You're a little too much to exist, Mrs. Porkhorde

Thu, 03 Dec 2009 05:31:43 GMT

Andy was feeling more hollow than ever that night. His back seemed to be bleeding from the spine. In the area above his head, ghosts were amassing. The ghosts of flies.

Thu, 03 Dec 2009 03:14:48 GMT

Broken bees being broken on the sidewalk, feeling empty flying away.

Thu, 03 Dec 2009 03:12:52 GMT

This whole thing is for the birds. That one dude who broke his neck. Three hundred and twelve stale pieces of candy. Why are you fucking doing that?

Fri, 27 Nov 2009 06:17:58 GMT

And then when a pheasant flees, to "Antarctica", it "shares" a "quiet time"!

Fri, 27 Nov 2009 06:09:24 GMT

Sam Samuels was born on a horsetray,
seven fucking gibbons in the back of a cab.
He takes heckles, he doesn't live in Eccles, and when he fucking fingers with a hand, he's a nerd.

This is the Samuels that shot out of Wednesday morning, three weeks from Saturday, with bird shit on his face. His whole fucking plan was being a rhino precinct, and when that failed him, his brainskull whistled in the wind.

Tue, 24 Nov 2009 06:41:16 GMT

Oleg Romanovich Catskin was killing breath in a stupid person when suddenly he felt bad about it and the sun purchased a wastepaper basket for his nephew as a birthday present.

Tue, 24 Nov 2009 06:26:13 GMT

And if you stumble upon a colony of drowned people trying to tell you their stories, don't care, just say yes. It's alright, and then you will become slugs and whatnot. That's just how it is, apparently. And someone with a name will have a point, and you can break that point off and throw it out a window or into someone's eye and they can go blind in that eye, and you can feel "guilty". Also, your pillow is not satisfactory, and there is loudness coming at you because you did something wrong and you have a paper cut and so what the fuck.

Sun, 01 Nov 2009 02:59:33 GMT

Twin sisters hating on the corner waiting for their mother to get back. Dreaming of murder.

Sun, 01 Nov 2009 02:56:23 GMT

Twilight monkeys getting jealous, smashing through your cupboards with an axe.

Sun, 01 Nov 2009 02:44:57 GMT

Do not worship Oldness. It is Death.

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 03:24:41 GMT

She swears at her nephew eating homemade raisins and we're always lying to her about her name. She thinks it's not Edna, but it's not. She doesn't believe us.

Fri, 23 Oct 2009 03:27:18 GMT

We were sitting on the stove eating paint chips when suddenly all of the windowsills started growing out of control. The orangest of the three sisters swam to the moon and broke records. Sally went into her ear and waited. We saw a wiretap flirting with the fireplace briefly, and then the lights got heavier. Everything got heavier. And broken records started playing to us their shallow lunar landscapes. All over the place, Sally's ear was making nightmares. There were hundreds of little monster girls slithering around the floor like maggot demons, and the paint chips got saltier and saltier. A raincloud committed suicide above our house.

Fri, 23 Oct 2009 03:10:56 GMT

when all of the windowsills started growing out of control.

Fri, 02 Oct 2009 19:24:49 GMT

Joey goes inside himself and sits there and screams.

Fri, 02 Oct 2009 19:15:52 GMT

The heads always fall off.

Sat, 05 Sep 2009 17:52:00 GMT

accidentally eviscerated by an exploding doldrum

Mon, 31 Aug 2009 02:08:20 GMT

She sits in cobra land with clampdowns on her stomach,
The apefest parrot-hat was too much to afford.
We ate at Jimmy's house, he made us waffle pinecone sticks,
the shirt was hedgeless, it wandered through the floor.

Sun, 23 Aug 2009 14:36:55 GMT

She's growing creeds in her garden. She sells them for $4 each, because they're organic.
She's stark raving magic, and she knows how to lie.

Thu, 20 Aug 2009 15:41:24 GMT

Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet eating her birds of prey.

Thu, 13 Aug 2009 02:55:43 GMT

A dancing prettiness, and you know something but it's gone maybe. Fluttering this and that, being where and now, etcetera and so on. Your tears went where? and ok now she wants to kiss you. And your stomach hurts, and your blood can attack itself but hopefully won't, and you're going to wake up, and you're not going to wake up.

Thu, 13 Aug 2009 02:47:35 GMT

Astra-Zeneca wants a piece of your shin for her collection, and you're all too willing to oblige because you're an idiot.

Sat, 06 Jun 2009 02:30:27 GMT

I think I found you hiding in the sound of crickets chirping. You were like a stray cat, I tried to touch you and you stabbed me.

Fri, 29 May 2009 15:10:21 GMT

If the sky were to reword itself, would you be scared? Cindy will. She'll fucking scream. Her acres of nosebleeds will run away from her and the ground will go all wobbly like a damp exit clause.

Ivan has throat cancer. He got it for free.

Sun, 24 May 2009 14:59:48 GMT

Theodore-Cindy Fuckinabox exploded like a cowardly vicar in a citadel last Thursday under Arnold's navy with Treetop Gilly feeling like a waste of a boyfriend and Sally Biccup crowing like a dogbitter inside of the staircase where we keep the mops. Susan says it's better to count to three than it is to explore nature with the inside of your stomach showing. And she should know. But she doesn't.

Sun, 24 May 2009 14:52:12 GMT

Edward Userpics screams himself silly inside of a wavelength, inviting people to implode whenever they don't freeze properly. Stupid fucking beetleflowers are showing you where your baby put the hatemail soup, and it would behoove you to not have to jump out of this lake so upside-downly, as it were, but that's just too bad.