Peanut Butter and Jelly: A Retrospective.

When creating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the essential first step is to
make sure there is absolutely nothing else to eat in your, or your surrounding
neighbors kitchens. Fine. I guess I'll do this, because long john silvers ain't
open 24/7.
Aquire bread. You will notice the bread is in a bag. This is working as intended.
Take the little plastic tie thingy off, and put it in your mouth to chew on. This
is basic instinct, but some of us have progressed too far from nature. Like birds
that can't migrate. Take the heel of the bread in your hand, and narrow your eyes.
You're proactive. This little jerk shall not infect the bag any longer. Feed it to
cats(quite frankly, a fate too good for it).
Take a normal, god-fearing piece on bread and place it on the counter. Don't wipe
the counter down first. Build those immunities. The second piece shall remain in
limbo for the time being. Open the jelly jar, followed by the peanut jar. Do this
in alphabetical order, because if you don't you'll need to flick the lights 3 times
and wash your hands for an hour.
Take the knife in your hand. DON'T THINK ABOUT YOUR ENEMIES. If you do, you could
stare at that knife for HOURS. Dip it in the Jelly first, because jelly is easier
to wash off. See? Some of this is totally practical. Use a gentle scooping motion
similar to the one you'd use while picking up a kitten so an ample amount of jelly
finds it's way onto the glimmering blade. Place knife jelly side down on the bread
and spread it all around. You, my friend have half a sandwich. There is no turning
back now.
Remove the secondary piece of bread. Were it sentient, it would breath a sigh of
relief, reveling in a future that is no longer uncertain. and place it on the
counter next to the jelly covered piece of bread. Wash your knife. Cross
contamination can lead to future disdain for yourself and your laziness. Plunge
knife into the peanut butter like a disgraced samurai plunging a sword into his own
abdomen, but then scoop like you did before. Kitten style.
Place knife on bread peanut butter side down, and use a circular motion to saturate
bread with peanut butter. Throw knife in sink. Do not wash. You did dishes last
time. It's someone elses problem now.
You now have the yin and yang of a PB&J. One side has jelly on top. One has peanut
butter. One jelly. And oh, what a pair they make. Take the piece of peanut butter
bread in palm of your hands butter side up. You're almost there. You're still not
excited, but you're malnourished, so you're bound to be in an bit of a state as it
is. Take the Jelly bread jelly side up in the palm of your free hand.
Clap.
There are plates available, but why waste the dish? When you really think about it,
a table is a giant plate on 4 legs.
Here's the tricky part: There are several holes in your face that you have to
choose from. One of them is correct, although all are able to perceive the sandwich
to some degree, you must pick the correct one, or these other face holes will no
longer function as intended. It is difficult to restore these to factory settings.
The answer is mouth. The mouth. Around now, you'll notice that the sandwich is
still clapped between your filthy, filthy hands, and one is sticky with jelly.
Flatness is important, though, so if you've made it this far and didn't lose
conciousness, thank your lucky stars for your own aptitude.
Take the sandwhich in one hand. Because your other hand will be raised to the sky,
cursing the god that cursed you with your aversion to grocery shopping, because you
could be feasting on ramen right now. Bite it like you would a roast chicken that
you have allll to yourself. This is called lying to yourself, and it's how human
beings get shit done.
Chew it up. Do this until the sandwich has one bite left.
Whisper, "I'll see you in hell." and cast the final blow. Throw it away. The
sandwich will be sad it didn't live up to it's potential.
Leave all the ingredients on the counter, because that's what your roommates do,
and you're passive aggressive.
Remove your smart phone from your pocket and play, "Don't stop believin'" by
journey, and walk out of your kitchen in pretend slow-motion, and when the chorus
kicks in, raise your fist up above your head and freeze in place like the end of
"the breakfast club".

When Clara went to sleep that night

She saw it. No one had seen it before, but she did.

