Dear Woodstown, New Jersey

I've written once about my recent trip to America's playground, but this trip has warranted a second letter.  As I drove behind a wonderfully ignorant driver down a single lane stretch of route 40, I had plenty of time to look at the scenery as we drive 10 miles under the speed limit.  I had an even clearer view of everything with the car widows open as I tried to try to alleviate the meat sweats I had gotten from the generous lunch portions at the Woodstown diner.  I had a good look at the goon vamping shirtless in from of the giant cowboy in front of the Cowtown Rodeo, his children embarrassed and waiting to throw water on him for the Ice Bucket Challenge.  I saw where the formerly abandoned and creeptastic strip club Sensual Desires had reopened, under the appropriate name Pole Positions.  But the thing that caught my eye, and nearly caused me to brake my car in the middle of Route 40, was much more innocent, at least at first glance.  I saw the single billboard, just a poster between two 2x4's in the ground, that stated "Haunted Paintball Hayride".  Other than the words, there was just one picture.  That picture was a zombie.

This was just outside the limits of Woodstown, New Jersey, a town I had previously known to show perhaps the most vibrant and patriotic display of town Halloween spirit I had ever seen since my childhood.  This is now the town that has stolen my heart.

I love Haunted Hayrides.  My friends and I did one on Halloween my senior year of highschool, and I still remember the night fondly thirteen years later.  I've never played Paintball, but I love laser tag and the shooting range, so I think this is a safe bet that my enthusiasm will translate.  So, when you ask me if, during my favorite holiday season of the year, would I like to ride a slow moving conveyance through a dark and spooky landscape, where zombies will attack and I get to actually shoot them?

I'm sorry, I passed out due to the lack of blood in my brain due to the massive erection I was just given.