After the third time I found my garden dug up I decided something had to be done.
So one spring morning, before the crack of dawn, I crept into my yard to see what it was eating my lettuce.
The sight was disgusting to say the least.
He crouched in my carrot patch, purple cargos hanging low, leather jacket covered in patches and chains, blue and red thread running through his dreadlocks.
His face ghastly pale, his lips and eyes jet black.
Quietly, I returned to the house to find my wife.
“Honey? We’ve got Juggalos. Fetch me the shotgun.”