And check out the photo there of a creepy tree out in Salem, Virginia. Seriously, that thing is straight out of “Snow White and the Seven Dwarves'” (1937) haunted forest.
I’ve gotta hand it to you people — you’re sharp. There were verrrry few people who fell for my ruse this year. (You distinguished believers know who you are.)
Maybe I went too far in naming the fictional “Jowicker” zoological agency. Or maybe my citing of witness “April Flanagan” was a little too on the nose.
Oh, well. I can still reminisce with pride about last year’s gem of a hoax. That one actually worked a little too well — I spent days afterward clarifying for people that I had not joined a traveling dance company for middle-aged performers.
If you’re a horror fan like I am, then you were delighted with the news that Danny Boyle, Alex Garland and even Cillian Murphy have reunited to present the world with “28 Years Later” (2025). And the trailer to which I’ve linked below is the real one. (I positively loathe the abundance of fake movie trailers to be found online — especially when their incorporation of AI makes them seem authentic.)
The creepy military cadence that you hear in the background, I have come to learn, is Rudyard Kipling’s 1903 poem, “Boots.” I pasted it below for your perusal.
Postscript — am I an OCD psycho if it annoys me that we didn’t get a “28 Months Later” before a “28 Years Later,” just for consistency? There were one or two fan films that appropriated the title. Maybe we could collectively vote to simply decide that at least one is canon?
“Boots,” by Rudyard Kipling
We’re foot—slog—slog—slog—sloggin’ over Africa —
Foot—foot—foot—foot—sloggin’ over Africa —
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up an’ down again!)
There’s no discharge in the war!
Seven—six—eleven—five—nine-an’-twenty mile to-day —
Four—eleven—seventeen—thirty-two the day before —
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up an’ down again!)
There’s no discharge in the war!
Don’t—don’t—don’t—don’t—look at what’s in front of you.
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up an’ down again);
Men—men—men—men—men go mad with watchin’ em,
An’ there’s no discharge in the war!
Try—try—try—try—to think o’ something different —
Oh—my—God—keep—me from goin’ lunatic!
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up an’ down again!)
There’s no discharge in the war!
Count—count—count—count—the bullets in the bandoliers.
If—your—eyes—drop—they will get atop o’ you!
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up an’ down again) —
There’s no discharge in the war!
We—can—stick—out—’unger, thirst, an’ weariness,
But—not—not—not—not the chronic sight of ’em —
Boot—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up an’ down again,
An’ there’s no discharge in the war!
‘Taint—so—bad—by—day because o’ company,
But night—brings—long—strings—o’ forty thousand million
Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up an’ down again.
There’s no discharge in the war!
I—’ave—marched—six—weeks in ‘Ell an’ certify
It—is—not—fire—devils, dark, or anything,
But boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up an’ down again,
An’ there’s no discharge in the war!
Eric Robert Nolan, Author 