When there's no more room in Hell, the dead will walk the strip malls.

Ahoy, Crypto Scouts!

While investigating a reported disturbance, it became eerily clear why a certain "Big Box" electronics retailer is in the process of closing all of their locations. As I witnessed the forces of evil enter and exit, I wondered if the corporation knew beforehand that they had erected every one of their stores directly above a Gateway to Hell (AKA a "HellGate" AKA a "HellMouth")?



What am I saying? Of course they did.

I took a quick look beyond the portal, and came to the realization that even though I was always prepared, I was not THAT prepared to deal with a mass hysteria of this twinkie-analogy-worthy magnitude. As soon as I gather together a special amulet, Van Helsing's diary (cross-referencing the architecture chapter in Tobin's Spirit Guide of course), a virgin to read said diary, and a scary German guy to help with pronunciation, I shall return to banish!

Cryptically yours,
*The Crypto-Scout
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Scrump & Fugly's Bestest Beastly Bestiary B.S. #4

Man's Best Mutant? The Doctor is IN... SANE!

Ahoy, Crypto Scouts!

I was quite and utterly taken aback when I received a certain picture postcard in the mail receptacle. It would appear that my female sibling has been experimenting on her bulgy-eyed lap warmers and created... ABOMINATIONS.

I was not aware that my sister had moved to a remote island and developed a fondness for genetic engineering and species splicing. I immediately contacted her via the Crypto-Communicator and gave her a piece of my still-reeling (yet, EVER prepared) mind. I was rebuffed. She expeditiously notified me that she is, in fact, disgusted with my "research, if you can call it that" and my "childish ravings" and that I "should get out more". I told her that I was disgusted with her own hobbies ("playing God", cross-stitch, etc)... but especially her casserole (if you can call it that). It'll NEVER be as good as Grandmother's.

She hung up on me.

The only thing left to do is name the poor little bastards.

Say "Well met!" to:
"PRUGSTACEAN"
and
"TEENAGE MUTIE NINJAPURGLE"

And remember:
"Not to go on all-Fours... THAT is the LAW."
Cryptically Yours,
*The Crypto-Scout

PURGLE POWER!!!
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Ghouls Gone Wild!

Ahoy, Crypto Scouts!

Feast your eyes on the World Premiere(!) of GHOULS GONE WILD's new Monster Mash smash hit, "Dead Girls Don't Say NO".

And remember... Aim for the head. It's the only way to kill a Rock Star of the "walking dead" persuasion. Well, besides a plane crash. Or choking on their own vomit.

But that's not important right nowRELOAD! RELOAD!



Cryptically yours,
*The Crypto-Scout
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Crypto Spotlight: The Woeful Ballad of El Crypto

Ahoy, Crypto Scouts!

I have had the pleasure of meeting many Monster Hunters over the years, but none as dedicated, as daring, and as dressed-to-kill (the senoritas just ADORE him) as EL CRYPTO.

We were Little Bigfeet bunk mates during our summers at Camp Crypto Lake. We'd practice our foot-print casting, spend hours listening to the hypnotic beep of a Crypto-Sonar, and quiz each other in preparation for our Crypto Scout badge exams (HE had a plethora). But our days of building popsicle and macaroni Jackalope hutches were over all too quickly.

El Crypto's famous fellow-luchador brother and champion of the ring, OCCULTO, had been killed under mucho mysterious circumstances. Tragico! The messy remains and surrounding evidence left behind seemed to implicate that an unidentified Monster was the perpetrator. Vowing revenge, my masked camp companion abandoned his oath to protect the unknown creatures beyond science's limited understanding and instead swore to pursue an illustrious career in Monster-Punching.

Our paths do still cross on occasion. And every so often, I receive a postcard from some exotic location, heralding the exploits of El Crypto's latest conquest (in the arena, in the wild, and/or in the boudoir). The senoritas still adore him more than ever, but I'm sorry to say that MY admiration for the Romancero has diminished since he's taken up this rage-blinded crusade of violent retribution. Come back to the troop, El Crypto. The field of cryptozoology needs your special lucha libre powers, now more than ever.

Cryptically yours,
*The Crypto-Scout
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Harry Poacher and the Aphrodisiac of Ground Hippogriff Hoof

Ahoy, Crypto Scouts!

