Hello everybody my name is Roger, and lately I have been on many adventures across the world with my brother whose name is that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt, as we try to find the 24 other Rogers and 24 other Josephs that our amazing mummy created in order to unite their power to bring her back from the spell that exploded her into a thousand pieces of confetti.

Every now and then I have had to whack that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt with the warhammer that my humongous Molly - who is eleven months pregnant with my child - gave me, but mostly he kept his master necromancy to lesser beings like toads and newts and Belgians, and that was fine with me. So far we have successfully combined our power to locate one other Joseph, who works at a dock in Svalbard having a murder of any wayward seals that come his way. We also found another Roger. He was on a quest to roger as many Rogers as he could and had just gotten done rogering an unrelated Roger under the Atlantic City boardwalk and then he turned to roger me, and I didn't have my warhammer to whack him. Luckily that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt shot a ball of plasma at his face and stopped him just in time from making me unfaithful to humongous Molly. It was all okay though because that rogering Roger was Belgian and I said ‘was’ because now he is dead due to the aforementioned face-plasma, and if I was Belgian and then I died I would use it as an excuse to no longer be Belgian anymore so therefore he ‘was’ Belgian but now isn’t.

That still leaves 23 Rogers and 23 Josephs to find, which brings us to Boise and a cold graveyard of corpses; and bones; and headstones that had little angels on them; and far too many oil-based tiki torches in proportion to how far north of Arizona we were. It was so cold that it reminded me of the time I went in my mum's car to my football match in Fulham, but I left my jacket in my dad's car. On that day in Fulham, as I waited on the bench in case the water boy pulled a ligament, or tore a hamstring, or got shot in his hideous face by the rival gangs, I was getting very cold and very wet but luckily my sweet mum packed an extra jacket so I was able to get nice and warm before the water boy was murdered by the gangs and I had my chance to shine. But that's how cold it was here in the graveyard.

Unlike that magical day in Fulham where I did such a good job everybody patted me on the back and told me ‘good job’, it wasn't raining here in the graveyard except for the children's tears that rolled down the cheeks of that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt as a result of the sacrifices that he and his ilk have made to demons. But that was more like satanic sweat than tears, and definitely not like rain, so he said “It's not the same” and I agreed.

Alas my angel mum was not here to save the day here in the graveyard so I stayed cold but not wet, which was lucky I guess. But one day, mummy will return and I will be warm again both inside and out. I was so sure my precious mum would return that I even thought I could hear her voice on the wind that made me so cold and shivery. Her windy voice said “You should have brought a jacket, you goose, and did you check behind the pentagram-shaped boulder over there?”

That was a very specific wind and so I went and had a look behind the pentagram-shaped boulder. That bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt asked me “What are you doing with that pentagram-shaped boulder over there? Be careful with that or hornets might get you.”

I told him “I'm listening to our mum whose windy voice told me to look over here,” which confused him a little but he knew not to question any further because I had my warhammer with me this time.

“Just watch out for hornets,” he repeated and I figured I wouldn't smack him with my warhammer because he probably knew more about pentagram-shaped boulders and related insects. I proceeded very carefully, being mindful of hornets.

When I had a looky loo behind the pentagram-shaped boulder, I found a jacket there that was just like the jacket I wore on that fateful day in Fulham. Nothing else happened at all behind the pentagram-shaped boulder, especially not something involving hornets.

That bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt laughed and said “Haha, you were so spooked!” But he was lying like all necromancers do. It wasn't very spooky at all what with the lack of hornets and everything.

I made a sound that sounded like “Nuh uh”  but had a few more Ws in it. I put the jacket that I had discovered behind the hornetless pentagram-shaped boulder over my slippery body. It felt like the perfectest hug that my perfect mummy had ever given me. I let out another sound, without any Ws at all this time.

“What was that?” that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt asked me, as if he had never experienced a cuddle like that before.

“I think my mum left this jacket here for me to find me.” I said to him, feeling a little sad that he didn't have a jacket full of hugs like mine, but also realising he was a Hollywood super necromancer who at the start of the year tried to capture the souls of all the darling children of the world and use them to resurrect Marilyn Monroe to make the sex on her and rule the world, as was foretold.

“You mean OUR mother,” he said back. I hadn't meant to leave him out, but mummy didn't leave him a jacket full of cuddles and love and fond memories of the past, so I just got caught up in the moment.

A brilliant idea struck me like it was a salmon in a sack. “Maybe if you listen carefully to the wind you might hear a secret message from mother dearest like I did.”

