"THE GANG'S ALL FEAR!!"

Climb A-GORE-D LANDLUBBERS, to my PUTRID-PIRATE SHIP OF SHIVERS! As your CREEPY-CAPTAIN, I, CREEPS, shall let you all SEA this SHANTY, entitled...

It was back in August of 1967, when a black gangster was driving a green Chevy out, in Los Angeles, California one night. On his car radio, The Beatles sang Eight Days A Week. He parked on the side of a street, turned his car-radio off along with his car and got out of it, lighting a cigarette. He stood smoking and saw a house at the one end of the neighborhood with a sign in the yard reading: “FRANKLIN FUNERAL HOME” on it in white, capital-letters. He strolled up to Franklin Funeral Home then. The door of the place opened and an old undertaker came out, into the porch and waved to the gangster, having a creepy smile. “Evenin’, mister, what’s goin’ on?” the gangster asked the undertaker, saying. “Good evening, young man, please I have something for you” he responded, gesturing to the black gangster to come with him with his finger. The gangster followed him into the funeral home and asked: “hey, mister, what is it?”. “Oh, it is some company from some Friends of yours sir” the undertaker said, answering, as they went into the funeral parlor together. There were six caskets which were all closed.

“What are you babblin’ on about old man? Friends?” the gangster asked the undertaker. “Why, yes, young man. They told me you killed them six years ago and came here to meet with you” he told him, replying. “How did ya find out I killed my gang six years ago mister?” the black gangster said, asking and pulled a pistol out of his jacket-pocket. He aimed it at the undertaker. “Because they told me all of it sir. They came here tonight and are resting” he answered. The lids of the six coffins opened then around them and living-dead zombies were clothed in rags. They were also skeletons, all wearing sunglasses. They cackled at the gangster with eerie high-pitched cackles, as worms and dirt dropped out of their rotting-mouths. As the zombies sat up in their caskets, the black gangster screamed in horror. He fired his pistol at one of the skeletons in rags, shooting a hole into their decomposing-skull. The zombie still got out of the coffin.

The gangster fired his gun at a second zombie, shooting its rotting-rib cage, as it stood on the floor. “Oh crud!” the murderer said in fear and ran out of the funeral parlor. He tried the door of Franklin Funeral Home, but was unable to get it open for some reason. He ran down the hall. The six skeletal-zombies in rags wandered slowly out of the funeral parlor and down the hallway, hissing, worms and dirt flying onto the floor. The gangster got to a flight of stairs at the end of the hallway and glanced back. The decomposing-zombies were hissing eerily as they stepped slowly closer from up the hall. The murderer then ran up the steps and dropped his gun. He stopped running, turned around, lost his balance and fell down half of the staircase.

He sat up holding his head, gasping in pain. The six skeletons surrounded him then. “You killed me Frank! All not paying ya fifty dollars man!” one of the zombies said to the black gangster in a psychotic high-pitched voice. “Shaggy? Ya owed me that fifty bucks man!!!” Frank said to the skeleton, answering it, with wide-eyes. “Y’all killed me too, Frank. Over me wanting to call the cops for what ya did to poor Shaggy man” a second skeleton said to him, with soil falling out of its mouth, speaking in a psychotic high voice also. “Harry, I had to stop you man” Frank said, answering the rotting zombie. “You jerk Frank. You killed me because y’all were drunk and demanded more beer from me man!!” a third skeleton said in the same psychotic voice as Harry and Shaggy. “Vince, it’s you man! Noooo!” Frank said to the zombie in horror.

“Then y’all killed me man because I wanted to leave the gang Frank!” a fourth zombie croaked in the same psychotic voice. The skeleton’s lower-jawbone dropped off then, and it caught it within its boney-hand. “Ron!!!” Frank said to it, gasping in terror. “Yeah, man, ya shot me to death too for smoking our last cigarette!!” a fifth zombie croaked out to Frank in the psychotic high voice. “Tim, it’s you man!!!” Frank said in terror to the skeleton. “Yeah, and finally, y’all killed me, Frank, to keep my mouth shut about y’all killing the gang here” the sixth rotting-skeleton croaked to him in the same psychotically-high voice. “Bones?!??” Frank said to it, and gasped in terror. “THE GANG’S ALL FEAR!!” the living dead zombie of Bones shouted and cackled eerily to Frank. The rotting skeletons of Shaggy, Harry, Vince, Ron, Tim and Bones all attacked Frank, biting his face, as he screamed. The old undertaker peeked out of the funeral parlor, the sounds of flesh being ripped as Frank’s screams stopped being heard by him. Later that night, the skeleton of Frank was within a casket in the funeral parlor and the undertaker laughed standing by it.

Ha-Ha-Ha, I guess Bones really LIVED or DIED UP TO HIS NAME eh, boys and girls? The group wanted to have one more MEATING with Frank that night aha-ha-ha-ha! They really had a BONE TO PICK WITH HIM heh-heh-heh!

   One of the skeleton-zombies.