I've always believed, anything for a laugh, a look, or even a "WTF!" Reality is so Funny if told in the right way - Genius, Odd, Sad or even Scary... And that's EEK.
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Bonus Episode: SPKY RORA - (SPOOKY RORA - A Vanity Plate Sighting on 787 towards Saratoga/Ballston Spa NY)
Sometimes a story or random event just falls into our laps. It's as if the universe decided to put you or others in a particular place at a very specific time, where whatever you or these others actually witness or see with your own eyes, may indeed change your perspective for all of time...
Before Thursday, August 27th, I'd say around 10:30AM in the morning EST, I did NOT truthfully believe in Ghosts, Witches, Warlocks, Goblins, and some might even refer to what we saw that day as, A Ghoul. However, all of those beliefs are now very real, lying deep within my tainted soul, and within my passenger's as well (who briefly froze solid on that day)...
Forces beyond our control, our wildest imaginations, at times show up or present what the demonic worshipers call, "An Evil Spirit, The Undead, or even - Mothman..." Unfortunately for EEKshow and my good friend, all three of those myths became a reality last week. Forewarned by a Vanity License Plate, reading from left to right: S P K Y R O R A - all three visually appeared in just one being or IT.
Welcome to the EEKshow, and beware of this tale, this route towards Saratoga/Ballston Spa, and this Vanity Plate (for it is very real, it's out there, AND YOU MAY BE THE NEXT ONE TO SEE "WHO-WHAT-IT" S ACTUALLY DRIVING WITH IT)...!!!
Spooky. It's the each show. Are you a fan of Witches and Warlocks? Halloween season, fucking spooky times. Are you a fan of the fucking Tales from the Dark Side? Tales from the Crypt? Beyond Spirituality? Ghosts? Do you watch ghost hunters? Those fucking deadbeat mutants. Fucking spirit in the kitchen, man. Put the camera on it. A piece of tinfoil on the fucking wall, man. It's just reflecting the fucking nightlight. It's a ghost, man! Place fucking on it! Ghost hunters. Fuck out of here, man. Hey, wait, man. Is that the uh the girl with the shit all the shit in her face? It's my wife, man. Oh, fucking shit, man. I'm sorry. Yo mind if I shoot up here? Mikasa Sukasa. Right home. Pulp fiction! Fucking Quentin Tarantino's finest fucking film. I'm gonna get you. I got a fucking ghost story for you. Headed up to fucking Saratoga horse track this past week. Of course I came home in a fucking jacket, fucking encrusted with diamonds!
unknown
I'm alive.
SPEAKER_01
Yo, Eek Ekfecta, man! They changed the fucking they changed the whole betting strategy when he walked out this past week. You got fucking Exactus, Trifectus, Superfactus, and now they put a new one on the fucking sheet you can bet. It's called the Ekfecta. It's gotta be a ten-horse race, and you pick fucking one through fucking ten in the right order. Eek Fecta! Fucking Eek show is up there, fucking! He hit two Ekfecta's in a fucking nine-race fucking slip! Somebody told me that he took so much money off one of the tellers, the guy fucking quit on the spot! Unreal! Ekfecta! I'm sure they'll be fucking running the Eek Fecta in all the fucking peak three next year, next season. Fucking the Derbs, the fucking Preek, and the fucking stakes, ca. We're on our way up there, right around fucking 9 West into 7, or 787 into fucking 9. If you know the fucking, if you know the roots, oh you know, you know the roots and you're from fucking New York. You like the fucking ponies and you're from New York. I say to my buddy, I'm fucking dude, look at that fucking vanity plate. Says fucking spooky rowrot on it. Fucking spooky. S-P-K-Y R-O R-A. Spooky Rora. What the fuck does that mean? Spooky Rowrod, like, oh fucking spooky rowrods on the fucking slow lane. Fucking hanging out. Like, take a picture of the plate, man. Couldn't have prepared me for what was ahead. Now I'm gonna have fucking nightmares for the rest of my life. I'm scared right now thinking about it. Ghost hunters may have been fucking dead on. As we're behind it, I'm not even thinking yet. Should we pull up and fucking, you know, see who's driving? It's just a vanity play. It's probably some fucked up horror movie person, or maybe it's just a fucking I don't know. Maybe it's someone's nickname. Maybe it's someone who likes fucking Halloween season. Maybe it's someone who likes ghouls and goblins. Fucking warlocks and witches. Up in Salem. Home of the fucking ghost. The Salem witch trial. I notice also on the fucking back window, there's another thing. It says stay spooky. So now I'm starting to think, okay, this is a rare sighting. I wonder who's fucking in this car. As I fucking edge up, buddy's like, Down, get up, get up next to it, man. Get up closer. Of course I fucking am a fucking high-end ability driving fucking expert. I know how to fucking ease off and on or fucking put aggression into fucking the gas or not. Fucking perfectly in the lines. It's like I'm a goddamn extra sketch! I notice a bumper sticker on the back left bumper. It says stop from Mothman. Not break. Stop. For all you that don't know, Mothman prophecies is about the fucking antichrist. They say you see the Mothman right before you're gonna fucking die. Sometimes it can take you back in time or show you what's gonna happen to others. Bridges fucking collapsing. Hot air balloons blowing up and sinking. Mothman prophecies. The fucking devil calling you on the phone.