What made Clara special? Why did she remember, while the rest of us forget? Why? Perhaps we'll never know. Maybe it's not for us to know... All we do know is what it looks like.

It was the time right before you fall asleep. You know the time I mean. Where you've only just presented your head to your pillow after setting the next days alarm. Those precious moments where all the little things you worry about become ill defined and float away like the smoke from the end of a cigarette. When the white noise becomes deafeningly soothing, and your memories of the day become rewritten into dreams. Sometimes for an instant, you think you're going to fall for no reason and are jolted awake. That was the time, and Clara thought she was going to fall.

That's when she saw it. Next to her newly opened bedroom door.

She said at first, it looked like a dog. A little, skinny dog walking on its hind legs, as if it were begging for a treat. It was different though... not quite a dog. It did not sway. Did not struggle for balance. No tail. It's arms hung down straight.

Clara closed her eyes tight, hoping to cull the waking dream and re-emerge with the dog gone. She couldn't hear any steps. After all, dogs have nails that 'clack' on hardwood. She waited. It had looked so damn real. Just standing there. Motionless but for it' s shallow breaths. Seconds were like deep red scratches screaming down her back lasting hour after awful hour. Colors swirled in her vision and her cheek muscles cramped, but her eyes could not be tight enough.

Maintaining her self-inflicted blindness, Clara wrapped her fingers tightly around the top edge of her comforter, and began to drag it upwards towards her neck. All she needed was the safe force field of the blanket, and she'd be right as rain, and able to ride out the night. The sound of the blanket rubbing against her mattress and pajamas may as well have been a car alarm. She froze. It must have heard that.

If it was real...

Was she just being ridiculous? It was obviously a dream, right? A little dog standing in her room? Of course it was a dream! What a question! Her eyes relaxed, and her grip on the covers became far less dire. We've all been tired and seen things, right? She'd had cajun for dinner. Spicy food... It was definitely in her head.

She opened her tired eyes. It would be some time before they closed again.

It sat there on her footboard, it's back straight, it's legs bent at 90 degrees, and it's fingers intertwined in it's lap.

The tiny grey fingers were the first thing that Clara saw. Her teeth clenched hard enough to make her ears ring as she watched the tiny digits unfurl slowly, while it's tiny, human-like foot tapped in time on the mattress. Her clenched fists were sticky with blood where her nails had broken the skin of her palms. Nails driven deeper and deeper each time the little grey foot came down.

It's left hand began to rise, and her eyes followed. Past it's concave stomach, and the chest with the jutting ribs. So pronounced. It really did look like a dog... Until it's hand reached it's face.

Nothing. Eyes? Nose? Ears? All were absent from it's grey, hairless skull. Just a mouth. A sliver of a mouth with one tiny finger to it.

"Shhhhhhh........"

Clara stared at it, horrified, as it placed it's hand back into it's lap. It faced her, staring with an eyeless face. Utterly motionless. She could make it. Throw the blanket over that 'thing', trap it, and make it to the door! This could work! She braced herself... It's head cocked to the side. Did it know?

Now or never.

She didn't even see it move. Her eyes that had been open and unblinking the entire time the beast had been here, and she missed it. She felt it first. Felt it's little cold hand placed on her mouth. She was frozen. A metallic taste filled her mouth, as her clenched teeth and gums began to give way to the awesome strain.

It smelled like an old library.

The other hand was on her lips now as well, slowly peeling them back to reveal her freshly brushed pearly whites. It used it's grey fingers to pry her teeth apart, and although she tried to force them closed, the hinges were oiled by the creatures will.

It paused, it's head sideways again. Clara's eyes darted around the room frantically as she felt it's tiny fingers touch each tooth one by one; and saw the creature glance over to her nightstand. Her charging phone, a picture of her late mother, and the clock radio... which began to play music. She recognized it as a song she'd heard a thousand times. One of those radio hits that the stations play to death... But it was wrong. Slow. Slower than any song should be.

