In Nelson County, Kentucky there is a legend as old as time itself. A legend that frightens even the brightest and bravest of eleven year olds. It strikes inappropriate amounts of fear into third graders everywhere when their older brothers divulge to them a tale of madness and evil. The tale of gore and blood told around campfires at every scout gathering, or event where your fathers friends sit around in the yard with a fire and get way too drunk to talk to a 9 year old. The tale, older than old, from the depths of the coal mining camps. It haunted the children of Nelson County for a century or more.

THE TALE OF THE MIST MONSTER!

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So far we’ve managed to follow the county idiot through his initial foray into professional wrestling and being the first man to travel from Nelson County, Kentucky to the foriegn United Arab Emirates. He’d conquered Bam-Bam and Venom Man, briefly retiring the Venom Man so hard that he managed to bounce back a week later, still saltier than Grandma’s ham gravy at Easter. It earned our belligerent an incredible opportunity in only his second Xtreme Wrestling Federation match.

Along with that incredible opportunity came with it the life of fame and distraction. A bevy of influences reigned down on our dear southern gentlemen Garry ‘Ray-Ray’ Nelson, the likes of which a southern boy could only dream of. One victory had changed Garry ‘Ray-Ray’ Nelson’s life forever. Pastor Rob sat at home with Ruth Nelson now, excited to watch his mistress’ spawn become a successful professional wrestler and a famous honorable man in Nelson County in his own rite.

Our Kentucky Fried gentlemen of former KFC combo kitchen fame sat at the edge of the family farm land, with the newest addition to his trusted family behind him. The electric blue camaro with black wheels and electric blue highlights sat behind him, a black CCPE industries decal on the side. Somehow over a series of fortunate, or unfortunate events depending on which lens you choose to see through our boy of twenty years young has found himself friendship and companionship in the weirdest of places on the internet.

As backwoods as a Clampet in Beverly Hills, Ray-Ray still managed to fit in and befriend two of the richest men in wrestling. ‘Chronic’ Chris Page and new OCW owner Thaddeus Duke. The corporate credit card with a perceived ‘no-limit’ in his back pocket fueled a spree of megalomania hardly seen before in the history of professional wrestling.

This was a man who couldn’t figure out how to get his passport last week, who now has acquired a win in professional competition with the help of his massive hands and his beautiful Roaring Elbow. His grizzly wintergreen straight cut pressed firmly against the inside of his lip as he looked out into the foggy evening. Eight Busch Light’s sit littered in a pile of crushed cans at Garry’s feet, his eyes darting left to right rapidly.

“Mr. Page sure did have some good shit…” Ray-Ray remarked, the fog played tricks on his vision, figures danced and moved as the anxiety of the moment continued to build for him. It ripped through his chest, and tore at him. This was only minorly about an upcoming wrestling match in all actuality, but its mild appropriateness grew in purpose and importance each moment Garry jerked his vision across left to right.

If you’ve never stared from the edge of the field, into a foggy woods with a half moon hanging over the farm behind you the true pending anxiety might escape you. However Garry had lived his entire life right here in these parts, and so has his Daddy, and his Daddy’s Daddy, and his Daddy’s Daddy’s Daddy. The man knew these woods incredibly well, but still the drink and marijuana fueled anxiety attempted to conquer his sensibilities this evening.

The break of a stick to his left caused his eyes to dart back across, truthfully a deer was probably walking through the woods outside of Ray-Ray’s view, but he didn’t truly know that was the case. That little taste of the unknown fueled the man to rapidly scan looking for the next offender of his mind. This time a rustle, a small gust of wind had probably blown directly in front of him, but unless it brought a sudden temperature drop it was normal and not noticeable this time of year.

“LISTEN HERE YA DEVIL! COME GET YA SOME!” Ray-Ray drunkenly shouted into the woods, his paranoia finally started its run to a dramatic crescendo. Clearly something ran off in the woods to Garry’s right. Common sense would say a rabbit or another animal became frightened at the shouting of a drunken Kentucky maniac, but once again Garry’s intelligence allows his imagination to operate almost without logic.

See, Garry’s never been one to back down from a fight, and probably never will be in his entire life. He’ll probably end up dead somewhere after thirty from a tragic incident with a band saw, a shovel, and a multimeter, but until then we watch our beautiful moron charge himself into the woods like a mad man. He lets out a blood curdling scream as he charges forward, his three remaining cans of Busch Light held out like a saber to lead the perceived charge of the drunk brigade into the confrontation.

Anything that hadn’t already took off in pure terror from the carrying on at the edge of the farm field, anything that remained in those woods would surely murder our six-foot nine diety to modern America and intellectualism. Bursting through the initial underbrush Ray-Ray exploded into the woods like a tyrant. He swung wildly at the underbrush that grew around every tree this time of year. Burr’s scraped against his bare skin, only shielded by a set of jean overalls and his favorite Toby Keith t-shirt.

Yeah, that Toby Keith t-shirt.

You know the fucking shirt.

He’s wearing it.

Asshole.

“SHOW YOURSELF DEMON! I FOUGHT A VERY HORNY MAN LAST WEEK AND A VENOM MAN! I AINT STILL SCARED OF NO MIST MONSTER!” Garry Nelson shouted as he stopped his charge to snap another Busch Light off his not environmentally safe six-pack ring.

“And I beat Bam-Bam up, where the fuck is Pebbles at?” He mumbled to himself as he finally was able to pop the top on the Busch Light sending the piss colored liquid flying into the night air. Garry quickly pressed his mouth to the can and drank as fast as he could, beer shooting out of the corners of his mouth like every red blooded American man dreams of.

Our Colossus of American Gentlemanship and Dignity turned rapidly as another rustle in the cryptically dark woods occured. He spun rapidly brandishing one of the last two cans of Busch Light in his hand. He sprinted forward into the darkness, running headfirst into a tree branch. In the mild state of panic and total inebriation Ray-Ray finds himself in, the shock is enough to send him spilling from his feet onto the wet evening ground. His skull careenedback and smacked off of a stray root from the tree.

The hero of our story blinked a few times as his world rapidly grew dark, and the mist slowly descended over him. His mind flickered back on in brief glimpses, once a rabbit scampered directly over him clearly thinking the man was part of the scenery. Once he heard raccoons as they chittered around his body looking for food. The last time a hulking shadow descended overtop of him. The silhouette of some enormous thing in the darkness scooped our lovable moron up and carried him off.

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Garry’s eyes shot open, the ceiling of his old room in his mothers house emerged. The pictures of Lindsey Lohan helped him gather his bearings to remember where he was, the timeline of her life ran across the wall all the way to the unfortunate ham sandwich incident were stretched out across his wall in chronological order. A portrait of a classic Jesus Christ sat where the unfortunate imagery was.

“Sorry Jesus didn’t mean ta look,” Ray-Ray mumbled as he tried to sit up in bed. Pastor Rob and his mother Ruth Nelson, both in robes, pushed the enormous man back down into the bed. Pastor Rob mouthed something to Ruth and she slowly stepped out of the room, still in shock her son had landed himself on her doorstep this morning.

“Garry, you need to rest son,” Pastor Rob said calmly. He grabbed a warm washcloth from a white ceramic bowl beside the bed and dabbed Garry’s forehead. “You had a traumatic evening apparently.”

“Wha?” Garry mumbled, his mind tried and failed to recall even the smallest details of the previous evening. Pastor Rob shushed him once again and dabbed more water across his head.

“Son, I believe you might have been possessed by a demon last night,” Pastor Rob said with full seriousness. He pulled a flask out of his jacket and poured a little bit of oil into the water while he barely whispered over the water. He dipped his washcloth into the water and began to dab Garry’s forehead.

“OW! SHIT!” Garry roared as the pastor touched the washcloth to the large knot on the top left of his forehead. Pastor Rob shook his head to indicate his displeasure and continued to treat the large man in the bed.

“Now Garry, this is holy water, if it’s affecting you negatively…”

“I WASN’T POSSESSED BY NO DEMON PASTOR ROB!” Garry shouted as he grabbed the washcloth in his enormous hand.

“You were talking about the Mist monster Ray-Ray… you kept yelling that you had seen the devil last night when we were trying to get you into the bed, you had black liquid running all down your chin,” Pastor Rob uttered once again with the utmost concern. The tone of a High School Guidance Counselor flowed, the illusion of care written across his face.

“I smoked the devil last night Pastor Rob, that’s what Mr. Page done called this special stuff he has up there in the big city. They got this marijuana Pastor Rob, you gotta try it, way better than anythin’ I can grow down here on the farm. I mean FDA, we totally don’t grow weed here on the farm, but if we happened to ya know I totally wouldn’t be able to grow weed like this. And I done had a dip in when I fell ‘sleep that was all,” Garry’s gibberish spewed tirade stunned Pastor Rob.

“What the hell were you really doing out there then Ray-Ray?”

“I was drinkin’ some Busch, and had an idea that I needed ta conquer a childhood fear before I went and had ta wrestle the creepy lady over in the X DUBYA F. By the way, Thad was tellin’ me that I’m supposed ta say it X DOUBLE U EF, but I don’t think that feller is right. It’s definitely X DUBYA F. And they got a spooky problem a very spooky problem, the same problem I’ve had since I was a boy Pastor Rob,” Garry’s ability to turn a tale kept Pastor Rob at least intrigued. Now that he was certain the young man was not possessed, his false concern lessoned.

He replied, “So you were trying to figure out a spooky problem?”

“A very spooky problem Pastor Rob,” Our incredibly smart boy claimed. “And I’m just tellin’ ya, I was looking at my new Camaro when I made that call ta the X DUBYA F corporate office and told ‘em I could handle their infestation of the spooky-doopy-doo gang. ‘Cause I ain’t scared of no spooky people! I got the power of this great country behind me, that was founded in the name of our Lord and Savior as my weapon!” Garry shouted the last part, once again hyping himself up just like in the woods.

“Do you mean like ghost spooky, or like regular people who do a lot of mildly illegal substances and talk to themselves in rooms spooky?” Pastor Rob questioned as he pondered what to do with the massive amount of holy water he had prepared for the exorcism.

“Whole lotta the latter Pastor Rob, she was out there talkin’ ‘bout turnin’ people inta skin suits! Can ya believe that, she beats people then tries ta skin them alive. I mean I don’t think I never seen her wear no skin suit ‘round no places, but I ain’t really one ta watch a lot of television so she definitely could be wearin’ skin suits and murderin’ her opponents. I ain’t never watched no Lexi Gold match so I ain’t real sure if she’s dead or not. If she is, Rest In Power Lexi.” Garry took another deep breath, he needed a lot more air for this.

“AND LISTEN TA THIS PASTOR ROB! They been lettin’ this thing run loose ‘round their company without callin’ no Ghost Busters for years! That’s the answer ta the spooky girl Pastor Rob! I CALL THE GHOST BUSTERS! Egon Spangler definitely knows what the hell ta do in this situation. I used ta throw on my fake proton pack when I was a little guy and run around the house all the time tryin’ ta catch ghosts and I ain’t never got one. And I had a real proton pack my Daddy made me, not onea them ones they sell down at the Wal-Mart’s for my fathers good hard earned American money.” Garry looked up at Pastor Rob, the madness of a concussion clearly glassed over the windows to his soul like someone pulled the blind on a sunny day.

“Garry, the Ghost Busters are just actors. They play characters on television. Bill Murray is actually kind of a dickhead. They were just playin’ a part, pretendin’ ta go out and fight fake spooky ghosts. Hell, they might have been borderline conmen like them other ghost boys on TV now the ‘Ghost Hunters.’ Plus, the guy who played Egon’s been dead for eight years…” Garry was in pure denial until the last line. The shock of Harold Ramis’ death washed over our poor concussed boy.

“DID A SPOOKY PERSON KILL HIM!?” Garry jumped to his feet angrily.

“No Ray-Ray, he died of a heart attack.” Pastor Rob barely got out before Ray-Ray had finally managed to escape the confines of his childhood bed.

“Heart disease is the spookiest thing in America, Pastor Rob. It kills more people than anythin’ else in this fine country of ours. And if this Jenny Myst Monster is part of the problem with heart disease, it’s demanded on me, by my country, by my state, by my county, by my family genetic medical history for me ta go inta battle against the scariest thing ta ever happen ta this country.” Garry became deathly serious.

“The leading cause of congestive heart failure, Jenny Myst. Cholesterol be damned, good bacon can’t be bad for ya. That creepy little woman with all the face paint probably sits in a corner and decides who lives and dies. LISTEN UP DEVIL WOMAN! YOU WONT BE MAKIN’ DECISIONS NO MORE! ‘CAUSE RAY-RAY IS COMIN’ FER THAT BELT! RAY-RAY IS COMIN’ FER ALL THE MEN WHO LEFT THEIR FAMILIES TOO EARLY!” Garry shook his enormous hand at Pastor Rob menacingly.

“He’s fightin’ fer the kid who didn’t have his Daddy come home after a night of hard drinkin’ and smokin’ he’s fightin’ fer the people on ‘My 600 lbs. Life’, he’s prolly fightin fer ol’ Thunder Knuckles and Bobby Bourbon’s family and future… AND I’M PROLLY FIGHTIN’ FER BETSY SUE! I AIN’T SCARED OF SPOOKY PASTOR ROB! TELL THE MYST MONSTER GARRY IS COMIN AND HELL'S COMIN’ WITH HIM FER THAT TELEVISION TITLE!” After effectively using the best pep rally speech from a movie ever in Tombstone Garry storms out of the room pumping his fist like a REAL American wrestler had before him.

He turned the corner and stormed into the bathroom, and let out a colossal shriek of pure unadulterated terror. There standing before him stood the second spookiest thing in American culture.


“WHAT THE FUCK MOM?” Nelson shrieked as he slammed the door. His confidence expired as he stood terrified. Ruth Nelson scampered up the stairs at the cry of her son.

“WHAT GARRY!?” Ruth Nelson called as she got to the top of the stairs as fast as her short little legs could take her.

“WHY IS THERE A CARDBOARD CUTOUT OF THE DAMN CRYPTKEEPER IN THE BATHROOM!?” Garry screamed, his mouth agape.

“Well he is kinda cute Garry… and I like lookin’ at him while I’m gettin’ a bath,” Ruth said as she turned as red as a rose. She turned towards Pastor Rob who looked shocked in the hallway.

“I mean he is a handsome man…” Pastor Rob grumbled out as Ray-Ray began to shake and finally screamed.

“GOD MY MOM AND THE DICKHEAD WHO FUCKS HER THINK CENTURION IS HOT!”

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Yeah that was apparently all bullshit. Garry was really high and thought SwampThing and Jenny Myst were the same person. He apologizes for all the Myst Monster references and would like to let Jenny Myst know she’s no where near as cool as fucking Swamp Thing and to get fucked by a rusty wrench.

-The Narrator