Shirley Jackson

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“Look at my boobs! My spooky, spooky boobs!”

~ Shirley Jackson, being modest
Shirley Jackson: she has that extra something.

Shirley Jackson was a creepy woman who wrote creepy stories about creepy people doing creepy things.

Early life[edit | edit source]

Spooky Shirley Jackson was born in a haunted house owned by a colonel who enjoyed killing lots of chickens and a clown who enjoyed serving up toxic waste masquerading as hamburgers. The city found out about the house and order all the local plumbers to throw rotten eggs at the house until the ghost of Lawrence Welk rolled over in his grave. She came form a poor family and after watching her father sell all his blood to be able to afford enough bread to plug up the hole in his bathtub, she promised herself that she would never go without shoes unless she had enough government documents to roll into a cigarette.

Writing career[edit | edit source]

While outside collection cans of tomato soup to feed to her cat she was frightened by a man made entirely out of lettuce. In a panic she started jotting notes down on the back of a box of cereal and discovered that she had a talent for writing long, boring stories about people being afraid of laundry baskets. These stories struck a cord with many readers, especially critics who enjoyed soaking their toes in a lake made out of pasta. Readers around the world eagerly awaited her next autopsy reports, complete with detailed drawings of Phyllis Diller’s favorite artichoke. People from all around the world came to visit her just to be able to punch her cat and steal all her video games.

Death[edit | edit source]

Sadly, Shirley Jackson could not find a way out of death. In the summer while outside counting the number of acorns hanging from her guitar, she slipped on a puddle of tennis shoes and fell down a flight of elevators. Doctors rushed her to the island of Cuba, but the reporters there were unable to glue her legs back to her horse. She died while lecturing to a group of college students on why they should never lick doorknobs unless they have been promised a comfortable position working for the State Department. Her body was soaked in a container of liquid smoke until she was so salty that even Bigfoot wouldn't convert her into gasoline.

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Allen GinsbergAldous HuxleyAmphioxusAnonymousAyn RandBram StokerC. S. LewisCharles BukowskiDr. SeussDonna TarttDouglas AdamsEdward Bulwer-LyttonFrancis E. DecFranz KafkaJoseph Sheridan Le FanuG. Samuel BlogGeorge HamburgH. P. LovecraftHardwick FundlebuggyHomerHunter S ThompsonJ. D. SalingerJ.K. RowlingJack KerouacJohn MiselstoneLeo TolstoyLeonardo da VinciLewis CarrollMichael MaryllianR. J. PalacioR. L. StineShirley JacksonTheodor AdornoTheodore John KaczynskiVictor HugoWilliam S. BurroughsWilliam Shakespeare

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