Ghosts In The Caravan

Oh, I give up: there must be some way of exorcising these caravanning
people. Is there such a thing as a ghost story set in a caravan that
we could offer up to appease these people? I think that's what they
want. Just like the Knights Who Say Ni! they require appeasement.


"WE are the Knights Who Sleep In Caravans! To appease us you must
bring.....a ghost story set in a caravan!"

"Oh mighty Knights Who Sleep In Caravans, will a ghost that haunts a
caravan or trailer park suffice?"

"NO! Don't say that word! You must bring us a ghost story set in a
caravan - a spookily frightening tale, bound in nice red leather,
about a malevolent entity that haunts a SuperEasy Comfort 2000 - and
place it over there, next to our nice new shrubbery......... Or else
you will die!"

"Mighty Knights Who Sleep In Caravans, we shall do as you say!"

OhThoseVileBodies DeleteThis @hotmail.com (Haunted River) wrote in message news:<8aeb84d7.0402201041.1b485e5c DeleteThis @posting.google.com>...
 > Oh, I give up: there must be some way of exorcising these caravanning
 > people. Is there such a thing as a ghost story set in a caravan that
 > we could offer up to appease these people? I think that's what they
 > want. Just like the Knights Who Say Ni! they require appeasement.
 >
 >
 > "WE are the Knights Who Sleep In Caravans! To appease us you must
 > bring.....a ghost story set in a caravan!"
 >
 > "Oh mighty Knights Who Sleep In Caravans, will a ghost that haunts a
 > caravan or trailer park suffice?"
 >
 > "NO! Don't say that word! You must bring us a ghost story set in a
 > caravan - a spookily frightening tale, bound in nice red leather,
 > about a malevolent entity that haunts a SuperEasy Comfort 2000 - and
 > place it over there, next to our nice new shrubbery......... Or else
 > you will die!"
 >
 > "Mighty Knights Who Sleep In Caravans, we shall do as you say!"



The Caravan On The Borderland

From the Manuscript, discovered in 1877 by Messrs
Elliott and Sockpupple in the Ruins that lie to the
South of Craggy Island in the West Of Eireland.
Set our here with typos and etc.

POEM TO MY FATHER
Hey ho, ye bastid, ye ejit, ye drunken get,
Ye left us with ne'er a penny an' nivir gave a shet,
So I writ this hear poem so you'd be imprissed,
But Oim Findin it hard to type while roight pessed.


Right away in the West o' Craggy Island lies a tiny Caravan Park
called Kraighten Sunshine Valley. It is situated, alone, at the bottom
of a low hill. Twas there I discovered so I did a bleak and
inhospitable place, but that's enough about ABGF. Anyways, me and Mr
Sockpupple did Venture out one fair morning, fishing for trout so we
was, when would you believe it but Mrs Doyle said "Oi, Fathers, oi
think I've discovered a terribly Rare manuscript perporting to be a
Ghost Story about the Caravan On The Borderland." And would we like a
cup of tea?

"Away widja," we replied. "We is men fishing for us teas. Go do
the washing-up."

But the foul women kept a-pressing it under our noses.

"Go on, go on, go on, go on widjas!" she kept intoning, fair
slapping our faces with the badly damaged pamphlet. So we set down in
the water all wet-bumlike and we both of us read it and this is what
it said--

THE PLAIN OF WHITE NOISE

"I am an old man. I live here in this ancient house, surrounded by a
huge, unkempt internet. The peasantry who inhabit the wilderness
beyond say that I am mad. That is because I have nothing to do with
them. I live here alone with my old sister, who is also my
housekeeper. We keep no servants - I hate them. I have one friend, a
dog.

"Things were fine until these strange wandering gypsy folk moored a
carvan in my back garden and started throwing old rubbish into a large
unexplained hole what has always been there. After that these piglike
creatures started coming out all squealy and fritening like, eating
other and leaving the bones for me to clear up. I tried asking them
gypsies to leave but they said festival season ain't properly started
yet, and would I please mind delivering their claim form to the
social? It's got so bad now what with the yapping dogs on bits of old
string and the car tyres everywhere that the pigs themselfs what come
up from the hole want to kip in *my* gaff, on account of the garden
looking so ugly and 'oh, so last season, darling'. Hold on, there's
sopmeone at the door. It's probably those blessed gypsies again,
wanting to watch the game on satellite television.

"Somethi--"

There the manuscript ends.....<!-- ~MESSAGE_AFTER~ -->