The Oregon Ghost Conference. Is YOUR Ass Haunted?? The Answer May Surprise You

Another day, another adventure. @amandarichards has a knack for talking me into these. Thanks to the laptop I bought when SBD was high (one of my few wise investments with that money) I’ve been able to post on Steemit even on trips, so no productivity is lost.

Once again the trip looked possibly cursed as it snowed heavily in the mountains. There were no blockages however and we made it without issue. I didn’t much want to write another failed adventure post anyway.

Wooooo spooky. The Oregon Ghost Conference! WAIT! What’s that in the upper left of the photograph?? Is that a ghost orb?? No you gullible dingus, it’s my finger. My sexy, supple, out of focus finger that I blurred because it’s 2 hot 4 TV.

I’ve written at length before about my own opinions concerning human consciousness being a product of the brain, and am skeptical of ghost sightings, but I’m also a horror writer. The event presented a valuable insight into what people into ghost lore are interested in lately.

My lovely assistant presents the decorations, made of the finest plastic $6.50 can buy from a local Halloween outlet. Shit like this is how you can tell all of this is really, really for real. For realsies.

Paranormal researchers have long debated what ghosts are made out of. Is it ectoplasm? Is it spirit essence? Both wrong. You can clearly see the ghost at the right is made of rubber. Ghosts are made out of rubber, case closed.

We soon entered the conference proper, which turned out to be mostly just people selling shit. But it was some cool shit, so I had no complaints about wandering around, window shopping.

You like ghost rocks? Of course you do little boy or girl. Every rock guaranteed to contain at least one actual ghost! Trapped forever in the intense torment of isolation, for the enjoyment of deep pocketed tourists.

Huh. How about that.

This guy had by far the coolest stuff for sale. Like a steampunk octopus cane. I was honestly somewhat tempted but then remembered I could not use it anywhere except conventions, and am a 34 year old adult man.

Another aerial shot from the balcony, where Amanda and I gazed down at the tiny people like ants below us, silently judging. It was pretty limited in size, I really expected something bigger. That’s what she sai-NO! No I won’t say it, I have comedy standards.

Some guy selling a bullshit magic dealie to protect your brain from wifi and cell radio that’s giving you cancer. He seemed to be doing alright though, it’s not stupid if it makes money.




Dudes and one lady dude just hanging out and selling a bunch of Luigi boards. No big deal. Talk to the dead, maybe to demons, no biggie. I asked if they could conjure the ghost of Kamina. When I told them it’s an anime character they stopped answering my questions and waited for me to leave.

There were numerous paranormal investigation teams. Honestly running around in a dark abandoned building getting spooked by echoes sounds really fun, I would be interested to find out how much money there is in it.

The tools of the trade. Nowhere to be seen: That instrument Egon used in Ghostbusters with the blinking lights on it. Makes me wonder if these guys even know how to find and/or bust real ghosts.

More expensive shit. This looks like a really expensive hobby. But then I dropped like 3 grand total on a fancy bike and the same amount on VR so I am just being my usual hypocritical self here. I would go ghost hunting if invited.

Then suddenly, furry fetish gear out of nowhere. Truly this place is haunted, cursed and bamboozled to the highest degree. It’s a mystery why it was here, given that furries aren’t ghosts…yet…

Castle tours! Just look at that castle and try to tell me it isn’t haunted as shit. I would wager there’s three, maybe four hundred ghosts per cubic foot packed into that sumbitch, just hella floating around all up in each other’s ghostly business. It’s in California, maybe a road trip is in order.

Some shit to buy your kid so they will stop whining for perhaps thirty minutes until they grow tired of it. No real relation to ghosts, but then there was a booth selling fucking Arbonne MLM shit so I guess they let anybody sell here.

You want haunted dolls? We got haunted dolls-wait seriously? You do? Why? I mean it’s a free country, pursue happiness however you see fit, I just personally don’t understand the appeal.

Speaking of haunted dolls. Ever notice how it’s always old timey dolls that are haunted or cursed? It’s never something more recent like a Transformer or Stretch Armstrong. Why not? Ghost mysteries, that’s why.

One thing I learned early on as a writer is how flexible the definitions of words can be. “Vixen” for example means many different things to many different people. Anything goes! Be uninhibited in your use of language!

There were tarot readings as well, by a girl Amanda apparently knows. Tarot is a small community it would seem. There was also an ad for a competing card system called “psycards”. Sounds like some shit from Yu Gi Oh. “You thought you had me on the ropes when you sent my Exodia to the graveyard Kaiba, but what you never counted on is my PSYCARD!!”

This guy was giving a lecture about spooky happenings in the air force, at sea and in space. The commotion made it difficult to understand him but some of it tugged at my attention. Also gave me some story ideas.

A gadget called a geophone which amplifies and visualizes small vibrations. This is allegedly used to detect the soft, light footsteps of ghosts. Or anybody on the property. I don’t know, I’m not a ghostologist.

Anyway, search as I might I could find no ghosts on the premises. I spotted a possible haunted half-full Doctor Pepper bottle and Monster Energy Drink, but closer investigation revealed they contained drastically fewer ghosts than it seemed at first blush.

I then explored the possibly haunted bathrooms for ghost turds, the spirits of meals eaten long ago. I strained my ears to hear their heart breaking chorus of ghostly wails, lamenting the watery grave they were flushed down to after being cruelly ejected from their dark, warm intestinal refuge.

There is surprisingly little awareness in the ghost hunting community about ghost turds. They’ve been exploring abandoned buildings but neglecting the bathrooms, I feel. I could not rouse any insightful discussion on the topic with any of the paranormal investigation teams however, despite persistent attempts.

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