I saw that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt think about my brilliant idea for a moment, and he quickly realised it was indeed pretty bloody brilliant and so he closed his eyes and listened to the wind really hard until it walloped him in the face, sending him flying through the air. He flew and he flew and he flew like he was a bird, or a plane, or a helicopter, or a rocket ship, or a flying fish, or a flying fox, or a fly, or a hot air balloon, or a zeppelin, or a hang-glider, or a lovely purple kite, or a dragonfly, or a dragon, or a wyvern, or a spooky ghost, or a dracula, or a she-dracula, or a blackula, or a bat, or any number of other things that may choose to fly at odd hours of the day and whatnot.

When he stopped having a bit of a fly through the air he crashed into one of the far too many tiki torches that might have sneaked out of Arizona and that torch then had a crash itself into one of the headstones. Somehow that made a fire start that burned away the moss that crept up to little angel atop the headstone before disappearing like fire is world famous for doing.

“What did the wind say?” I asked, hiding a giggle behind my wonderful jacket sleeve that glowed even more wonderfully in the romantic firelight that had disappeared.

That bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt got off the ground and had a little bit of a grumble to himself before having an answer of me. “It said to watch out for the tiki torches.” He continued to have a bit of a grumble to himself. To be honest, I didn't blame him. Even I knew to watch out for tiki torches north of the Tuscon Tiki Latitude, and he was a master necromancer, Hollywood man of sex, and emerging rum-maker, so of course he knew too.

“Anything else?”

That bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt had a dust of himself. “It told me not to try to necrosex Marilyn Monroe again or else the old gods and the new would unite to do the opposite of necrosex to me,” he said. I had a nod of my head in agreement before he continued. “And then it said to watch out for the headstones too.”

“What a weird thing to finish on,” I remarked.

“Well, no. It finished with walloping me in the face like it was your mighty warhammer,” that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt said.

“And then you had a fall into a tiki torch which had a crash into a headstone, which is… probably irrelevant.”

“Wait… what?”

I began to have a repeat of myself. “And then you had a fall into a tiki torch–”

“No! I mean… that's two of the three things! The third…” That bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt forgot how to speak for a minute and I thought that would be really unfortunate for an actor so I was really glad when he remembered how, but then I remembered how evil he was and maybe necromancing would be harder if he couldn't have a move of his mouth properly anymore but it was too late. “Is this…” he had a look at the headstone with no moss on it anymore. “...Marilyn Monroe?”

I had a look at it too. “No, you sloppy bitch, that's some guy called Joseph's headstone. Wait… you just had an ask of whether this was where Marilyn Monroe got herself covered in dirt when the maggots eat her skin and her eyes and her liver! Does that mean you didn't even know where Marilyn Monroe was buried? How were you going to make the sex on her necromancer-style without knowing where her body was?”

That bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt did a shrug with his shoulders. “Necromancy,” he said.

It was a good answer.

I had a shudder at his evil ways.

We then sat there in silence for about eleven minutes, as was the custom of the time.

“Hey wait a minute!” That bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt shouted.

Having already waited the culturally appropriate eleven minutes, I was not willing to have a wait of another one. “Out with it, you fool,” I told him.

“This headstone…!” He pointed to the headstone with a cute little angel on top that had been engulfed in the flames of his own clumsiness. “It's a Joseph! This is why we're here!”

He was right. In his dark, soulless soul, he was right. “You're right,” I said.

“So… this Joseph is dead.” That bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt had a crack of his knuckles. “Time to necromance!” he announced, necromancingly.

“Wait a minute!” I discovered an extra minute that I was willing to have a wait of - unrelated to the previous one. “We left one of the Rogers dead because he wanted to have a roger of me. What if it's best to leave this Joseph dead or else he has a joseph of you?”

I could see by the perplexed look on that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt's face that I had thrown a real wrench made of monkeys into his brain. I didn't want to be rogered, so it made a lot of sense that he didn't want to be josephed.

“Why don't we ask him?” he suggested.

“Can your wicked and psychotic powers do that?”

“Sure can! All I need is an eye of newt, some poison ivy, a dash of cinnamon, and the blood of the dead's kin.” He reached into the pocket that was gaped into his pants and pulled out a gooey eye. “I have the newt, and we can both contribute blood.”

I understood what he was having a want of from me. “You know I always have cinnamon in my pocket,” I grumbled. Pulling out a little shaker.

“Now…” that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt had a wonder. “...Where to find poison ivy?”

It was at that moment through mystical sensations pulsing in my tum-tum, I became aware of the front pockets on my new super cute jacket. They felt as heavy as something really heavy. I reached inside and pulled out an Uma Thurman figurine from that awesome George Clooney movie with leather nipples and the funny feelings Sir Alicia Silverstone gave me for the next two decades.