If you almost stop a record, the songs all sound like growling. Why was it doing this to her?

"Because these teeth don't fit."

It sounded like the creak of a very old door. Clara screamed out, and the radio got louder to match her. This couldn't be happening. Someone needed to give her a pinch and free her from this nightmare!

She never got her pinch. She got a yank. A molar at first, and then 4 more followed. A canine, 2 wisdom, and the bottom front one on the left. All plucked from her mouth, while the radio drowned her wailing in a low-tempo. It placed the teeth in a straight, organized line next to her head, while bobbing to a slowed beat.

Once it finished the arrangement, it stood on Clara's chest and faced her with it's mouth slit leading the absence of a face. The music stopped, and the creature turned and walked the length of her body with a slow, almost professional stride. The grace of a ballerina.

Once back at the foot board, it reached down to pick up a tiny bag that Clara had failed to notice before. Dark brown leather with a face painted on the side in white, the creature reached it's little hand inside and began to liberate the little white objects inside.

"Now these..." It creaked as it held one up, as if to examine it, "Should feel much better."

One by one, it placed the new and foreign teeth into the vacant slots in Clara's gums; taking the time to wiggle each one individually until it was finally secured in place. Finally, it sat back onto her upper chest. Posture completely perfect, legs crossed, and it's face mere centimeters from her own.

"Would you like to sing a song with me?" it cooed. Clara closed her mouth ans vigorously shook her head.

It slouched, "They never want to sing with me."

It leaned forward and placed it's little hands over her eyes. A scream began to escape her throat, but before it could penetrate the open air, Clara found herself exhausted... struggling to stay awake... Had she set her alarm for morning? So frightened before, and now... didn't seem to matter.

She heard it pick up the teeth one by one from their neat little row, and heard them clack together upon entering their new leather home. The tiny, nearly human feet depressed the covers around her as it casually made it's way off of her bed and to the door of her bedroom. The various sounds it was making sounded like movements in another apartment... so far away from Clara. Sleep was taking her away. It felt good. Like she hadn't slept in days. In the final moment before she slipped away, she heard the creature's voice once final time,

"Those should fit better." It took several tiny, grey steps into the hall, "Your Mother would want you to have them. She didn't sing either."

GOD HATH FORSAKEN US VIA FACEBOOK (like)

The Titanic…

The Hindenburg…

World War 1…

World War 2: The Reckoning…

Starvation…

Disease…

Genocide…

And finally… Facebook changed their news feed.

This morning, I got up, and there was only a little bit of milk for my coffee, they had changed the packaging on Cocoa Pebbles, one of my shoes was tied before I put it on, so I had to untie it and re-tie it all over again, and my lucky underwear was in the wash.

I was already having a worse day than everyone else on the entire planet, when I went to Facebook, just to try and gather up what was left of my existence… Then my world came a-tumblin’ down like when someone’s footsteps are too heavy and they knock over a game of Jenga (In progress, no less)!

I spent 4 days in the fetal position when they changed how the chat worked, and now I was trying to blink my way through the torrents of tears that were falling on my ‘dry-clean only’ shirt to see the horrors they had unleashed this time, but it was just too awful. How could they? HOW COULD THEY?!

My day couldn’t possibly be more ruined! I tried to call in sick to work, but it looked like most of my coworkers had beaten me to it, so I had to go in anyway.

On the way there I stopped for a breakfast sandwich, and it looked nothing like the picture on the menu. Then I was stuck in traffic for 20 MINUTES! Can you even freaking imagine?! Then the satellite radio went out. It’s like I’m living in SUDAN.

When I got to work, I checked Facebook again, praying to the best of the Gods that they had realized their error and corrected it. Alas, it remained the way it was this morning… Poisoning my day… Like the barista adding whole milk to my coffee instead of 2%.

I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the rest of my day. Even when I can’t see it, it eats at me.

Better bitch about it on Facebook.

(I just pray I don't accidentally click on the Adobe Reader icon and have to wait for it to fully load before I can close it. I live in HELL)

I am the Pop Quiz Secret Keeper!

Do you see the above video? Is the collaboration of thousands of colored pixels making it's way safely to your eyeholes, and onward into your brain?

This is called 'Pop Quiz'. It is popcorn. But is it just popcorn? Dammit, it's so much more than just popcorn.

Pop Quiz played on our 1990's American love of things that were colorful. The 1980's love of the rainbow and bright colors drifted blissfully into the 1990's where we came up with even more things to put colors on (as human beings are want to do). One of these things that was randomly hit by the "If it's colorful, you can sell it" fad happened to be popcorn.

Pop Quiz came in a box like all other popcorn, it popped in the special microwave bag like all the popcorn, and in the end, it was buttery and delicious. Hooray for Pop Quiz! 

When my parents made my brother and I Pop Quiz for the first time, I was just excited to be eating popcorn. Popcorn was salty and disolvey, and the yellow pieces got stuck in your teeth (and removing them was an adventure for your tongue to go on), and your hands got all shiny. I loved popcorn, and was honored to be part of the popping corn experience.

This time when my parents gave me popcorn, however, everything changed. Life would never be the same again.

The popcorn was red. Highly unusual for popcorn to be red isn't it? But there it was. Sitting in the big bowl in front of the TV, a playful red color. I approached my father to find out just what the devil was going on here, and he informed me, "Son (he didn't say that), this before you is Pop Quiz (He doesn't talk this way). When you pop a bag of Pop Quiz, it comes out a color. You never know what color it will be!"

It was at this exact moment that my brain completely shut down and accepted the colorful popcorn as my new GOD. Every time you popped it, you didn't know what was going to happen! It could be BLUE! It could turn out GREEN! And it could be yellow too… Yellow, because sometimes I need a break from my popcorn being exciting colors (Yellow was fucking dumb, and I hope all the other popcorn bags treated the yellow ones like SHIT).

I always made another bag if I got yellow.

Suspense is the best popcorn seasoning. That and rainbow colors. That is why popcorn will never ever be good enough for me again. Because you can't recreate the flavor of not knowing where on the color wheel your popcorn will land when it's done in 3 minutes time. I believe this popcorn made me the man I am today…

So why does no one seem to remember it!? I have asked nearly everyone I've come in contact with lately, and they all look at me as if to say, "There goes dear Andrew (they don't talk like this), touched in the head as a lad, he was. Poor dear talks about when popcorn was colors." and I don't get it! How can I be the only one? 

I cannot be the only young man who had the pleasure on enjoying randomly colored popcorn as a lad.  That's not a world I want to be a part of. You people are ruining my life.

How can you live with yourselves knowing that there's a green popcorn out there that your planet Earth has completely DENIED you?! Your own species, mankind, left you to rot in a cultural WASTELAND where blue popping corn is a thing to be feared and shunned! Your GOD deemed you unworthy to behold his greatest creation. Your god hath forsaken you.

Everyone needs to look back and think hard, and I'm sure you'll remember. You may have blacked out from how amazing the experience was, but I believe in you, and I believe you can find those memories, like remembering the lyrics to a song you loved a decade prior. I need to know if there are others. 

I can't be alone.

Don't leave me alone in this darkness.

A Man's House is his Castle.... Especially if it's a castle.

I've been happening across many a news story lately that will talk about the cool things that rich people can get, that I'll never have. Specifically, about the awesome places that they can live, where they can have parties, fornicate and laugh at me in my poverty.

For less than Two-million dollars, they can get an island. Like... An actual island.

I know this isn't news to anybody at all, but just because I've known about this for a while doesn't mean I'll be getting more okay with it over time. First of all, I have to live with the rest of you douchebags, surrounded by all your stinkin' poor stuff. Poor stuff is dirty, and it's never where you put it. On an island? Nothing is ever out of place. It's right there. ON THE ISLAND. That seriously narrows it down! So unless you dramatically cast something into the sea, I wouldn't worry about where it is.

Who makes the law on the island? YOU DO. It's your island! If no one ever has a reason to go to your island (pay your taxes), you can pretty much do whatever you like. You schedule may resemble something like this:

Wake up
Climb down from tree house
Locate monkey
Sock monkey in the jaw
Apologize
Steal monkey's treasures
Trade monkey's treasures to beached shark for his shark sense of smell
Build sand castle
Devour an endangered bird
Naked time
Build a road across your island
Jaywalk on it

If you didn't read thew whole list, it basically states that when you wake up, you take all the drugs you can. ISLAND.

It doesn't end with the island, my fellow peasants. Oh no, sir! There are many more properties that the rich have that we can sometimes have the opportunity to glance upon (before the dogs are released) that I'm sure they take completely for granted. Like mansions. Who needs that though? Every Richie Rich and their exceedingly wealthy mother has a mansion. No, my friends. You want a domicile that has been around for hundreds of years. Somewhere that you can hang frumpy portraits, and traitors to the crown alike. Somewhere with a drawbridge. Somewhere with a THRONE.

Castles, you guys. Castles.

Castles are just amazing in every way, and contain within their high stone walls everything I want in a living space. Why would you even build a mansion? You don't know how good that mansion is going to be! This castle is time-tested pure greatness that has been there for a LONG time. You don't have castles built for you... No no. You get a used castle. Then you have a chance that there's a trick brick that hiding some magical artifact behind it... Like an amulet, or a haunted codpiece.

I intend to petition every single millionaire in the world, and beg them to buy me a castle. People may think I'm lazy by not earning my castle. Sorry. Castles are not typically achievable goals. Plus those bastards have PLENTY of money. They can buy a castle for a young man in need. I'll keep a bedroom in the castle for them. I feel like that's fair.

The rest of my castle would not follow the rich person standard operating procedure. Then tend to keep things pretty tame. Even a castle would be wasted on their lack of imagination. Me? I'm putting torches everywhere, trapdoors that leads to swamps beneath the castle that I have installed, targets painted on my lawn so I can practice shooting an arrow down from a high castle wall (during parties, people will more than likely want to try and pee on the targets. I am fine with this. If they hit it, then they can... get something... I haven't really thought that through. What do you give someone who can hit a target with their pee stream from a castle wall? Aside from respect, that is).

Not to mention, castles are totally haunted. Even if my particular castle isn't haunted, I can still charge for ghost tours, and those d-bags from the SyFy channel can come pretend they saw something. It'll be a laugh.

But the absolute best I could do is if a friend bought the castle next door, because then we could have battles!

"What'd you do this weekend?"

"Oh!" you'll reply, "I went online and bought some new shoes, went for a really refreshing run with the dog, and stormed Steven's castle in an attempt to dethrone him, for our kingdoms have been at war even since he said that he didn't like, 'Back to the Future'."

From there on out, it's all about giant slingshots that sit atop the structure for slinging paint balloons, Armor made from household (castlehold?) items, and a general feeling of oneness from battling your friends all the live long day. Can you imagine how the side of that castle is going to look after ONE day of paint balloon warfare? What about after a month!? That castle is gonna be all KINDS of silly colors!

So, while I wait passively for a castle to come to me, perhaps build itself around me, I will continue to imagine the endless happiness that would await me inside it's fortified walls... *Sigh*

...

I would also take an office building... The whole thing. Fully officed out, and well stocked with Victorian-era dresses a la "Pride and Prejudice",  ready to be destroyed over a period of years by yours truly. You can help too, but only if I feel you can appreciate the importance of my work.

A memo from the Inhuman Resources Department

September 3, 2010


MEMORANDUM

To: The 8th Dimension Team; Managers

From: Paula Jenkins, Verlzox the Tormentor, Samuel Jones

Re:  Mandatory Sexual Assault Reporting

Greetings!

