The Knife Fight
“Wesley,” Garb thought to himself, the last thought he’d ever have, as he stood under the high noon sun, “is an asshole for bringing a gun to our knife fight.”
Post modern poem on pooping…
When I’m sad I poop, allowing my excrement to be the vessel of my collected sorrows.
Constipation has become the antithesis of my complete and utter happiness.
Punks
Fall punk fashion smells like shit.
Bowie
Spiders from mars invade. Ziggy Stardust: Earth’s only hope… a man in make-up and a cod piece. Sigh…
Condoms
“I need condoms,” he said, leaving out the problem, which wasn’t that he had used the entire box under his bed, but rather, that they had expired.
The Last Story of Shortbeard the One-Legged Pirate
Arrrrrrrrrrh! On a pirate ship is where I got me peg leg and off the pirate ship is where I found me death. Me peg leg was just too buoyant. Me head not so much
by Mason Johnson
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Pyromaniac Dreams
The two of you were at the end of a hallway. I had a bag of charcoal briquettes. All I could think was how much you both loved lighter fluid.
By Fearless Editor #1 aka Meghan Rock
By Fearless Editor #1 aka Meghan Rock
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