! The jerk survived and it's almost noon. You have to get to Wendy's fast before the lunch rush gets there. Get to the Ecto 1!
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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