#Twig hair lounge Patch#

When I die, I want it to be in my early fifties from a myocardial infarction and midway through a hamburger, not shut in an Iron Maiden in some medieval torture chamber. I may not be the sharpest fork in the cutlery set, but I know a five-strong bloodbath when it’s brewing.

Something didn’t feel right, and when something doesn’t feel right, it’s normally because it’s like wrong.

#Twig hair lounge Patch#

It usually takes Fred around 180 seconds to do his business and there’s often a wet patch in his pants before they’ve even made their excuses. What I did find odd was that, ten minutes later, they still hadn’t returned. First Fred and Daphne wandered off together to investigate, although there was not a lot peculiar about that one. That was an hour ago now and it took only a fraction of that time for strange things to start happening. The decision was made, The Mystery Machine parked right outside the front door just to let any resident ghouls know we were coming, and into Bloodstone Manor we ventured. Alas, while me and Scoobs may be a lot of things, hungry mostly, that list doesn’t happen to include cool. What I didn’t realize was that Velma has been taking self-defense classes in an attempt to shake her nerdy image and this overnight stay presented her the ideal opportunity to be part of the “cool gang”. So the casting vote was left down to Velma and I had high hopes for a 3-2 swing in our favor as everyone knows the dorky chick in glasses gets it first. Scoobs had his eye on a foot long pastrami sub he’d spotted at the last service station we passed and raised his paw for turning back without a second’s delay. Naturally Daphne was up for it as we all have a fair idea what goes on between her and Fred behind closed doors.

To be fair, we did put it to the vote and it was a close-run thing. Of course Fred didn’t listen and do you know why that is? It’s because Fred never listens once he’s got an idea in his head and it always seems to lead us to hell holes like this. There’s little appeal to me in any building that contains pictures with eyes that follow you around or suits of armor that try and get the sneak on you every time your back is turned. I mean, what kind of name is Bloodstone Manor if not as sinister as hell? I’d already told Fred that me and Scoobs don’t go near places with spooky, haunted, forbidden or creepy in the name but I guess I should have been more specific. If that makes me a chicken then… bwok, bwok, BWAK! I may have a yellow belly but I also have a fair idea what plays out in these kind of creepy mansions and it traditionally entails having the pants scared off you. Who’s bright idea was it to spend the night in a supposedly haunted house anyway? Don’t go looking at me as I was the first person to get the chilly willies when we pulled up outside this place and would much rather have just stayed in the van. Like, what’s going on man? Scoobs? Old buddy, old pal? Zoinks! Something tells me this is gonna be a long night.