Is it not a lovely day today, minions? It's lovely to come in and see all your bright and shining faces (Some of which are still attached to your skulls! That minotaur is going to have to work extra hard, isn't he?) bright and early on this BEAUTIFUL Saturday morning!

Torment Inc. would not be the inter-dimensional torture empire that it is today without your tireless efforts, and the reports we force you to write! Some of you even got out of the last information gathering with a few fingernails remaining. :) Verlzox, Sam and I would just like to thank you once again, and remind you that should your body automatically shut down, having given up in the face of universe ending pain, a DVD copy of your final moments will be distributed to each and everyone of your family members. So let's keep that survival instinct flowing like the waterfall of blood in the courtyard. We all know the price of failure!

Don't you dare fail us. ;)

Just a few reminders. We've summoned the wolves back to their cages in accounting, and given you a five minute break to get a drink of water! Make it count, as there's no telling when you'll be given another moment where you aren't being hunted like the animals you are!

First: Everyone please remember that the company picnic will be 2 weeks from this Sunday at Leafygreen Park! Food, drink and fun will be provided! Anyone found attending will be immediately terminated with extreme prejudice.

Second: We have hired on 200 more apes in suits to close the gap left by those who have perished in the past week. They're all wearing name tags, so if you see them, be sure to introduce yourself! Just remember that 20% of them have been receiving steady and constant electric shocks for the past month and a half, and forgotten what it is to be human anymore. Don't underestimate the power behind a human bite! We all remember what happened to Frank in the mailroom. ;)

Third: We've been getting complaints that employees are using the last of the coffee and then not making another pot. Not only is this rude, but it also harshly reduces your co-workers chances of survival when exhaustion begins to take them in the dead of night... when "It" is loose. So please, be mindful of your fellow workers.

Finally, it seems that there is an issue in the office with sexual assaults occurring, and then going unreported. If you do not report these assaults, we're not going to be able to gather accurate data  on whether or not they're working! The Human/bear hybrids feel like all their hard work is going unnoticed around here, and would very much appreciate it if you all would fill out the survey cards left stapled to your chests after your 'encounters'.

So remember: We need your help to bring agony into the future! Keep up the good work! The wolves have once again been released, and we regret to inform you that the water you received on your break was HEAVILY poisoned. The antidote is in the break room on six, but there's only enough for half of you! Show us what you're made of!

Warment Regards,

Paula Jenkins, Verlzox the Tormentor, Samuel Jones
Inhuman Resourses Department
Torment Incorperated
(972) 555-0666 x1458
Paula.Jenkins@icantasteyourfear.org

I have always relied on the kindness of Zombie Ghosts

Victor Pascow. Helpful Victor Pascow.

He is the kind of Zombie Ghost we must all aspire to be, one day. There are many aspects of this ZG that have completely altered my plans for my own afterlife.

Having seen 'Pet Sematary' for the very first time last night, I found the most enchanting character to be the poor fellow hit by a truck at the very beginning of the film. His brain is hanging out and exposed for the rest of the movie, and one of his eyes is milky and glazed over, but that's only part of his charm.

Pascow decided that, after his head is maimed by a truck, he's going to become the most convenient ghost in the entire world simply because the hero of the story did his best to try and save him. Although all of his efforts are a complete waste, you can't say he didn't try. He tries to convince our wayward emotional protagonist not to bury things at the ancient Indian burial ground (because people need reminding sometimes), and goes as far as to lead him right to the edge of where he should not tread. Then in true, classy ghost fashion, he dematerializes.

As you can imagine, his words go unheard. I personally would listen to the Zombie Ghost that interrupted my sleep, hearing what they had to say above all others. Especially if they were being nice about it! You can never say for sure when those Zombie Ghosts are going to embrace their zombie side over the ghost. I'd do what he says. Fortunately, the producers realized that no one wants to see the horror film that ends after 10 minutes, and fails to properly deliver pets or a 'sematary'.