“Perfect!” that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt had a snatch of Uma Thurman from my hands and tossed it in a pit he had quickly had a dig of on top of the other Joseph’s grave. I made a mental note to pick up some more cinnamon on the way home.

My brother began to chant in his native Hollywood tongue. I tried hard to understand it, but it all sounded like dialogue that George Lucas had personally written, so it was tricky to keep up.

The spooky wind spoke to me again, and this time it was as clear as my living room after the sweet and gentle men in masks with crowbars came to have a fix of the VCR when I was but a boy. Yes indeed it was that clear: the wind's voice sounded exactly like my mummy! “Watch ou–!” the darling mummy wind shouted. But it was too late!

Fire exploded from the hole that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt had dug, and up into the sky of stars and wonder above. It magically transformed into an ugly old man who looked a little like what Jani Lane would look like today if he cut his hair a bit, and grew a gross moustache, and still liked to party.

“Ola, you slut,” that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt greeted the scary Halloween spirit of his Joseph-kin.

The ghost Joseph - or Ghosteph - threw up a gang symbol.

That bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt immediately recognised it from his sexing on the mean streets of Hollywood. ”Uh oh,” he said.

“That's right!” Ghosteph shouted very loudly, making all the birds nearby flee for their lives. I was much braver than those stupid birds though because there weren't any golden eagles around, and nor were there any Australian magpies, or macaroni penguins, and as you know those are the three bravest birds of all time. So because I was so brave, I stared Ghosteph in his fiery face as he spoke. “I am not who you were looking for, am I, master necromancer?” he continued, looking more at that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt than he did at me. “No, I have captured the soul of the Joseph that was buried here and am torturing him in the flowery plains of hell!”

This was clearly some demonic associate of that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt. I assumed that they used to make the sex with each other, but that it ended badly. “Hang on…” I chimed in. Ghosteph whipped his fiery face in my direction and I saw him have an admire of my amazing jacket that the mummy wind found for me. Fair enough on that front. A part of what Ghosteph had said confused me though. “Why is hell flowery?”

“Haha!” Ghosteph laughed again, sounding like French doors being pulled shut when they are slightly ajar and off kilt from one another. “You idiot! You dolt! You mortal simpleton with the IQ of a torn piece of denim! You haven't thought of the pollen! Imagine flowery fields full of pollen: Think of the sneezing; the itching; the watery eyes! You didn't think of the pollen, you twit! You dunce! You walking, talking, yam of a human!”

I had been called many root vegetables in my lifetime, but ‘yam’ was crossing the line.

I brandished my glorious warhammer, ready to smite this demon back to the beautiful fields of technicoloured shrubbery that had spawned him.

Ghosteph laughed again. “You think that silly trinket can harm me! I am evil incarnate! The type of evil that necromancers like your brother there tell their own Halloween stories about!”

“There's only one way to contain this evil once it is released,” that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt whispered to me. “Make it say its name.” He looked to the ground and wept like I did when Mischa Barton’s character died on that famous American documentary whose name is The OC. “I’m… sorry I released this foul demon.”

“Hahaha!” Ghosteph kept on being a laughy kind of demon in a spooky Halloween kind of way. “You won't trick me!” it bellowed. “Before you ever even try, I shall have you laying in the super gross dirt of Boise, catatonic and soiling yourself! I know your darkest fears, your deepest desires, your dirty secrets, and all of your wrong doings!”

I had a wee glance at my sobbing half-brother from hell and another one of my legendary brilliant ideas came to my head! “What's his?” I thumbed towards that demented brother of mine. This was genius of the highest level! I could use the information Ghosteph had to make sure my adventures with that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt don't result in him trying to have a bit of a takeover of the world again.

Ghosteph's dark white eyes had a glow in the night as he grinned all evil and such. “He's afraid he'll never get to necrosex any famous actresses ever again. It's his greatest desire! His secret! His wrong doings! All he wants in life!”

“What about world domination?” I asked.

“Nope,” Ghosteph answered, very casually. “Just banging dead actresses.”

That bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt turned away to hide his embarrassment.

“But you…!” Ghosteph had a point of a ghostly finger in my general direction. He swept forward and had a fun sniff of my hair like my old librarian Mrs. Dandy used to on Thursday nights while I was having a study of the naval history of Shrewsbury. “You are different: flighty; inconsistent; prone to divergence. You have done little wrong other than jumping on the train three days ago without a ticket while distracted.”

I had a nod of my head. “I was thinking about lemon sharks,” I explained.

Ghosteph ignored me. “...Your dirtiest secret is that you don't wash your legs in the shower…”

“They're self-cleaning!”

“...You desire nothing more than a nice, warm, Yorkshire pudding - store bought from Aldi…”

“That’s my happy place!” I agreed. This spirit was very good at what they said they could do!

