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The Ghoulish Guidance Archive
Dear Ghoulfriend,
I think my insurance agent escaped your League members. He repeatedly calls my friends complaining that one of the swamp bugs has been making fun of him and asking them to help make him stop. I have told them to assist only because we are tired of his crying over spilled milk. Can someone please get rid of him and bring me some proof?
Signed,
Webster
Frmly Frantic...
Dear Webster,
My, you have a lot of aliases! Are you, by any chance, wanted by the authorities? You know, I can help with legal/criminal issues as well as personal problems, so just say the word if you're in trouble with the law. It'll be our little secret. Pinky swear.
Anyway, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. Just today I received a report that Tommy, your insipid insurance agent, was cornered in an abandoned dance club by some of our most ferocious League members, but they were repelled by his dreadfully outdated wardrobe and the stench of English Leather. I guess I don't have to tell you just how rare an occurrence this is. In their attempt to apprehend him, he climbed up onto the rafters and swung his way to freedom using a disco ball and several gold chains. One of my fiercest associates was compelled to rip out his own eyes after Tommy split his double-knit pants, exposing a neon green thong. From what I've heard, several others had to be taken by ambulance to our infirmary where they are currently undergoing electroshock therapy. The psychic carnage resulting from this failed capture will go down in the annals of League history and cost us a bundle in medical bills. I gathered what remains of my team this afternoon for a full debriefing and this is what I have learned:
Tommy was apparently tipped off about our plan and he was in the process of fleeing the building when my people burst through the door. (I would very much like to know precisely who told him we were after him. This has become personal for me now that my team has been effectively incapacitated.) During his frantic escape, he lost one of his silver lamÚ platform shoes, which our forensic experts are now closely examining for DNA evidence and athlete's foot fungus. He was last seen rounding a corner onto Broadway, wearing his left shoe and a pink argyle sock.
Webster, I'm sorry we've let you down, but these types can be wily and dangerous. I can tell you that I will not rest until his head is on a platter on my dining room table, and I'm nibbling on his pancreas. It may take a while, but he will eventually succumb to his thirst for duplicitous scams and he'll come out of hiding to prey on unwitting policy holders. When he does, we will be waiting.
Love,
Ghoulfriend
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