As Jeff mentioned last post:
"... the communiques came in the form of threats, either via phone or on notes hand-delivered to our mailbox. We never really took them seriously, believing them to merely be the diseased ramblings of a messed-up mind. That is, until he started to get serious, personal and dangerous."
Well ... sort of.
The phone calls? We blew them off as pranks. Because that's what they were ... poor ones, too. They weren't the least bit serious. (And, if memory serves, Jeff even used one as a headquarters answering machine message once.)
But the notes were a different matter all together.
They began arriving more frequently at the Unbelieva-base ... and annoyingly so. It came to the point of our Unbelieva-base mail boy Kip alerting us to their voluminousness:
"Hey guys? We got 34 letters and postcards from Bernie this week. The Stiletto Flats post office is starting to complain they're working too hard and want us to nip this in the bud ..."
Things were unusually quiet on the ne'er-do-well front so we decided to do some digging on Bernie.
Most of what we discovered on the guy was fluff. Stuff and nonsense. The blather of a disgruntled, whiny, self-absorbed little peon who thinks he hadn't gotten his due in life.
But ... there was one thing we found that got us to sit up straight in our chairs.
An association.
A disturbing association.
A disturbing association with a known deviant.
Scott Thompson.
Better known as ...
... Carrot Top.
Clark will fill you in ...
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