The Horror of Party Beach

At an East Coast beach party in full swing, goggle-eyed frankfurter-faced gill-men that smell “like Fulton Fish Market in July” and sound like “eructation of unhealthy souls”, spawned by radioactive waste on the bones of dead sailors, maraud by day and night and devour pretty girls of every stripe, bloodsuckers.

They are not to be confused with a motorcycle gang that quarrels and parts amicably, or voodoo.

Sodium incinerates the horror.