The year was 1971.
I had just seen a documentary film in a local theater that got me to thinking about stuff that I could file away for future use.
This doc was simply incredible. It told the story of a man that had an additional head transplanted on his body. Why they did this, I have no idea but the site of this two-headed man was just glorious!
Making sure Jerome’s scalp replacement was secure and not festering, I proceeded with transplanting the head I found on a Detroit road. With a hefty dose of Bactine squirted all over Jerome’s body so he wouldn’t catch some weird disease, I began the transplant.
I had the new head halfway attached with some medium duty thread when the doorbell rang. Since it ’tis the season for PCH to hand out money, I immediately stopped the transplant and went to answer the door.
Instead of PCH, I found myself staring down the barrel of dozens of butter knives.
Behind those butter knives was Slait Piperiz.
And he looked angry.
“Remember me?” he asked as he forced his way into my home.
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