So Pascow make a decision to invade the dreams of our hero's daughter. Pretty much telling her step by step everything that's going to happen. At this point, after having been so blunt with the hero (Louis) already, he is, in fact, going out of his way. We're not even halfway through the film, and this ghost is trying his damnedest to make these people see the evil that surrounds them. This time, however, all he succeeds in doing is giving a little girl nightmares.

Well thanks anyway, Victor Pascow. You did everything you cou-... Wait. You're not done trying to save these people?

Far from it. Pascow is just getting started. You can't get this kind of service from Zombie Ghosts anymore.

Now, while Louis is attempting to resurrect something he really shouldn't at the ancient Indian burial ground (like ya do...), Pascow hops a redeye to Chicago from Maine to talk to Louis' wife, Rachael. Someone that can't really see or hear him. Now that's dedication. I would have just crossed over.

He is able to connect with her in such a way that she hastily boards a plane to go back to Maine. A plane she nearly misses, except Pascow HOLDS THE DOOR for her so she can board.

Apparently, chivalry is indeed dead. And it's name is Pascow.

Pascow also seems to have bought a ticket, as he is occupying an empty seat across the aisle, looking happy as can be that he's on a plane ride, while Rachael is busy having night terrors.

Once she lands, Rachael rushes to rent a car. She's in a big hurry due to Pascow infecting her waking subconscious with urgency and panic attacks (Nothing else has worked!), but the horrid looking lady at the counter informs her that there aren't any cars available.

Pascow don't play that fucking game.

He employs a technique he borrowed from the Jedi to "remind" the awful, awful woman that there is indeed a car available:

HERTZ CLERK

I'm sorry...it's been very busy tonight. I really don't have anything.

PASCOW

What about the Aries K with the scratch on the side?

(The clerk gets the look on her face of someone that just got straight-up mindtricked)

CLERK

I do have an Aries K, but it came in sort of beat up--there's a long scrape up one side--

RACHEL

I'll take it.

Whoa. Seriously? He can do things like that? He can secure reservations and snag you a rental car?
 
I'd like to now examine the possibilities or having such a spirit haunt your family. He can Tivo stuff for you if you forget, protect you from ancient evil magic, hold a plane until you get there, get you a rental car, and probably help you pull off an impromptu dinner party for 10-12 if you gave him enough notice. And he's pleasant the entire time! Aside from the fact his brain is hanging out all over the place, he'd be quite a catch for some lucky lady.
 
After Rachael crashes her rental car (it happens), She gets a ride from a trucker. When she exits the cab, we see Pascow sitting where she had been. I can only assume he was in there the whole time making sure the driver didn't try to get fresh with her.
 
Then he let's her know (she can't hear him, but I think she feels what he's getting at) that he doesn't think it's going to be okay in the end. He has every right to assume this. I would assume the same thing if all 37 of my warnings were completely ignored. He also lets her know that it's the end of the line for him. Good. He's earned a rest.
 
But wait! No! He comes out of retirement for one last ride, trying to warn Louis not to bury dead shit in the stupid evil Indian ground. Which is also completely ignored.
 
Fortunately, it really doesn't seem to bother him that much. He seems satisfied knowing that he gave it 110%. With these people, you have to be able to take whatever little victories you can gather. I mean, He got Rachael a rental car when there were none available. That's nothing the sneeze at.
 
The moral of this story is this: So many ghosts these days are childish, tantrum throwing do-nothings who just sit around the house all day with little to no motivation to do anything except piss people off. It takes a special kind of ghost to take an interest and try to do good for someone that tried to do good for him. That's a spirit with character.
 
He may not have been successful at what he was trying to do, but he went above and beyond. I would feel honored to have a ghost such as him warning me about stuff.
 
So when you think about friendly ghosts, think about this: When was the last time Casper secured you a modest, slightly damaged rental car?