Up Front With The Weedy Shack

Pilgrims, strollers, stumblers, anons; mumblers, bumblers, fumblers, etceteras - we've been busy at the front of The Weedy Shack. Click HERE to take a look at what has been going on.

The Colonel's After Us!!!!

Shit! Monty tells me that we have really pissed off old Colonel Hampton (that's him, there).

He's the old duffer who lives in the Hall at the back of our Shack. He's a right miserable fucker, always going on about our noise; our "mess"; our weeds - and, especially, the laughter. Not only that, the tweedy derelict old bastard hates Sylvanian's. Calls them "little devils", and blasts his twelve-bore at them, indiscrimately. Whenever he sees me out in my bikini he shouts out "Communist! Faggot!" and the like. Perhaps he is also a little riled seeing as an entirely sober Dan thieved a pair of his tweedy underpants in a moment of clarity...

This could spell trouble for us. I'd better tell Dan!

BACK to front of Shack.

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Singing in the Brain

"Braindrops are fallin' on my head
 And just like the guy whose feet are too big for his bed
 Nothin' seems to fit
 Those Braindrops are fallin' on my head and they keep fallin'"

GET ME OUTTA HERE!