Dave, I thought for sure you’d go for a Ring Wraith.
But you bet, Darth is already good with Rooster, maybe a family thing. Good call.
Four of the usual suspects immediately come to mind, ahem Dave.
Where were you that night in October?
I don’t know Cliff, is it?
I DID mention Halloween is relatively new to Oz, catching locals unaccustomed to the holiday off guard…
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I hear that game app is still raking it in worldwide—mostly in Pennsyltucky and Hawaii, naturally. Reminds me of the original trading cards the app is based on.
Back in the day, kids in the hood would line up after school with a shiny ten-cent piece, ready to grab some bubblegum with a mystery card tucked inside.
The gum? Legendary.
The cards? Well while they are not considered “old hat” in Centralian places like Paraguay and Australia where stock persists, there’s not much info coming out of the northern hemisphere.
Does anyone remember the other collectable cards in the set?
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Gosh John;
It looks like you should be feeding the garden gnomes at your place a bit better!
Regards, David Meashey
Bill, another brilliant effort! That’s kinda hard to un-see though…
Bill’s really outdone himself on this one, and I meant to BUMP it up for Halloween, but forgot. So, a couple days late.
However, as this is a Poe-etic masterpiece of the highest order, it deserves in my view moderately frequent regurgitation. Feel the blessing.
Raising hand with a question?
Does Bill even have any trains?
I personally have only ever seen track, buildings, yard but no trains. Is there a possibility Bill could be sitting on a fleet of Amtrak hence his concern for double tracked bridges?
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I want to live in a world where chickens can cross the road without having to justify why.
Quoth the Raven
A cautionary Halloween Tale, with apologies to Edgar Allan Poe and of course to those of you who read this after dark using your James Earl Jones voice.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I worked, weak and bleary,
Over many quaint and curious plans of Road & Track and more—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a flapping,
As of something gently tapping—tapping near my workshop door.
“‘Tis a tarp,” I muttered, “snapping—snapping near my workshop door—
Only this, and nothing more .”
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was cold that dark October,
And fresh solder’s ghostly ember threw its glow across the floor.
Eagerly I sought perfection, in my daily car’s dull reflection—
When there came that odd inflection—clucking at my workshop door.
“‘Tis a chicken,” said I, chuckling, “lost and knocking at my door—
Only this, and nothing more .”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Bird,” said I, “or phantom scratcher, kindly cease thy noisy roar!
See, I’m working—go, I pray thee!” But the flapping did distract me—
‘ For the latch gave way to mayhem as I opened up the door.
Then there strutted forth the Raven, proud and pompous through the door—
Strutting proud, and nothing more.
Then this fowl of fiery feather stood unmoving there forever,
Perched upon my rebuilt engine, just above the garage floor.
Not a tweet nor crow he uttered, not a feather faintly fluttered,
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “What strange omen’s this in store?”
Then the bird spoke clear and loudly, booming out a single lore—
Crowing harshly, “Chevy More! ”
Much I marveled, hearing plainly language such as fowls disdain
Use not when they wake the morning from beyond my workshop door.
But his tone was grave, commanding—feathers bright, his stance demanding—
As he crowed with reprimanding: “Build ye Chevrolet—nothing more!
Lay thy Ford cars in the shadows—build ye General Motors further more!
” Cawed the Raven, “Chevy! More!”
“Prophet!” said I, “bird infernal!—prophet still, though not eternal!
By the tools and benches immortal, by the solvents that smells indoors—
Tell me truly, cursed poultry, must I yield my other vehicles wholly?
Shall my fleet fall to folly, to a name mechanics abhor!?
” Quoth the Raven, Chevy GMC more!”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is perching, still is perching
On my rebuilt engine, just along my workshop door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a diesel’s headlight gleaming,
While the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating fighting for,
Repairing —GM, evermore…
… Sorry, Bill Hines, your fault! I posted this on the GM truck forum.
That made me smile, Wayne! I can see immediately why you didn’t choose a Ford Falcon as your bird. 
Amtrak More!
https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/edgar-allan-poe-street?utm_source=flipboard&utm_content=other
DIRECTIONS: Amtrak trains arrive at the Moynihan Train Hall at Penn Station (NYP), located at 8th Avenue between 31st and 33rd Streets. From there, you can walk or take a taxi/rideshare to 215 W 84th Street, which is about a 15–20 minute taxi ride or a 25-minute subway ride.
(Archived Image est. 2025)
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John;
I suppose instead of a crab, the above locomotive would be called a cluck!
Have fun, David Meashey
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Cliff, I’m needing help with this one. What’s the backstory?
I was assuming this alludes is a Hen’s Night where the bachelorette gathers her girlfriends for a last girls night out. But then there’s two blokes there too, and not a feather boa to be found….
Bill, it’s coming up on Thanksgiving Day up here, so I was theorizing what the table might look like if its first celebrants caught a rooster rather than a turkey.
Ah. Here we call that… Thursday.
However, in recent years, we as a people have wholly embraced and celebrated Black Friday. (But generally most Aussies have no idea why the day has been assigned a colour)