SPEAKER_00
Why did you come to see me? You know who this is, don't you?
SPEAKER_01
Fucking stop from Mothman on the back bumper. So now we get three signs that this person potentially is a fucking lunatic. You gotta spend money for those vanity plates, man. You don't just get them. It's not like, oh shit, man, you got a fucking rich guy on your your fucking plate. You gotta actually put in for that shit, which means you're a total fucking asshole, bonehead. Obviously, whoever this is, it's a fucking asshole. We know that. You don't get the vanity plate spooky fucking Rora unless you're a piece of fucking crazy shit, right? I mean that's part of it. I mean, just cut fucking the bumper sticker, stop for Mothman, on the back bumper, left side, right in view, dark black fucking gothic letters, stay spooky on the fucking back window, and the vanity plate, spooky roh! Now I don't know what Rora means, but I'm sure it doesn't mean picking roses in a garden, drinking fucking hot tea. At this point, my buddy and I are thinking, dude, we gotta edge up and see who's driving. It looks like there's only one person in the car. Maybe there's nobody in the car. Maybe it's a goddamn fucking spirit, ghost, afterlife demon. We don't know what we're gonna see. But obviously, I'm telling you the story from the perspective, it's already happened. My blood has already curdled. My mind has already been warped. My soul has already been ripped from its innards. Nothing could have prepared us for what we saw. Of course, I fucking pull a nice little left edge out into the next lane like I'm a goddamn fucking NASCAR driver! In first place. It's like fucking 700 cars behind me. Oh man, fucking ink show! He pulled out in that fucking passing lane like he does it in his sleep. The Eek Indy 500 ECAR. Fucking Eek fucking Fecta and a fucking goddamn NASCAR driver all in one episode. I edge out, get right around to where we're both kinda leaning down, you know what I mean? It's on the right side. It's in the slow lane, we're in the passing lane, fucking cruising along, no problem, one hand on the wheel, one hand on the fucking gear shift. Like I'm a fucking off-roading champion. We both fucking lean down, sort of ears pointed towards the front windshield, out straight in traffic, the slight head tilt so you get a perfect view as you're coming up on that fucking drive window. The car fucking driving seat window. It looks like it's up. We're all going pretty fast on the main highway. The last stretch of road before the fucking Boston spa or Saratoga exit. We had dreams of fucking cash, gold, fucking pizza, wings, fucking horses, golf balls, beautiful rural outdoor setting. And it was all crushed by what we saw next. Right as we came up on it, it was almost like a goddamn fucking red light that shined from above. The depths of hell were about to fucking peek back at us. I shit you not, no amplification on this fucking description. No fake, made up bullshit. At the exact same second that both of us saw what was driving that car, we fucking gasped in horror. Oh god, man, what the fuck was that? Oh shit! It was a face, I think! Multicolored skin! Like a fucking lizard! Like a human, goddamn iguana! Piercings all over the face, piercings in the forehead, piercings in the nose, in the mouth, in the ears, in the eyelids, piercings in the chin, in the neck! I thought I saw two fucking steam fucking bolts into the side of the neck, like Frankenstein. My buddy thought it was a woman, I thought it was a man. I'm pretty sure we both don't know what the fuck it was. Green, red, orangey fucking sort of bloodish tint fire or fucking lava. All those colors were on the face, and they weren't face paint! This wasn't someone going to a fucking game to support their team. No. No. This was fucking Mothman himself! Or herself or itself! This was something different. This was fucking spooky Rora! Ready to fire fucking death bolts into all the cross it. Whatever it was, it fucking sort of peaked towards its fucking left, towards our car. I thought we might be fucking done for right there. At the exact same moment, we both turned back towards the road, and I'm like, holy shit! I put both hands on the wheel, ten and two, and I was like, oh shit, man. Just keep fucking looking straight. Don't look back. Don't look back. I couldn't have fucking been ready for what was next. I looked to my right, and my buddy had turned to stone! He was a goddamn fucking stone sculpture. His arm was up, sort of putting his hand like, ah, get away. I don't want to see this. I don't know what that is. I'm fucking frightened for my life. His hand had fucking froze into stone. Pushing to the right with his open fucking right hand palm with five fingers up, extended to the right. Almost like he was telling me, I got five on it.
unknown
I own your soul.
