Somewhere, Jacob the elder thought, there was a Peruvian Death Llama crouched in a dark, dingy alleyway (eating stale pizza and drinking rainwater that fell from the downspouts of the dark buildings that made up this stinking, hellish metropolis) and wrote cherry, happy children’s stories, like the ones Jacob would be reading to his son now,(had he not been kidnapped by Santa’s elves and taken to a huge sweatshop in Uzibekestan to make Furbies) if Jacob were actually at home, and not sitting at this red light.
As I was slogging through the trenches outside Berlin, I saw the Nazis approach and wished for the thousandth time that help would arive, but the calvery only arives in stories. Just then, the stirring sound of The Battle Hymn Of The Republic told me that reinforcements had arived!
Marta eyed her younger sister, April, whom she somewhat affectionately called “Ape”, as she pouted her lips, which were the same color as the cherry you might find occasionally in a can of fruit cocktail, announcing its glaring pink presence among the myriad boring peach and pear chunks, and thought morosely to herself, “So now she’s swiped both my new lipstick and my old boyfriend.”
The mushroom cloud was the exclamation mark at the end of civilization, but (more importantly) it punctuated my relationship with Brenda; for although we had pledged eternal love, neither of us could have foreseen the horrible mutation that would drive us apart and forever disprove the old saw about “two heads are better than one”.
Quaking with the bowel-rending flatulence which had plagued him since his circus days, Johann tried in vain to perform the task the kind alien had given him before returning to it’s mothership within the hollow earth: to sing the praises of all things Belgian.
I spanked my baby and he started burping; it reminded me of the time when my ex-husband came home late at night while drunk, making loud, obnoxious noises on his way to bed.
The goat bleated as my warm juice flowed. He was probably hungry, but laying on the floor in a pool of warm apple cider wouldn’t get him fed. I got up and moved the skateboard I slipped on out of the hallway, then put on my coat and headed over to the barn. I’ll clean up the cider later, maybe the cat will lick it up in the meantime.
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She smelled bad and wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but I screwed her anyway. I screwed her like there was no tomorrow, and for her there wouldn’t be one.
In fact, she hadn’t had a tomorrow for three weeks.
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and
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The goat bleated as my warm man-juice flowed uncontrollably.
The festering puss-filled sores on Amanda’s penis just wouldn’t heal. Amanda made a mental note to herself to call the doctor about this, then she remembered she was a female and was deeply disturbed by the idea of have a penis, whether it be festering and puss-filled or not!
Being underneath Jim in the meat locker was not much fun, especially when it was a hot day during summer. Jim was my necrophiliac lover who had died about three years ago, and luckily the cold of the room kept him fresh for the last two. I still loved to caress him and his cold, pale, rotting flesh, especially after I inserted a rod to keep his penis erect. Sometimes I’d just sit there and gnaw on his arms, and then the feeling of the skin giving way to my lips made me shudder, and I’d ride once more. I am still amazed that no one at the butcher shop has noticed yet that I keep him there. It’s a good thing too; you have no idea how hard it is to find new excuses for the odd smell he has now, and they’re busy killing the rats that I put in here to keep them from knowing.
Here commenceth part III of the 17th instalment of the Thraith Warrior myth-cycle, charting the rise of Kahl, son of Bjane, and his tribe’s quest to regain control of the seventh stone of Frahr and return it once more to the Hark Temple on the far, forever-night side of planet Myrrl.
I remember reading the one about the Happy Valley meat packing company. Cool.
“I greased my hands once again and ran it over her plump and succulent body, caressing every curve, putting my sweaty hands in every hole and grinning with delight as I felt a warm and yielding moisture; I took a deep breath and was overcome by that unmistakable smell of musk and poultry – this was going to be the best Thanksgiving turkey ever, even if I couldn’t find any goddamn cranberries.”
I had no idea how hard it would be to write a story until I first began this project, which has now consumed an eighth of my free-time in college, and caused me to save over $2.50 in money that I would otherwise have spent in the deep philosological company of my beloved fern, Ruddy.
“Tell me, do you think that smoking pot leads to deeper insight? I mean, when I was younger, I think I felt really intense feelings. Shit that I don’t feel now. Did pot do that to me? Because, when you’re high on pot, you think that the world is vibrant, like really, but now I’m just not so sure about any of it anymore.”
“That’s interesting, tell me more.”
“It was funny in a way; all the stories I’d ever read about people laying bleeding and dying on the floor or in an alley or a foxhole, and all the things they always thought about as their life was ebbing away, recollections and philosophy and ironic realizations; while all I could think about was how it hurt so goddamn bad.”
He seemed nice in that very special way that someone was nice after about 7 beers, some tequila shots, and several drinks whose names contained misspellings, but I soon found my life had descended into the plot of a quickly cancelled sitcom which everyone hates even after reshooting the pilot and replacing the best friend with a funny minority after he lecherously regarded my svelte body and said with a sneer, “Have you ever heard of the Tug-Ahoy?”
"It was a dark and storm… Ralphie I gotta go to the bathroom. HUH what nevermind that. IT was a dark and stormy night when they said… RALPHIE I GOTTA GO TO THE BATHROOM. Ok now I’m slightly adjetated. But anyways when they said that “No they didn’t have any Grey Poupon”
If that made sense to any please e-mail me and tell me what it means for as I have no idea.