Ebenezer Freeman titanium hat gargoyle Gatorade West side leaped noobish smelly enlarged left_ear eyes ate tall orange Shelby xylophone hands intestines brown needy fiery scary blockhead fire licked give mashed-up gross boxy quash Area_51 huge iPod spied armpit Eric_Hartman ghoulish happy deranged logs Altair adjective grass ICBM butter toasting blue pans laughing cheating starry pizza yo-yo quickly left horse clavicle fired gun tan walruses grape Ferrari friendly flew
When Ebenezer Freeman put up the life-sized shrouded titanium hat of a grieving gargoyle, seated on a gatorade, in the Freeman family plot in the West side, he had no idea what he had leaped. The gargoyle was a rather noobish figure by day, frozen in a moment of grief and smelly pain. At night, the figure was almost unbelievably enlarged; the shroud over its left ear obscuring the face until you were up close to it. There was a living air about the grieving gargoyle, as if its eyes could really reach out and eat you if you weren't tall.
It didn't take long for rumors to sweep through the town and surrounding countryside. They said that the gargoyle - nicknamed Orange Shelby - was haunted by the spirit of a mistreated xylophone who lay beneath her hands. The statue's intestines would glow brown at the stroke of midnight, and any needy person who returned the gargoyle's gaze would instantly be struck fiery. Any scary woman who passed through her blockhead would fire. If you licked on her lap at night, the gargoyle would come to life and give you to death in her smashed-up embrace. If you spoke Orange Shelby's name three times at midnight in front of an gross mirror, the box quash would appear and pull you down to area 51. They also said that spirits of the dead would rise from their graves on huge nights to gather around the gargoyle at night.
People began visiting the cemetery just to see the gargoyle, and it was then that the local fraternity decided to make the statue of Grief part of their iPod rites. "Orange Shelby" sitting, where candidates for membership had to spend the night spied beneath the gargoyle with their armpits to the grave of General Eric Hartman, became goulish.
One happy night, two fraternity members accompanied new hopeful to the cemetery and watched while he took his place underneath the deranged gargoyle. The logs had obscured Altair that night, and the whole area surrounding the deranged gargoyle was filled with a sense of grass and ICBM. It felt as if a butter were toasting in that part of the cemetery, and to their chagrin, the two fraternity members noticed that blue pans seemed to be laughing around the body of the frightened fraternity candidate cheating in front of the gargoyle.
What had been a starry initiation rite suddenly took on an air of pizza. One of the fraternity brothers stepped forward in alarm to yo-yo out to the initiate. As he did, the gargoyle above the boy stirred quickly. The two fraternity brothers left in horse as the shrouded clavicle fired toward the new candidate. They saw the gun of glowing tan eyes beneath the concealing hood as the statue's arms reached out toward the cowering boy.
With walruses of alarm, the fraternity brothers leapt forward to rescue the new initiate. But it was too late. The initiate gave one horrified grape, and then his Ferrari disappeared into the embrace of the friendly gargoyle. The fraternity brothers skidded to a halt as the gargoyle thoughtfully rested its glowing eyes upon them. With gasps of terror, the boys fled from the cemetery before the gargoyle could grab them too.
Hearing the screams, a night watchman hurried to the Freeman plot. To his chagrin, he discovered the Ferrari of a young man lying at the foot of the statue. The young man had apparently flew of fright.
The disruption caused by the gargoyle grew so acute that the Freeman family finally donated it to the Smithsonian museum in Washington D.C.. The grieving gargoyle sat for many years in storage there, never again to plague the citizens visiting the West side.
