I Fistfight Ghosts

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I don't hunt ghosts, I hurt ghosts... WITH MY FISTS! Yeah, you heard me. There's no room in my world for fancy gadgets. Only candy asses use proton beams, and I'll be damned if I'm going to mollycoddle some restless spirit that's worn out its welcome.

Now I'm sure you're wondering how I manage to bring the pain seeing as ghosts are incorporeal and stuff. Well, here's what happened... A few years ago, I took the bus to a part of town known as Little Haiti. It was there that an old voodoo woman sold me a pair of enchanted brass knuckles. When worn, they enable me to punch ghosts into submission. As a bonus, they're covered in runes that totally go with the tribal tattoo wrapped around my right bicep. Anyway, I paid her for the magic knuckle dusters, then paid her grandson, Ricardo, for what I thought was an ounce of quality weed. I could barely contain myself on the bus ride home. In a matter of hours, some unsuspecting ghost was about to eat a beat down sandwich, and I was the one presenting the feast!

Upon arriving home, I immediately got to work. There was a haunted house at the end of my cul-de-sac. Everyone in the neighborhood had grown tired of hearing the spirit of Mr. McGurdy bellyaching night after night. His old lady had murdered him in his sleep for who knows what, and, let's be honest, who really cares? Sure, that sucked for him. Know what else sucked? Getting home and discovering Ricardo sold me a bag of oregano. Sometimes life isn't fair, a lesson Mr. McGurdy had to learn the hard way.

Long story short, I kicked his front door in shortly after he started his wimpy little "woe is me" routine. He was surprised to see I had brought a whole bushel of throw down to the hoedown. Yeah, he tried to fight back—they always do—but his puny little ghost fists passed right through me. I let Mr. McGurdy do his thing for a while until he was out of breath, then finished him off with a classic one-two punch. After that, I left him laying unconscious on the floor, went back to my apartment, and enjoyed some pierogis and a protein shake. It's true, success is sweet. The next night, no more wailing and no more Mr. McGurdy. I guess he finally caught a clue his type wasn't welcome around here and moved out.

So, yeah, that's what I'm all about. Some people might call me a hero, and perhaps they're right, but I just see myself as a regular guy that likes to beat the hell out of ghosts. So far, my record is 56 wins. 37 of those are knockouts. You'd be surprised how many of them turn tail when they see me coming.



Credited to yogi_bugbear 

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