BEAVER LAKE

Greetings, FIENDS!  I was just of making some GOREMET ICE SCREAM.  AHHHHHH!!!!  Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha!  Tonight's DREADFUL DESSERT'S about a backwoods man, who wants to get out of paying his taxes.
The rain poured, as the sound of thunder was heard, on Beaver Lake, in Missouri, back in March of 1958.  In a cabin on the lake's shore, a man slept in a chair.  The sound of thunder woke him, as he coughed.  The man reached for a glass of orange juice and mixed it with a bottle of Popov Vodka, making it a Screwdriver.  He drank part of it.  The man got up, going outside.  In his raincoat and hood, he ran to a truck, in his driveway.  He reached into the truck, where the window was down, started the truck and gripped the steering-wheel.  There was a body of an old man inside, sitting in the driver's seat.  "Well, Mr. Grady, it looks like you won't be collecting property taxes from me anymore" the man said to the corpse.  He turned the steering-wheel, driving Mr. Grady's truck, through the rain, as he walked.  The man drove Mr. Grady's truck off of a cliff, up the hill, yanking his hand out of it and watched it plunge down, into Beaver Lake, where it sank.  
He ran back through the falling-rain, into his cabin.  The man took off his raincoat, hung it up in his closet and finished his Screwdriver.  A year later, he went fishing on the shore of Beaver Lake, sitting in the grass.  The man sang, Little Brown Jug.  Suddenly, he heard a bubbly-voice call out to him: "Mr. Quinley!".  Mr. Quinley stopped singing, looking around.  "Howdy?" he called out.  No reply.  Mr. Quinley quit fishing and went inside his cabin.  He sat down in his chair and dozed off.  He awoke, hearing a knock on the door.  Mr. Quinley answered the door.  "Howdy?" he said and found no one in sight.  He closed the door, latching it.  "Need a smoke!" Mr. Quinley said to himself.  He had a cigarette and heard a scraping on his window.  Looking, Mr. Quinley saw the rotting-corpse of Mr. Grady, a skeleton dripping with water.  The zombie was in an old blue raincoat and hood.  It scraped its boney-digits on the cabin-window, as Mr. Quinley screamed in horror.  He grabbed an old screwdriver, running outside and plunging the rusty-tool into the skeleton's skull where there was a hole in its forehead.  The zombie of Mr. Grady ripped it out.  "I FREAKING KILLED YOU MR. GRADY!!!" Mr. Quinley screamed.  "Mr. Quinley!" the zombie responded in its bubbly-voice, plunging the tool into Mr. Quinley's eye, making him swallow and choke to death on his lit-cigarette.  
Boy, Mr. Quinley sure got SCREWED...With a SCREWDRIVER in the eye.  What a TOOL he was and what a GHOUL-D Old Mr. Grady turned out to be.  Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha.