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Tales From The Mole Man

By M. Oleman

I woke up this morning face down in a puddle of Cherry Kool Aid.
I gurgled then lapped up a little with my tongue before pushing myself to a sitting position. I was in the basement on the concrete floor, the coolest place in the house and I was surrouded by hundreds of plastic army men with tanks and guns along with dinosaurs, robots, and other assorted monsters. I peeled a bazooka man off my cheek, rubbed my temples and tried to remember exactly how I'd gotten here although to tell the truth it wasn't the strangest place I'd ever awoken. Slowly the cobwebs began to clear and I remembered:

The Manor was built when Roosevelt was president (Teddy not Franklin) and the gas furnace added during the Eisenhower administration. The place is old. It's drafty in the winter and resembles a large Easy- Bake Oven in the summer. So in the dog days of August the best idea is to head to the cellar and start thinking about Halloween. This I was doing when my son, the heir to my empire and collection of Hardees Juice glasses came down carrying his large box of soldiers. I actually gave this to him for his birthday a couple of years ago and
contains every army man and accessory that I managed to collect when I was a
boy. When we'd go someplace boring like visiting my Aunt Bar my mother would
suggest I bring something along to play with and I'd usually try to squeeze
this box into the backseat between my brother and sister before my dad made me
put it back.

So anyway on this particular day my son wanted to have a battle. But of course
because he's eight and has a vivid imagination and has my mutated genes it has
to be something special. The box was dumped out and he decided that on top of
the soldiers and marines (and the one sailor with a leg broken off) there had to
be some aliens involved. And robots. And dinosaurs. And to top it all off,
Gorgo. Someone gave him a dinosaur at the Bash a couple of years ago that looks
just like Gorgo. Usually he uses it to tease the dog but today it was
conscripted to fight the army.

So we ended up with my son controlling Gorgo and other dinosaurs along with a
few robots via an evil alien in a flying saucer while I controlled the US
military along a small Bundeswehr contingent, British laison Leftenant Carstairs
Cartwright-Jones, and Professor Farnsworth Fink of NASA and his daughter
(actually a cowgirl).

All the humans got to roll one six sided dice except for Sgt Granite (one of
those Marx Warriors of World figures who always had his chinstrap unbuttoned in
that cool way that they'd never let me do when I was in the army) who got to
roll two. The dinosaurs rolled three dice, the robots four, but Gorgo was given
my hundred sided dice from my old nerdy D&D days in high school (shh. Let's
leave the past in the past) which meant that with a swish of his tail he could
take out a platoon. Rules were made and changed. Dice were tossed and lost under
the dryer. Cherry Kool Aid was accidentally spilled in a depression in the floor
and declared a lake poisoned by the alien. Professor Fink used a special gizmo
to gain control of the robot Zogg (a Zeroid I recieved as a Christmas present so
many years ago who is only missing half of one arm). There was cheating and
subterfuge and tears (the boy stubbed his toe at one point) but after a couple
hours of play I was coming out on top. Sgt Granite was leading one last assault
to take out Gorgo and bragging about having dinosaur steaks back at the barracks
when my son pulled off one of the greatest military maneuvers of all time: he
excused himself to the bathroom and never came back.

By this time it was after midnight and with heavy eyelids I laid down using a
couple of Sherman tanks as a pillow. I just wanted a few winks but I soon fell
into a sound sleep and naturally in my thrashing about wrecked the battlefield
and removed any chance of bringing the game to a conclusive victory over an
eight year old.

I'm begging him for a rematch but he won't budge.
Hope everyone's having a great summer.


Tales From The Mole Man

By M. Oleman

I just spent two hours tearing my attic apart looking for a drawing my childhood best friend Steve made of his sister Lorraine portraying her as a matchstick. This is what he called her when he was teasing, which was often.

I didn't find it, but I did however, find a plastic GI Joe missle that I lost in 1971 and a picture of Dr Smith from "Lost In Space" that had been defaced by someone drawing a mustache and glasses on it. I suspect my brother.

Hope everyone else had a more productive Saturday.

Until next time, my "Fiends", have a "'Spooky'-Fun" week, weekend & beyond, enjoy some good, ol' "Monster" movies, with some "munchies", "'Monster...
'...Sorry the heat is getting to me.


Tales of The Mole Man

When I left my house for the Riverside Drive-In the sky was dark with Black Swans and chickens coming home to roost. Armies mobilized and shoes were figuratively pounded on podiums. Bankers fretted. Headlines belched and editors puffed. Dark clouds. The smell of grapeshot. I didn't let any of it bother me. It was a dog and pony show that left you thinking in circles. We are after all independant organisms crawling across a crumb in the universe and I had more important things on my mind, such as push-starting my 1941 DeSoto Deluxe Coupe. Which I managed to do with the help of gravity and a neighbor who looks like Yves Montaund from "The Wages Of Fear."

And so, fortified with Alpha Bits, Clark Bars, and special Limited Edition Guava Melon Yoo Hoo, I took my leave to Vandergrift. During the long drive I contemplated such things as the directors cut of "The Brain From Planet Arous" with the undeleted Buddy Ebsen scenes and Von Tumpling's charge at the battle of Froeschwiller in 1870. I wondered why Zasu Pitts wasn't more popular and why you couldn't buy a good Pierogie sub anywhere. Crazy thoughts crawled across my brain and I ranted at no one in particular about the daily funnies in the newspaper being color instead of black and white which, along with holding doors for a lady and wooden baseball bats were among things I considered should never change.

At the Drive-In I arrived early and parked the DeSoto with the Simplimatic transmission that delivered "Unbridled Driving Pleasure" way in the back of the lot by an Azeala bush, then just to stay in practice, low-crawled to the concession stand stopping only occasionally to pick wild onions. Inside, the Creepy Classics crew including Ron's wife Ursula and multi-talented daughter Paisley (sans sword) had built themselves a cozy fort out of boxes of monster movies and piles of t-shirts while Ron dispensed sage advice, told amusing childhood anecdotes, and gave plumbing repair solutions. He proved impossible to stump on any monster related trivia or concerns including questions such as "I saw this movie once when I was a kid that had a monster and a scientist in it..." which is why they call him "the King of the Monster Men" or as he is known in Germany, "den grossen König der Angst Männern". Although he did disappoint me by not having a copy of "Journey To The Seventh Planet" in it's original Danish so I could hear John Agar mutter the immortal line, "Arkæologer er underbetalt reklame agenter for afdøde royalty".

I'll just have to keep working on dubbing my own. Jeg kan gøre det.
Dan "the idea man" Weber was there as well sharing his latest brainstorm of a condiment dispenser that would, upon depressing the pump, give forth a type of meat-slurry for application to pretzels or, it's assumed, any other drive-in fare. I understand that Riverside engineers are working on it at this very moment.

David "the Rock" Nelson was not there filming a movie which worried me a little because I knew he was somewhere filming a movie about something but I steeled myself and hid my wallet in case he did show up and try to talk me into buying "Devil Ant 6". Although since I already have 1-5 why stop now?

The movies were great and the Concession stand was superb with a boisterous and courteous staff and delicious food that the Drive-Inners gobbled up copiously. A good time was had by all including the undead creatures which swarmed in the woods of North Vandergrift.

I took my time on the drive home and only saw the red eyes of the Mothman in my rear view mirror once.
Planning for next year already.



Tales of The Mole Man

(Confessions of a Monster Kid)

When I look back on it with fond memories and recollections I always think of it as the Year of the Apes. Me and my best friend Steve and in fact all the kids in our neighborhood at that time were thoroughly infatuated with anything to do with monkeys or gorillas. This was probably because of many late night viewing of "King Kong", "Mighty Joe Young", Bela Lugosi's "The Ape Man", and even the Ritz Brother's in "the Gorilla". Then there was the fairly recent release of "Planet Of The Apes" which we all saw at the local theater. Even when we went to buy our comic books we took extra care to look for issues that featured The Flash's enemy "Gorilla Grod" and the Fantastic Four's foe "The Red Ghost and His Super Apes." So it made perfect sense that for Halloween that year Steve was excited about buying an Ape Man costume.

I was a little jealous, but store bought costumes were heresy in my family and year after year my mother put together something homemade for us. In fact to this very day if you climb the steep steps to her attic you will find a couple of large boxes filled with bits and pieces to make a clown, hobo, caveman, scarecrow, ghoul and many others. But as Steve was one of five kids I suppose his mother found it a lot easier to just give them each a couple of dollars and send them out to buy one.

And so on this particular October day a couple of weeks before Halloween we set out for the local Five & Ten. All was right with the world and we knew things would never be any different. Dad's big, green Chevy would always be in the driveway, Chilly Billy would always have monster movies for us on Saturday night, and the Sears Catalog would always arrive in the mail before Christmas. Our little world was safe, cozy, and permanent even if there were the occasional pitfalls of boring visits to Aunt Bar's where we were forced to watch Lawrence Welk and eat Bridge Mix.

We started out from our neighborhood on the hill walking on the curb as we always did, pretending the street was boiling, hot lava and the sidewalk was Sulphuric Acid that would strip the skin right off your bones. Sometimes we changed it up by adding quicksand, but either way you were a goner. After this we cut through an alley where we stopped to bounce on the Ishy-Gwishy. This was a chunk of blacktop that had separated itself from the road so that it made a "squish" sound when jumped upon. We had a lot of theories for this phenomenon, my favorite being that a creature had tunneled up from the earth and escaped into the woods and the local borough wouldn't fix the street in the hopes that the monster would go back to where it came from. Steve even claimed to have seen something creeping around down by the creek where we played with Army men. I was skeptical, but thought it best to be cautious in these matters.

Once off Main Street we headed down the wide staircase straight for the bottom floor of G.C. Murphys. That's where they kept all the good stuff: toys, comic books, pets, and seasonal merchandise which in this case meant Halloween costumes. The place was overflowing with costumes in boxes and on hangers and of course on the floor as the store was pretty close to a couple of schools and got a lot of kid traffic. As we excitedly looked through the monsters and super-heroes Steve made a fatal mistake that would cause a brawl and bring capricious, adult punishment down upon our heads: he picked up a Fairy Princess costume that was mixed in with the good stuff and, just to get it out of the way stuck it under his arm.

Timing is everything in life, and as fate would have it this is when our enemies chose to show up. I don't remember the bully's name, but we called him something like Rat or Butchy. He didn't go to our school, but always managed to show up in our territory. He had his Lieutenant with him (we actually referred to him as that) and his toady who we called Froggy, an irony that escaped us at the time.

"Ooooh, nice Fairy Princess costume, Steve", said the bully.

"Yeah, nice!" chimed in Froggy who never really had anything original to say. The Lieutenant laughed and did some kind of ballet move that made him look ridiculous but drove his point home with deadly accuracy.

Steve dropped the costume and started to yell. He was a redhead and had a fierce temper and when he was angry this caused his face to turn a shade of red and purple that was not found anywhere in nature at that time, except maybe deep inside a volcano or on another planet. I stepped back and went into my combat stance and prepared to deliver my signature fighting move which was closing my eyes and flailing both arms in a propeller type movement that was just as likely to harm friend as well as foe. Things were about to get ugly like when the Avengers fought The Circus Of Crime, when a man that worked at the store intervened. He separated us and gave us a good lecture that included such classics as "If you want to fight, join the army" and "When I was your age...."

The gang went away snickering and Steve's face slowly regained his normal color. He found and bought an Ape Man costume and we loaded up on candy and headed home, and all seemed well.

But we exited the store and didn't get more than a few feet down the block when a loud voice screamed from across the street, "YOO HOO! FAIRY PRINCESS!"

"That's it!" Steve yelled as he shoved his bag into my arms and took off running right in front of traffic. Horns blared and someone screamed "Hey you dumb kid!" but Steve didn't hear any of it. The bullies laughed and darted off with him in hot pursuit. The toady peeled off down an alley and to this day I don't know whether he was trying to save himself or trying to lure Steve away and sacrifice himself for the greater good of the bully herd. In any event it made no difference as Steve completely ignored him and went after the big fish.

I took a few steps into the street and someone in a car yelled at me and so I moved back to the sidewalk and stood there holding our bags not sure what to do. Then I thought I heard Steve off in the distance holler "Watch my stuff!" as he rounded the corner toward the elementary school. That pretty much settled it. I had been designated the stuff watcher, as important a job as those guys that held the horses in the Civil War.

I waited and waited for what seemed like forever but Steve didn't come back so I started to head home thinking maybe that was the plan and tried to remember if this had been discussed in one of our clubhouse meetings as Jupiter 2 Purple Plan X or something.
I walked as slowly as I could, including backwards for awhile, but still no Steve. I gave a perfunctory jump on the Ishy-Gwishy, but it was no fun playing Hot Lava/Sulphuric Acid on your own, so I headed up the hill to home using the sidewalk for a change. That's when I ran into the next problem: Steve's sister Lorraine. She was well known all over the tri-state area and as far away as Punxatawney as a snoop and a tattletale, and being the only girl out of five children she had special dispensation to snitch. Wherever she is today I'm sure she's working for the CIA or maybe has her own Private Detective Agency.

"Where's Steve?" she said, immediately suspicious.

"Oh, he's coming" I said casually munching on a Mallo Cup trying to appear indifferent.

"Why isn't he with you? Is that his bag? Where is he right now?" "Is he in trouble?" She fired the questions at me one after another like a Thompson submachine gun and I could feel the sweat beading up on my forehead as I began to break under the interrogation.
Finally she stopped, looked me up and down and marched off saying "I'm telling."

Now we were really in for it. Getting yelled at in the Five & Ten, running down the middle of the street, more adult yelling, Steve lost, possibly in jail. It would all come out now. Our permanent record jackets were stuffed and overflowing just from this year alone and it was only October.

I sat on my front porch and waited. The sun was going down and it was getting darker. "The Kid Code" demanded I tell no one, and if I didn't break it that time Steve got that nail in his foot, I sure wouldn't break it now. I was thinking up elaborate, crazy stories involving motorcycle gangs and escaped convicts and car crashes to explain away everything including Steve's disappearance when I spotted him coming up the hill, He was walking in that slow gait he used when he knew he was in trouble and in no hurry to get home. His shirt was torn and one of the knees was ripped out of his pants and he had scratches on his face. All he would say was that "they won't bother us anymore." When I told him about Lorraine he gritted his teeth and muttered under his breath "Matchstick," which was what he called her and what usually got him in trouble with his mom.

I walked up the street to see him the next day but he was being punished and wasn't allowed out although he did hang out his bedroom window long enough to show me the King Kong model he was working on. I found out later the bully fight culminated in the lawn of one our teachers and involved the Lieutenant running home in tears and Rat/Butchy in a headlock crying Uncle which lead to Steve being lectured at length by Mrs. Staley and forced to do some of her yard work as punishment. They say the fight is still talked about to this day when the boys gather behind the old gas house to trade baseball cards and stickers.

The Ape Man costume was a big hit for Trick or Treat and the mask continued to make it's way into our games for months afterwards. I vividly recall wearing it once to destroy a massive set up of Army men in Steve's attic as I pretended to be King Kong. Last seen the tattered and ripped mask was on a hook in his garage, living out a well deserved retirement which is the best any of us can hope for.
It was the Year of the Apes and it was a great year.

-M. Oleman,

Underground in Pittsburgh, PA

Above: From the M. Oleman - "That's me as the Scarecrow, Steve as the Ape Man with pilowcase full of Halloween loot. Plastic fruit on coffee table still in use at my mom's house."



Tales of The Mole Man


I arrived at the Days Inn in the normal fashion which was to park my 59 DeSoto Firesweep in the woods behind the hotel, lurk in the tree line till I spotted an errantly ajar door, then dash inside. Once in the hotel I made my way above the Creepy Classics room then quietly lowered myself down through the drop ceiling. Barb Heiss, completely engrossed in "1001 Reasons Why The Brain From Planet Arous Is The Greatest Movie Ever Made" (a book I wrote under the pen name "Buddy Ebensen"), didn't notice me as I slipped past her and out into the hallway. I did my best to appear normal and kept my furtive glances and suspicious looks over my shoulder to a minimum as I joined the throng of monster fans, Lugosiphiles, movie buffs, and various and assorted collectors, enthusiasts, and aficionados.

At the registration desk I flashed my John Agar Fan Club Membership Card which got me in and, strangely enough, not only entitles me to a 10% discount at Sears but once gained me access to the Whidbey Island Naval Air Station when I was on a road trip and needed to use the men's room badly.

I spent the weekend mingling, mixing, hobnobbing and rubbing shoulders with monster bashers and honored guests. Mark Statler was present, but sadly did not perform his one man show "MARK! It's Me!" as it is rumored he has done at other conventions. Also there was a noticeable absence of large, plastic ants being shoved in front of people's faces which could only mean that David "the Rock" Nelson was elsewhere probably filming "Devil Ant 9" or "Conrad Brooks Versus Conrad Brooks From The Future."

The movie room was better than ever and the vendors were set up in style. I even managed to find a VHS copy of "War Of The Gargantuas" reportedly once owned by Bob Pellegrino. It did not come with a certificate of authenticity but I like to believe it actually did belong to Bob and I can imagine him sitting in his well worn duct tape repaired recliner enjoying viewing after viewing while sipping on many cold beverages drunk out of a Sigmund And The Sea Monsters Mug.

I also purchased a copy of "The Green Slime" from the Son of Ghoul and related a humorous story to him from my childhood about my mother not letting me go see this movie when it came to the local theater:

"I want to go see The Green Slime with Steve" I pleaded to her.
"I don't care if it's "The Green Slime" or "The Purple Sludge," you're not going. It'll give you nightmares."

The Ghoul laughed heartily at this story but he had a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and now I'm afraid he will call my mother and tell her and I'm pretty sure the ban is still in effect.

Without Don Reese in attendance there was plenty of cake, even some left over, so I finally got a little taste and now realize why there is such a mad rush to the lobby at cake cutting time and why Ron usually takes cover behind a table. And to finish the weekend off Paisley Adams filmed a couple more episodes of Monster Bash TV, one of which prominently features the West German Army field jacket that I wore back in my Bundeswehr days where I served under the name of "UnterOffizier Albrecht Krause."

The OctoberBash at the Days Inn promises to be the not-to-be-missed event of Autumn from this day forward.
And of course when you do the Bash Dash across Route 8 in October you don't sweat near as much.

PS: Please no one tell my mom I watched The Green Slime last night.


P.S. - On the way home from the OctoberBash a large, hairy creature ran in front of my car causing me to swerve and hit a telephone pole. I'm okay, but I can't get hold of anyone at the DeSoto plant in Ypsilanti to order replacement parts.



Tales of the Mole Man

A Return from Pittsburgh Toy Show - Steel City Con

I left my house Sunday Morning for the Steel City Con dressed as Trevor Ochmonek from the 80s tv show ALF. The disguise was necessary because one of my old childhood enemies was trying to track me down convinced that I was the one who had stolen the purple goop from his Creeple People set back in 1973 even though it was really his dog Fluffy which explained not only the missing goop but also the mysterious stains in the grass in his back yard at the time.

And so, engorged on Nescafe and Snowman shaped Christmas marshmallows, I breezed down the highway in my 65 Rambler listening to the sweet sounds of "Frank Tady And His Tady Bears" arriving at the Monroeville Convention Center at 10 AM.
I wandered in a side door pretending to be a confused and lost tourist from Prague and managed to get in without paying although I did get quite a few suspicous looks from Hacksaw Jim Duggan, one of the show guests.

I walked around the show a little then sidled up close to the Creepy Classics setup. I hid behind an Incredible Hulk comic book (#121 where he fights the Glob) and listened in on the conversations. Dan Weber and Leonard Hayhurst were arguing about the likelihood of the existance of the Great Pumpkin while Ron Adams was discussing the finer points of "Caltiki,The Immortal Monster" with a diminuative staffer named Wolf.
Ron has tried to avoid me in the past so when he got up I followed him around the show at a discrete distance waiting for the right moment to approach him. He lingered at the Fudgie Wudgie stand, then had an animated conversation with a vendor about plastic dinosaurs. Finally, when he was stooped over searching through a bin of Holly Hobbie dolls I tapped him on the shoulder and yelled "The Mummy's Ghost!" in his ear assuming he would know it was me.

I guess this startled him because he jumped up quickly knocking over a table of Hot Wheels which scattered everywhere. In the confusion that followed a couple of Stormtroopers nearby almost took a tumble and Indiana Jones lost his hat. As Ron was picking up cars and apolgizing I thought it best to quietly take my leave.

As I was approaching the exit I took a look back at the chaos and noticed Ron looking in my direction and waving his fist. I'm not exactly sure but I think he may have put the Curse Of The Pharoah on me.

This was a great show as always with a copious amount of old toys and collectibles and interesting guests, especially Henry Winkler who really seemed to be having a good time meeting his fans.

When I returned home that night I slept very uneasily as I could very faintly hear a step/scrape and groaning sound outside my window for hours. Next show in March. I may not make it.

-M. Oleman - Address Unknown



Tales of the Moleman

"It's A Wonderful Bash"

This arrived after I had already left the Creepy Classics HQ suites just before Christmas. So, a belated, but heartfelt tale from our correspondant "M. Oleman." So hang on tight for a holiday account of our world, from the dark, shadowy land of M. Oleman:

I was driving around trying to get my last minute Christmas shopping done and was having trouble finding a Kresges or a Gimbels Department Store when I spotted Ron Adams. He was driving a faded yellow AMC Pacer with a bumper sticker that read "UFOs Are Real. The Air Force Doesn't Exist." I wanted to wish him a Merry Christmas and ask him a question regarding when "The Creeping Terror" was being released on Blu-Ray, so I did a hard U-turn in my DeSoto and followed him as he parked in the lot of a local eating and drinking establishment. I left my Punky Brewster lunchbox and my Etch-A-Sketch in the trunk and slid across the parking lot. By the time I got inside Ron was already seated at the counter with a large glass of Eggnog in front of him reading a copy of "Yeti Fancy", so I slid onto the stool next to him. A large, shaved head counter man wearing a Cedar Rapids Kernels T-shirt whose name tag said "Don, Ask Me About The Daily Specials" approached me and gruffly asked me what I wanted.

"I was just thinking...It's been so long since I..." I started to say then fumbled and hesitated somewhat
"Look mister I'm standing here waiting for you to make up your mind" the counter man growled.
"That’s a good man." I said. "I was just thinking of a Flaming Rum Punch. No, it’s not cold enough for that. Not nearly cold enough . . . Wait a minute . . . wait a minute . . . I got it. Mulled wine, heavy on the cinnamon and light on the cloves. Off with you, me lad, and be lively!" I said.

"Hey, look mister, we serve coffee, Eggnog and pie in here And we don’t need any characters around to give the joint atmosphere. Is that clear? Or do I have to slip you my left for a convincer?"

"What's he talking about, Ron?" I said as I turned to my left.

"Don, just give him the same as mine. He's OK" Ron said.

"Oh-Oh. Somebody's just made it" I said as I heard a bell ring. "You know every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings."

"I wouldn't mention that just now" Ron said as the counterman hovered.

"He never grew up" Ron said as he smiled sheepishly. "How old are you anyway?"

"One hundred and twelve...next January. According to my Yahoo profile" I answered.

"That does it! Out you two Pixies go, through the door or out the window!"

It was just then that the door opened and I could hear a familiar step/scrape sound behind me.

"Hey! Hey you, mummy there! Come here! Com' mere! Didn't I tell you not to come around here with your Tana leaves anymore, huh?"

"Kharis? Is that you" I said.

"Now that's another reason not to like you. This mummys' been stranglin' people on four continents. If you know him you must be one of them wise guys that likes to read the Scroll of Thoth."

"Uh, would you show these gentleman to the door?" the counterman said with , mock politeness to the cook and the waiter standing beside him.

The next thing I recall I was sailing through the air watching Ron soar beside me with his arms and legs flailing.
We landed in a snow bank on the curb next to some garbage cans.

I looked over at Ron as he struggled to sit up. He had snow and ice crystals stuck to his Eggnog mustache and he was rubbing his head. Inside I could hear the counterman laughing and yelling "Get me! I'm givin' out wings!" as he slammed his hand down on the service bell.

Ron got up and shook his head at me then walked away unsteadily towards his car. I lay there for a while letting the snow hit my face thinking how this was the best Christmas ever and how maybe I'd even find a new Creeple Peeple set under the tree this year.

And so, as Sam Wainright observed, "Hee Haw and Merry Christmas to all!"

Note: The preceding story is either a dream or it really happened. It's getting harder and harder to tell the difference.

M. Oleman


Tales of the Moleman

Well, I just recieved another e-mail from the mysterious M. Oleman. Though I don't remeber being in the store he mentions or having the AMC Pacer he describes....he seems to beliebve so stroingly that it must be true. I actually do have a Rat Fink bobblehead on my dashboard. There are a ot of references that you might only get if you attend the Monster Bash Conferences.

Here's the word-by-word e-mail I received from someone named M. Oleman...I found it entertaining and hopefully you might too! -Ron

I woke up face down on the kitchen floor. At least it was my floor this time and not the neighbors. I tried to roll over but found it difficult as I had somehow ended up under the kitchen table and gotten entangled in the chair legs. My mouth tasted like the floor of Don Reese's Pontiac Catalina station wagon and my head was pounding as if I'd just watched a David "the Rock" Nelson movie marathon featuring all nine "Devil Ant" movies. I crawled out and dragged myself to my feet and then poured a large glass of Sapporro Gabunimi Melon Cream soda which I mixed with a little Rock-a-dile Red Kool Aid.
Last night was largely a blank, but I rubbed my temples and slowly started to remember:

When I got out of bed yesterday morning it was a day like any other. Only more so. I had my normal breakfast of Butterscotch Shake- A -Pudding and Malted Milk Balls washed down with Nescafe while I watched Milton The Monster cartoons on my old black and white Zenith tv. As usual when I left the house I checked for trip wires and booby traps, and though I didn't see any I did notice a squirrel in a nearby Oak tree watching me intently. I made a note of his 10 digit map grid coordinate and went on my way to take care of errands.

On the highway I had my foot stomped down hard on the pedal of my '49 Oldsmobile Eighty Eight jamming to The Harmonicats when I thought I spotted Ron Adams. It had to be him. I don't know anyone else who drives a yellow AMC Pacer with a primered front fender and a Rat Fink Bobblehead on the dash. My curiousity got the better of me so I eased my car into traffic a couple of car lengths back and decided to follow him at a discrete distance. I think he saw me at one point as he sped up and changed lanes several times rapidly, but that only made me all the more determined to keep up even though I already had plans to spend the afternoon reenacting "The Green Slime" with puppets and plastic army men.

Finally he slowed and pulled into a local shopping center and walked into a hobby shop.
I combat parked my car behind a dumpster then went in after him. I followed him around for awhile being careful not to show myself. He spent a lot of time looking at the models then went over and played with the trains for awhile. Next he set up a battle on the floor using plastic dinosaurs, spacemen, and hobbits from the Dungeons & Dragons section.and appeared to be having a good time until one of the store clerks made him stop it and put everything back. I then tailed him to the rear of the store where I watched him test out an RC helicopter. It was at this point that I decided to try and get his attention so I suddenly yelled "THE CREEPING TERROR" in his ear to see what his reaction would be. This turned out to be a mistake. He jumped in the air and dropped the controller which jammed sending the helicopter buzzing out the open back door into the woods behind the mall.past a UPS driver who was making a delivery. Thinking I could catch it I ran after it as fast as I could hearing Ron back in the store apologizing as the clerk yelled at him. I soon became disoriented and spent the next 18 hours lost in the woods subsisting on pine cones and tree bark until I finally wandered out on to a road in the wee hours of the morning. A bus load of Battle of Bannockburn reenactors stopped and offered to give me a ride but only if I agreed to go by the name of Jock and participate in their sing-a-long of old Scottish ballads such as "Blue Bonnets Over The Border", "Waggle Of The Kilts", and "Wee Drap O' Whiskey".

And so finally, about 3 AM, bedraggled, shoeless, exhausted, and hoarse I crawled up my steps and into my kitchen and proceeded to fall asleep on the floor.

None of this would happen if Ron would only take my calls.



Back in the old days when I was a kid and had to walk to school in rain, shine, or blizzard, and once even in a tornado (I swear) it seems that parents, and grownups in general received quite a bit of entertainment from the humiliations they inflicted on us. Such as dressing us up in ridiculous formal outfits for any reason at all (Aunt Bar just got a new rose bush. Go put your good suit on). Maybe it was because there was no cable tv or Internet, or so many of the other toys and gadgets that everyone has nowadays. Laughing at your kid was just a way to pass the time of day. (I need a good chuckle. Dress the kids up.). Or maybe it was just payback time for what they had to go through when they were young. But, for whatever reason, back then a kid's life was one of constantly looking forward to vacations and holidays, and constantly dreading the next stint in your good dress clothes maybe even as the dreaded wedding Ring Bearer.

But, the worst indignity of all, at least for me, were the plays and pageants we were forced to participate in. I went to an old Catholic school that was so ancient it made all the other old buildings in town that were put up during The Depression look positively modern. The halls were giant and cavernous and the doors to the rooms were at least ten feet tall. Everything creaked and groaned and more than one poor kid wet his little desk seat rather than go to the bathroom by himself. Or, maybe that was just me. And the boiler room. Please don't make me speak of the boiler room.

We were always practicing for some kind of ceremony or play which I never managed to get out of no matter how low I slunk down behind my desk. So during this one particular spring we were marched across the street to the basement of the church. Two by two. Backs straight. No talking or eyeballing. Even many years later when I was in the army I don't think we marched this well. Of course all we had to fear in the service were grizzled NCOs who were veterans of bloody battles and campaigns, not menacing nuns clad in mysterious black robes wielding rulers and the occasional yardstick which they were not afraid to use.

Once inside we were yelled at and lined up and yelled at some more and told that the feature song of this Spring Pageant would be "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head" which we would practice till we got right.
I guess this was a popular song at the time but it went right over my head. The only thing I listened to were records I ordered from the back of Famous Monsters, such as "Famous Monsters Speak" or "An Evening With Boris Karloff And His Friends." If I listened to the radio at all it was just to try and catch an episode of "Inner Sanctum" or "The Shadow".

My best friend Steve was there with me right beside me which made the situation somewhat bearable but also increased the possibility of trouble. And whenever Steve got in trouble I would usually be dragged into it or sometimes take the fall for the whole thing if he could manage it. The warm weather seemed to bring the devil out in Steve and made him especially inclined to puckish acts of mischief. We started to sing the song using the sheet music they gave us but whenever it was time to sing the refrain "Raindrops keep falling on my head", Steve (who was truly an unrecognized comic genius, a master of the art of humor) would sing "Raindrops Keep Falling on My BUTT" putting special emphasis on the "butt." I mean really belting it out and then looking at me sideways with that mischievous grin he had. I tried as hard as I could not to laugh but really the situation was impossible. How could any kid not laugh at that? I started to giggle which just made Steve worse. After all every comedian needs an audience. So, then he started singing in funny voices: Bela Lugosi, an old man, and of course the classic Donald Duck. But always emphasizing the Butt part of the song. Soon I was doing more laughing than singing which was when I felt a Hulk-like grip on my shoulder and was yanked to the side. I don't remember the nun's name but it was something like "Sister Mary Havoc" or "Sister Calamity."

"What was I laughing at?! What was so funny!? Why aren't you taking this seriously!?"

I stood there quivering in my Buster Brown's as ominous black robes hovered around me and looked over at Steve for support. He had his serious, angelic face on now. I swear I saw a halo over his head. He was safe and he knew it. There was no way I could tell what I was laughing about. I remembered the kid who did nothing more that draw a cartoon of a nun riding a broomstick last Halloween and he was taken out of class and never seen again. It was said he ended up in the boiler room. A couple of the cooler heads in our group suggested he had merely transferred to another school because of his dad's job but we shouted them down. We knew it was the boiler room treatment. If I spilled my guts not only would I be breaking the kid's code, but there was no telling what would happen to me. So I stuttered and stammered and hemmed and hawed and got ready to let loose a few tears. Then my captor pointed a long, narrow, bony finger that looked like a tree branch at Steve. He pointed to himself with a "who, me?" expression and a look so innocent that even I was starting to think he had done nothing wrong.

Steve and I were, as the police say "known associates." If one was up to no good the other probably was too. We proclaimed our innocence of any wrongdoing but were lectured and yelled at and lectured again then separated to opposite ends of the class. For good measure, while we continued the practice Steve was guarded by a phalanx of nuns while I was put next to a couple of class tattletails, This was enough to ensure the rest of the afternoon went without further interruption and we all learned that song along with a few others. After school while watching Ultraman reruns we agreed that in order to safely make it to summer vacation it would be best to just the sing the song the way it was written no matter how boring the lyrics were.

A few nights later with the boys stuffed into our dress clothes with our hair slicked back and the girls in frilly, white dresses holding flowers, we gave our performance. When it came time for the big finish even though I couldn't see Steve because the forces of law and order had separated him from me and he was way in the back somewhere, at the right time I distinctly heard him sing loud, clear and proud "Raindrops Keep Falling on my Butt!"

A true artist and master of his craft.

-M. Oleman, Bowels of the Earth

"The Moleman" is a frequent contributor here at Creepy Classics and Monster Bash Magazine. If you have similar experiences or comments, or bad memories that this reminds you of.....feel free to drop us an e-mail. -Ron



The Latest From "The Moleman" and the Way We Grew Up

I was in my basement hunkered down under my desk with a flashlight and a pile of comic books that included "Devil Dinosaur" and "Kammandi, The Last Boy On Earth." It was safe and cozy and I had no intention of leaving for quite a while. If I got hungry there was a box of Milk Duds in one of the desk drawers, and if I got thirsty I could always use the hose on the laundry tub. I liked that anyway because it always reminded me of the old days when my mom would get sick of us about two months into summer vacation and would lock us out of the house and yell "You kids are driving me crazy! Stay outside for a few hours and don't come back until supper! If you get thirsty use the garden hose!" That water always tasted the best. Which is why to this very day when I go out to eat I always request hose water with my meal.

I really didn't want to go out. There was nothing out there for me. It was a bleak and hopeless desolation. Like a Black Hole. Or a Sylvester Stallone movie. I had everything I needed under my desk. Still it was getting awfully close to Monster Bash and it was vital I load up on supplies. I knew a guy. He could get me Fiddle Faddle. All I wanted. For the right price.

So I stretched and filled my pockets with Limited Edition Boo Berry M&Ms to fortify myself in these dark times and crawled out the small cellar window, as I usually did. Only an amateur would use the front or back door and possibly be ambushed by Spetsnaz or a GRU agent or an old childhood friend who decades later still harbored resentment for you breaking his U-Fly-It Barnstormer plane when it was obviously an accident that you landed it in the street and it was run over by your Uncle Ang's Sedan De Ville..

Before I left I checked the Skunk Ape trap in my back yard and found that once again the Zagnut Bars were missing but the trap was unsprung. He was crafty, but sooner or later he'd slip up and I'd get him. I had nothing but time.

And so minutes latet I was cruising down the road in my DeSoto Firesweep listening to the sweet sounds of "The Dude Ranch Buckaroos." Just when Elmer Thomson was hitting the high notes of "Meet Me By The River" I thought I spotted Ron Adams going into the 5&10. I blew my horn (which plays Booga Boo Baby) but he didn't turn around so I parked and followed him. I had a lot of questions to ask him including was it true that a remake of ""Manos: Hands of Fate" was in the works starring Brad Pitt, and why at the Battle of Konniggratz in 1866 didn't Benedek follow up Von Pockh's charge with a counterattack to destroy the Prussian First and Elbe armies before the Second army arrived thus just about ensuring a Prussian victory?

So I parked my car and followed Ron inside, but I was determined this time to be careful and not startle him as I sometimes have in the past with my overexuberance. As he looked over some merchandise I sidled up close behind him and said quietly "Pssst. Killers From Space." He sort of half turned his head then edged away a little and I wasn't sure he heard me so I followed him and once again came up behind him whispering just a little louder, "Psst, The Creeping Terror." He jumped a little at that then started walking towards the exit giving a quick look over his shoulder. I tailed him outside and watched him walking briskly down the sidewalk. I went after him although it was getting hard to keep up. Soon he was speed-walking down the street with me about ten feet behind him.

"The Mummy's Ghost!" I yelled. "Revenge Of The Creature!" but he only walked faster. At this point I wasn't sure if he was exercising or trying to get away from me.

Finally I darted forward, grabbed him by his left shoulder and spun him around, then snatched him up by his lapels and held him against the wall " Ron!" I screamed in excitement, "The Monster Bash is almost here! I'm so excited I can hardly contain myself!"

It was at this moment that I realized that it was not Ron Adams at all but just someone who vaguely resembled him. As I held him there up against the wall with his feet dangling and kicking and his eyes agog I debated whether to let just drop him and run or apologize and wait for the police.

Then out of the corner of my eye I noticed a car slowing down. It was Ron Adams. The real one. He looked over at me quizzically at first, then slowly as recognition dawned on him and he realized who I was, he shook his head and drove away.

Monster Bash in 58 days. Apparently I'm so excited I'm having a great deal of difficultly containing myself.

-M.Oleman, Deep in the Heart of the Earth's Core

Feel free to add your comments about the upcoming Monster Bash in June (real or Imagined! Not that we qustion M. Oleman's account). Just e-mail us....





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