The House of Mr. Greaves

A holiday tale

Thank you so much for your time, skill and effort you put into these images Dr. Brimble! You are the best! Everyone just loves them!

December is here. Still soaked head-to-toe as my hands continue dripping black ink but my handsome Chucks remain bright and shiny. My fingers continue to absorb ink and words from the house of Deep Archer/Departure. Peering nervously out of my living room window I mutter “What’s that Mother Fucker¹ doing now?”

To my left sits the grey house of Greaves. The house is fairly elegant and never boastful or ostentatious. Each morning Mr. Greaves attempts to procure his “Porkin’ Times” newspaper from his front yard while he sings himself little carols. Unfortunately Mr. Greaves is forced to continually contend with several angry-foaming-at-the-mouth mobs that sit in his yard on a daily basis. Do these types of “Christians” have a life? The zealots seem to make it their soul-mission to upset Mr. Greaves. It seems that Mr. Greaves isn’t allowed to do anything. Greaves seems pretty sad-face but I also think it provides him with an extremely small of amount of sadistic pleasure. I always think I see him smirking slightly as he books it back through his wide, forest-green, front door after snatching his soggy porkin’ paper. Mr Greaves dashes for the door with his “Porkin’ Times” tucked neatly under his arm as the barbaric, evangelical, mob barrels across Mr. Greaves’ front yard toward him. No wonder Mr. Greaves never goes outside. 

Poor Mr Greaves.

On Wednesdays² nerd-face-Mr.-Greaves frantically rocks up to each of his neighbor’s doors wearing  nerd shoes in attempt to acquire all of our old, dusty, basement tapes. He’s usually accompanied by his red cat, Benny. Everyone in the neighborhood just loves Benny the homicidal kitten. Golly we love Benny.

*Run, Run, Run. Tap, Tap, Tap* 

As soon as we open our doors Mr Greaves shouts into our faces “Hurry! Give me your dusty basement tapes! There’s no time for questions! Deal with it! Take it!” He somehow always get his way. As neighbors we don’t even have the energy to register emotion on our faces any more as we hand over our videotapes. We just take it.

After Mr. Greaves ends his Wednesday-video-run-charade he sits down in his cozy chair to watch 73 hours of wall-to-wall crap. He laughs manically while taking mystery notes in his lap. I peep through my window to find so many tiddies on his screen I can’t even begin to count.³ What a pervert. He needs to find him some Jesus.

During this festive time of year the neighborhood also witnesses a larger than usual mob of zealot-zombie-reactionaries who enjoy calling themselves Christians piling up outside of Mr Greaves’ home. These types of zealot-zombies pretty much shout anything at Mr. Greaves. It’s like watching a group of hopped-up meth addicts attempt to free associate words and phrases with complete confidence.

On this crisp December evening I peep past the angry mob in his front yard and into Mr. Greaves’ window to find something different. In the perfectly transparent yet fortified window stands a darling, shining, red, Christmas tree for all the world to see. The tautly erect⁴ Christmas tree stands not too garishly large nor decadent. Just the right size to get the job done. The Satanic Christmas tree is not trying to show off for size-queens. Mr. Greaves’ Christmas tree doesn’t need to compete. It simply hopes to be noticed and included. What a cutie-pie. The adorned tree includes inverted pentagrams, U.F.O PEEEERNO orbs, glowing red lights, handmade Satanic felted ornaments, charming inverted crosses and adorable little snowmen wearing green hats. The base of the tree is enveloped snuggly by a beautiful, hand-stitched red and black tree collar.

The Satanic Christmas tree displays a strikingly wholesome and sweet presence. However after observing the insane reactions you would think the tree was decorated  with human finger-kabobs, shaved pubes, and severed body parts. Body parts, pubes, and fingers savagely dismembered by chainsaw and then splattered onto the tree with a nail gun. Since the tree’s introduction yet another zombie hoard attempts to savagely smash trough Mr. Greaves window on a daily basis in attempt to rip the tree to shreds with their bare hands. 

It’s also important to note that sometimes these reactionary-zombies enjoy playing ding-dong-pubes. This game involves loading a bunch of strangers’ pubes into a paper bag, lighting it on fire, plopping it squarely onto Mr. Greaves’ doorstep then speeding off as quickly as possible right after ringing Mr. Greaves’ doorbell. Oh golly does Mr. Greaves get spicy when they pull that one off.

It’s fascinating. 

I wish I could write that the Satanic Christmas tree saves the day. The Satanic tree stands tall for now. You would think the tree was trying to be a huge, single middle finger due to all of the outrage. The Satanic tree is actually full of joy and quite festive. Hopefully the Satanic tree will one day simply be viewed as just another cutie-pie Christmas tree. 

1. *Reported*

2. On Sundays, Sister Mercy: The Satanic Sunday missionary always graces the neighborhood with her presence. Sister Mercy saves us from our sins by weeping at the alter of Thrill Kill Kult. The neighborhood always welcomes her with open arms. We chant “Shave our heads! Teach us to breathe! Fill us with Satanic devotional hymns until we drown! Control us through song!” Oh Golly, do we all have a good time. Hail Sister Mercy!

3. Tiddy Count: 2,675

4. Hi Unky!