HEEEEEERRREEEEEEE'SSSSSSSSSSSS WAAAALLLLTTTTEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

Alright, motherhumpers?
Walter is back in da hizzoooooooo!!

Ahem.
Do excuse me; I fell asleep infront of a Kevin Smith movie earlier and I fear it has leaked inbetween the synapses of my brain.

Help!

I have a flat populated with both real and imaginary beasts.

Ninjaraffe has, once again, eaten all the Pringles.
Pa Spooky is still looking for Spooky, Jr.
Ma Spooky is still flirting with Mr D. Evans.
Bertie The Deadfox is worryingly cheerful for a dead mammal.
Ian The Spider Costume has got married.
Ollie The Tourettes Octopus has, as is his way, been swearing at everybody.

Me?

I have a headache.

Ian The Spider Costume.

Now, you may remember Ian The Spider Costume from way-back-when, he's cropped up quite a lot in my adventures but he first really came to attention when he webbed the postman to my front step.

Ian is, as has been pointed out, a spider costume.
He is not, and he stresses this most clearly, a spider.
He doesn't like spiders.
They have, in his words, "...a right nasty look in their eyes".
Ian, however, usually has bloodshot eyes.

His size varies on a second-to-second basis, seemingly influenced by situation/mood/alcohol level.
So, when I first met him, he was roughly the size of a bean bag.
Moments later, he was about the size of a brick.
The next evening, he was as large as a rotweiller dog.

I've pressed him on this and he has never been able to explain it... he has mentioned several factors, depending on when I've asked, which have included
an evil curse
a drunken gamble
a mystical machine
a time-travelling police box (I don't know what he thinks about, sometimes, I really don't)
a small wizard
and "... mind your own business."

He did, once, admit to being a mercenary-for-hire (is there another type?) who was able to smuggle goods and/or people inside his spidery inards, and this has proved useful on a recent adventure. Why and how he came into existence, however, is something I can't decipher.

The reason I'm writing about him is that he is the reason that I have become a wanted man. Again.
*sigh*
You think I'd get used to this...

The Return Of Deadfast!

Hello, world!

This is Walter, and I'm back!
Don't ask where I've been (a long story involving ectoplasm, werewolves, Jack The Ripper, a small man named Clive, a sausage dog, and numerous other things); suffice to say, I'll be one again reporting on the adventures of me, Walter, and the world-famous Deadast.

Do stay tuned!

White gunk.

It was 2am, when I was rudely awakened by Ian the spider costume tapping a jaunty rhythm on my forehead.
He wears great big hobnail boots, you see.

Anyway, the reason for the dance was that Ian had found some porn stashed behind the sofa.
"Red Hot Webs", he said it was called, and he was asking me if I'd go to the 24 hour garage and get him some Kleenex.

I trudged down to the garage (making sure I was dressed; I've made that mistake before when Ian has demanded goods, and Mr Habib at the kebab shop still hasn't forgiven me), and took Ninjaraffe with me.

On the way to the garage, half-listening to Ninjaraffe whittering-on about Manga, I slipped in something on the floor.
Ninjaraffe, with his ninja-like reflexes, failed to catch me and let me land painfully on the floor. He did, however, have the courtesy to laugh like drain.

"What did I slip on?" I asked him.
"It's some sort of white gunk," he told me. "This is Knocker's Alley, so what do you expect?"
"That isn't your usual white gunk," I said, getting to my feet. "It's ectoplasm!"
"Jism, more like..."
"Shut up."

I sent Ninjaraffe off to the garage as I studied the ectoplasm.
It had congealed, but was certainly something spooky...

A host, a ghost and "women's things".

We rushed into the aisle and... lo and behold... there was Spooky, peering out of a packet of "women's things".

I refuse to go into more detail.

He startled a young lady buying some of the aforementioned "women's things" and she had stumbled backwards into a display of beans... you know the type. They are piled into a pyramid.
Well, she had landed on this display and knocked them for six... there were bean tins everywhere, rolling around like Fred Durst on a gyroscope.

"Are you ok, miss?" I asked as we raced down the aisle.
"Wah!" she wailed.

Spooky, spooked by our arrival, flew off into the next aisle and I sent Ninjaraffe after him.

As I tried to help the young lady to her feet, I heard a terrible commotion coming from the adjacent aisle.

"Ninjaraffe?"
"Get off of me!" I heard a strangely familiar voice shout. "Do you know who I am?"
"You're that pesky ghost we're after!" Ninjaraffe growled in his manly voice. "Don't you deny it!"
"No I'm not!" The voice screamed. "I'll offer you a deal... or..."
"No deal!" Ninjaraffe yelled and, as I ran around the corner, I saw him hit Noel Edmonds over the head with the bottle of HP Sauce. "Wanker."
"Oh god..." I moaned, skidding to a halt at Noel's prone body, which was now in a heap at our feet. "This isn't Spooky!"
"But look how pale he is!"
"He's wearing a white jumper."
"Oh."
"Let's get out of here!" I told him, grabbing him by the cuff of his Ninja suit and pulling him towards the door. "We'll catch up with Spooky another time!"
"Wait..." Ninjaraffe spun around, and let loose with a volley of throwing stars. "That takes care of the cctv!"
"Grab the shopping and let's go..." I paused. "And grab Ian some porn from that shelf... you're tall enough."

Spooky and a slice of cake.

After the postman fiasco, Ian the spider costume was hiding somewhere, so Ninjaraffe and I had to head into town for some groceries.
Usually, we'd send Ian. He had an ample space inside him to keep shopping (well, being a costume, he had enough space to fit a grown man... or at least a midget).

Ninjaraffe passes unnoticed through town (it's the ninja training, y'see) and we had an easy time heading to the local store to pick-up the essentials.

"Fudge?"
"Yep," I told Ninjaraffe. "Got that."
"Nail polish?"
"You know," I started. "I didn't think you'd be allowed that, being a ninja..."
"You have to be in-touch with your feminine side, don't you?"
"I guess so," I hesitantly agreed. "Got that."
"Cheese?"
"Cheese?"
"Cheese."
"Cheese." I ticked my list. "What else?"
"Ian wants some porn."
"I'm not buying him porn!" I protested.

At that point, a loud scream came from one of the aisles.

"GHOST!"