#214: The Ghost of the Casserole

     I'm back from trick-or-treating! I was Napoleon Dynamite, which required me to meet the demand with an extensive series of "frickin' sweet"s and "Tina, come get some ham"s. Gots to give the people what they want. Anywho, time for another Halloween-y post for you guys: the Ghost of the Casserole! Let this story serve as a cautionary tale to all who are considering becoming a maniacle dictator, including my younger sister. Long, long ago in the JC-Verse of old, Moostáki the Unjust ruled over the European kingdom of Cruelandia and drove his subjects off the mediforical cliff of tolerance. He literally walked all over his people because he believed the ground's germs would tarnish his supreme excellence. He put a kingdom-wide tax on oxygen. But no amount of fantastical face follicles can make up for that much jerkiness, for in the present day his ghost has been reincarnated into a moldy casserole. That's right, guys. Karma don't play. With sliverware arms, spam feet, googley eyes, and a fake stache made of canine fur clumps to replace his old one, this deep dish dictator still attempts to regain his power in the present day USA. Well, at least until Mrs. Sanderson tosses him in the trash.