A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Heaven: (Or, How I Made Peace with the Paranormal and Stigmatized Zealots and Cynics in the Process)
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Since growing up in Iowa, his own curiosity drew him into situations that would've sent most people screaming scared and running for the hills. He's ballsy enough to go into the darkness and deal with the consequences, though. As a result, he's seen ghosts up close and personal, whether while combing through an abandoned house in his native Iowa as a child or recording an album in the fabled Houdini Hollywood Hills mansion. He's also got the memories (and scars) to prove it. For some reason, he can't seem to shake these spectral stories, and that brings us to this little tome right here...
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Heaven compiles Taylor's most intimate, incredible, and insane moments with the supernatural. His memories are as vivid as they are vicious. As he recounts these stories, he questions the validity of religious belief systems and two-thousand-year-old dogma. As always, his rapid-fire writing, razor-sharp sense of humor, unbridled honesty, and cozy anecdotes make quite the case for his point. You might end up believing him or not. That's up to you. Either way, you're in for a hell of a ride.
I have in the mountain that I will never comprehend. But I am saddled with that prick of a burden named cynicism. Does that make me a hypocrite when it comes to my adherence to the paranormal? Maybe—actually, more like yes, absolutely. And yet who knows? Like I said, I know what I saw and experienced. We will get to all of that—and I do mean all of it—soon enough. Sometimes I wonder why I am trying so hard to get to that cave in the mountain. I wonder about who that voice belongs to, the voice
bizarre campfire round robin. You might want to grab your popcorn, because this is where it gets interesting. It started with The Boss, who, as I said before, has an extra sense for these things, hearing singing. She described a little boy somewhere in the complex singing the “Pledge of Allegiance,” sort of showing off for us like children are prone to do. Every once in a while some of us could pick up on it a bit. The Boss could hear it plain as day, though. Suddenly, she shot up out of her
can really tell when a location has that kind of sinister feeling—places like Dachau and Neely Plaza in Dallas have those vibes, like the violent events cause something to change in the very environment, giving it an edge and a sadness that was not there before. My team did not feel that anywhere other than that bathroom. So my opinion is that, yes, there is something there, but it could easily be a spirit who resides in the cemetery across the street and has returned to the schoolhouse because
so one night I asked him why he wanted me to sleep in his room with him all the time. He said, very solemnly, “Well, because when you are in here, the Shadow Man stops keeping me awake.” That sentence gives me goose pimples to this day. Over ten years ago I did not know any of this was going to happen. All I knew was that I had a son on the way and I had to find a family home that was also a decent investment for my hard-earned money; all I had done so far was wipe my ass on rent for a
being a little savvier than I gave her credit, picked up on it before I was done and scowled at me the rest of the night. She then called an end to the séance. I was not invited back. As you can tell, my feelings are still hurt to this day. I had basically pulled this same prank on some of my friends back in Evansdale, Iowa, when I carved a Ouija board face onto the top of a writing plank. Guiding the makeshift stylus, which was nothing more than the bottom of a Pepsi two-liter bottle, I made my