Ol' Smacky

That big hunk (wink) of wood and metal I hit things with when they don’t play nice. Or when I don’t.

Actually— funny story about Smacky:
Gideon was Smock on, paint out and not having any of my fun that night so decided to spend some time in that dingy, abandoned sugar factory on the edge of town to see if I could spook up some ghosts. That night (which was a Wednesday, I think) the ghosts were all ornery so I took the Obscura along with and got excited for some quality shots. But when I got there it was dead quiet and as foreboding as sneaking out as a teenager and finding out your parents left the porch light on for you to come home to. I was spooked and a little shaky as you might guess,(I hadn’t had a dose of Strawberries in a week or two) so any little sound got me jumpy when I went up the catwalks to the Spook. My Sources told me that around this time “de ghost of de forman Ray Sweets haunts de office where he did heemself in” so I was sure I was going to get something good tonight. I set up camp in his old office knowing this would be the prime place if he was going to show up.
I had to wait, like, for a bazillion hours before Sweets showed his face. Well, more like he threw a light fixture at MY face to announce his presense. Being that I wasn’t so good at taking hits to the face at the time I dove away and snapped a few quick pics behind the chair I was sitting in. I guess he doesn’t like the paparazzi because that’s when he started throwing desks… Long story short I took a chest full of desk, flew out a window and would’ve became concrete pizza if I hadn’t grabbed the rail with my un-bruised arm. After that it was go-time. I jumped through the window and grabbed the first thing I could get my hands on—my fold up chair—and went Randy Savage on his ghosty butt. I was all over him with my routine but I guess he wasn’t getting my one-liners because after a few beats of the chair he knocked me off of my feet with a “boom” and backed me into a corner. It was then I could see his ugly mug. Sunken cheeks, balding head with a gnarly hole in the middle and his tacky “Ray Sweets” name tag haphazardly pinned to his shirt. Did I mention his breath stank? Didn’t know around then ghosts could smell that bad. Euuuugh. So anyway—I’m backed up into the corner, tearing up my favorite leggings (the ones with the bats on them), while I frantically looked for something to give him a good bopping. That’s when I saw him. (Second) Light of my life, sitting there against the wall just waiting for me. It was an old table leg-looking stick wrapped in barbed wire and nails. A bea(u)ty amongst the debris (poetry, I know) and it was like he was meant for me. I wrapped my mitts around him and wailed like a banshee while swinging blind. Needless to say in the end the Habar Leaf Sugar Factory was down one ghost and Gretchen was up one badass beatin’ stick.

Ol' Smacky

They Did The Monster Mash! hibbleshibble