“...But your fears…” Ghosteph resumed. “No longer do you fear pyrotechnics or necromanced animals. You fear… Jake Borden?!”

“...Who?”

“‘Cavortin’ Jake Borden!”

“...Who?”

Ghosteph got a tad stroppy in his face space. “You will do combat with him soon–”

“OHHHHH! You mean ‘Cavotin’ Jake Boden!” I had a shake of my head at the scary ghost's silliness. “Yeah, you don't use Rs around him.”

“That was one promo - for a gag!” Ghosteph said.

I don't think the demon quite knew what he was talking about. “That's ridiculous,” I told him. “The letter R is the most important in the whole language of English. I even have two of them in my name! I call them Big R and Little r! Without them I would just be credible Oge!”

“You’re ignoring the point.” Ghosteph hissed like a hissy person. “Makes sense though… I still smell the fear in you.”

“I think that might just be my new Lynx body spra–”

“OGE!” Ghosteph screamed my R-less name. I had a bit of a pee in my pants as the phantom took another big, Mrs. Dandy-sized sniff. “I SMELL YOUR FEAR!!!”

It was right…

“Without your Rs, you're not the ‘undefeated at Relentless’ Roger!” Ghosteph taunted. “You said it yourself: you're Oge! You're nothing! And you fear Jake Borden in case he takes your Rs, and your hopes and dreams of ever being a successful wrestler! Borden hasn't exactly been winning. You know this! If you lose to him in your return match, all of your hype about having changed will be for nought! You fear–”

“Imagine being called Oge for realsies?” I interrupted.

“Wha… wha… what?”! Ghostpeh gasped. “You're… you’re not afraid anymore! No… no… there it is… a new fear! You're afraid that… Borden is going to roger you like that other Roger tried? WTF?”

“WHAT DOES CAVORTING MEAN IF NOT ROGERING ME IN MY ROGER HOLES, GHOSTEPH?!!!!”

“My name's not ‘Ghosteph’, dummy,” the demon who should be called Ghosteph but apparently isn't said.

“Oh, what's your name then?”

“Kevin.”

“Well that's not very scary,” I done said. But the Kevin demon-ghost inside the corpse of a Joseph got very scared.

That bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt stopped having a cry, but he didn't get scared. He got excited.

“You did it!” he shouted at my face. “You saved all of necromancer-kind from the evil Kevin!”

“I did?”

Kevin/Ghosteph started to choke, and then he exploded but not into a thousand confetti pieces just like my mummy did. Instead he exploded into a thousand pieces of Joseph which made a little bit more sense, I think.

“Huh… I guess I did.”

The wind returned and gave me a cuddle and gave that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt a little cuddle too and we knew our mum would be looking out for us from here on out as we did our quest to unite all of the Rogers and Josephs and bring mummy back to life.

I reminded my evil brother what the wind had said. “Don’t make the sex with anyone in this graveyard. In fact, maybe we can find you an appropriate dead actress to necrosex. One that won't destroy the world.”

“I would like that,” he made a smile. “What should we do with the Joseph pieces here?”

I looked around at the Joseph that had exploded all around me. My lovely new jacket had protected me from being splattered in Joseph myself, and that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt already was a Joseph so was already as splattered with Joseph as this universe would allow.

“We should probably leave this one dead for a bit too, just like the rogering Roger.” I then started collecting the pieces and putting them into the sack that I always have handy. “Still… store bought skeletons are bad for the environment. Fresh skeletons for Halloween are the best.”

That bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt agreed and we started collecting Joseph pieces for our Halloween display. We travelled back to foggy London, picking up some cinnamon along the way, and put all of the pieces of the dead Joseph out the front of our mummy's house for everybody to see.

We didn’t quite figure out what happened to the other Joseph’s soul after Ghosteph-cum-Kevin had his way with it in pollen-infested hell, but that was a future necromancer/allergist problem. Right now, I was too busy being not scared of ‘Cavotin’ Jake Boden giving me the roger, and not being scared of much at all anymore. After all, my humongous Molly and that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt have mixed up their sweet, sweet love, and wicked, wicked necromancy into a bowl called Roger and now I’m the best Roger that I can be.

And I'm sure you can agree that it was a very spooky Halloween event even if I promise I wasn’t scared, not even when Ghosteph became Kevin which is the fourth scariest name of all time.

I have been told that all of the tiki torches returned to Arizona too, so I think that Boise is safer now and that is a victory worth celebrating just like my victory at Spooky Savage will be when I escape from the room that smells like that bitch Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s basement at mummy’s house, which I incidentally have lots of practice at escaping and that’s why I will win.

Thank you for listening to my tale.