The illegal stealing, smuggling, and selling of rare animals on the worldwide black market is a multi-billion dollar business. 2nd only to drugs and arms dealing. Therefore, it's no big surprise that the rarest of our world's "hidden animals" would fetch a pretty penny and attract the skeeviest of crypto-poachers...

Witches and Wizards.

They keep live cryptids as familiars once in a blue moon, but customarily strip the poor beasts of useful parts and organs like some Alchemical "chop shop". These bits then become ingredients in any number of powerful salves, balms, and potions or a key component to some dastardly spell. The most unusual species will wind up as delicacies on secret Black Mass menus. The sorcerers even have a merry tune they whistle while they go about their wicked work. Disgusting. As a Crypto-Conservationist, I feel it's our duty to stop the black market cryptid trade and turn these Practitioners of the Dark Arts, these "Merchants of Death", over to "the system". The digestive system of the nearest obliging dragon, that is.

As I am ever alert, I happened upon an establishment (see below) whose facade did very little to mask its true purposes.

When I leaped through the door (which had magically opened before me) with my judgmental pointer finger cocked and ready to point, my suspicions were NOT vindicated. The shop-keepers must have caught wind of my impromptu raid from the Spirit Realm, or foresaw it in a scrying stone. No pickled cockatrice waddle. No venomous wyvern venom. No lucky jackalope feet.

Like the Prohibition speakeasies of the 20s, this "gift" market must have been an innocent front for more criminal activity... BEHIND-the-scenes. However, I failed to extract any damning confessions from the Apprentices stocking shelves, no matter what amazing numeral I rolled on my trusty D20 or how much intimidation my posture and tone displayed (trust me). I did garner quite a few odd looks from patron and employee alike though. The guilt was ALL over their faces.

No butchered cryptid horn, pelt, or gall bladders sold here (not in the open anyway), but I did spot a teeny frog mariachi band and some clams with googly eyes fastened to their shells. No doubt victims of some warlock's "Spell of Freezing" and "Spell of Eyes,Googly", respectively. This location is going on my Watch List nevertheless.

For the sake of all monsters (protected by official law or no), keep your Scout eyes peeled and report all suspicious activity to your local troop leader... or local Witchfinder General.

Cryptically speaking,
*The Crypto-Scout


Lyrics | Red Buttons - Every Little Piece lyrics

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Luck be a Mothman tonight!

Ahoy, Crypto Scouts!

The image you see above is one I was LUCKY enough to capture while taking out the trash. I believe the evidence speaks for itself, but in case you are not familiar with all Beasties (great and small) who inhabit the Cryptid Compendium, it should soon become perfectly clear (especially when I TELL you momentarily) that yours truly had a close encounter with... The Mothman! Why was the terrifying harbinger with his eyes all a'glow lurking around MY garage of all places? Was it trying to warn me of some forthcoming calamity? Could I be in some sort of mortal peril? Are the robots/zombies/apes finally taking over? Will my Crypto-DVR fail to record the new installment of Nickelodeon's The Troop? The reason behind Mothman's presence would reveal itself later that FATEful evening...

After sorting my recycling (a Crypto Scout is ever respectful to the environment), I made my way to the curb, alert and prepared for disaster. And that's where it happened. That is the very place where Disaster reared its whiskered head! Like some sort of 4-legged CAT-astrophe incarnate, the fluffiest and blackest Halloween Cat I had ever seen came gallivanting across my driveway. Knowing what kind of Bad Luck it would mean if I let this trespassing feline cross my path, I dove for the bushes. Forget broken mirrors or walked-under ladders. Mothman paid a visit earlier with his high-beam gaze to WARN me for sure. Had it not have been for the prophetic Mothman's harbingering, I may have been cursed indefinitely by this carousing (and sort of cute in an "Evil Omen" kind of way) Evil Omen. Or at the very least, suffered a SEVERE allergy attack.

It took me quite some time to locate all the empty Mountain Dew cans strewn across my yard, but my Luck was intact for yet one more day. Thanks, Mothman, for the heads up. You're a life/luck-saver! The Crypto-Scout's own personal Guardian Angel. You can harbinge in my direction ANYTIME!

Cryptically yours,
*The Crypto-Scout

Post-script: Fortunately, Crypto-Mutt did not witness the events. Although fearless in the face of the most exotic monsters, he's deathly afraid of felines. A "scaredy cat", as it were.

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