SPEAKER_01
I thought he was might be telling me to put five on the fucking next race once we got to fucking toga. But no, he was fucking scared to death. Somehow this thing had communicated with him. He knew that it might be a can of Medusa. We may have fucking seen Medusa. Now my buddy was a fucking stone sculpture. Oh god. I fucking put the window down, even on the highway going 70. Oh god! Oh god! Fucking crap. Spooky Railrod took him! She fucking turned him into a fucking stone! I always thought Clash of the Titans was fake! I thought it was made up! I thought mythology was just a fun story to fucking get people to buy into the past. Gods and goddesses. Fucking creatures. Myths. This was real. This was real life. My first thought was. That was the fucking first thought. And then I was like, holy shit, he really is turned to stone. I'm gonna have to fucking call his family. Tell him fucking spooky ro-rock turn him into a fucking stone!
unknown
Help me.
SPEAKER_01
I can't even explain to you how horrific it was what looked back at us. It was some side of fucking some sort of creature I've never seen. Not before that moment, not after it. I wonder if I did come face to face with Mothman! Maybe we should have stopped. Right after that fucking moment of fucking pure fucking horror, my buddy came back too. He no longer was stone. He was speaking to me like, oh shit, man, what the fuck was that? I'm like, brother, that was spooky rora. And you just turned to stone for about fucking 30 seconds. He's like, the toe are you talking about, man? What the fuck are you talking about, man? You smoking fucking dope again? What the fuck you talking about, Eekshaw? I'm like, Brother, man, I'm telling you, you were a fucking stone sculpture for 30 seconds, holding your hand up towards the window, like you had just seen a goddamn fucking demon, a ghoul, a goblin. Dare I say spooky rorah? Maybe it's a very purposeful decision to get a fucking vanity plate that says spooky rorah if you are the antichrist! Do you believe in that shit? Do you believe in ghosts, fucking witches, warlocks, goblins, dragons? Mythology?
unknown
I see you.
SPEAKER_01
Medusa? She's staring at you! Medusa! With her eyes! Medusa! Pretty sure Medusa is an anthrax song. How fucking interesting that anthrax is a fucking deadly disease! No wonder the band named themselves that.
unknown
I'm gonna get you.
SPEAKER_01
I'll never know what we saw. We talked about it for the rest of the ride. My buddy was no longer a fucking stone. We were changed forever. Of course, we went to the track and fucking won like a dozen races out of fucking only nine that showed. There was fucking three races with four horses and two others with five, and we still fucking won. My buddy's like, dude, I can't believe he fucking brought the cash machine. It's like you're printing that shit. Fucking ekfecta. Spooky Rora changed our lives that day. I'll never forget it. Obviously, my buddy really didn't turn to stone, but it's it's as if he did. He was frozen fucking stiff. No, no. He was pushing that spirit, that fucking devil, that mothman disciple away. My hands were on the wheel like I had just seen a goddamn fucking demon fucking killer. Inside we had both been fucking screaming. We may have died inside that day. We got to the track, we had a blast, we had a wonderful dinner, we played golf the next day, but Spooky Rora lives on in our fucking memories of fucking doom! Our memories of fucking horror. If you don't think ghost hunters, the afterlife, spirits, devils, goblins, ghosts, ghouls, creatures, warlocks exist. We now know that they do. Be weary. Upstate. Ironically, one of the combinations of horses I bet that same day was 666, wondering if Spooky Rora, the Mothman disciple, might actually affect the race. It did not. Because spooky rora exists. That entire story, minus that my buddy actually turned to stone, happened. Real. We witnessed real life warlock. The one thing. If you see a fucking vanity plate that says SPKY R O R A, stop. Pull off. Don't drive up. Don't look. Don't look. Eekshow.show is where you can fucking find all my advertisements about what's coming up. And info at eekshow.show is where you can tell me you had your own ghost sightings. It's been a pleasure. This is the Eek Show.
