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-spire so much before we completely dehydrated. The Bippety Boom Poet collected our shriveled bodies and tossed them in the air like snow as he recited. Bob Fosse's ghost danced in

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that I was going to marry a living, breathing fat broad who was not afraid of a few stinkin' bites of ice cream, for the love o' Mike. I took the wooden lady and swung her around

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almost all the way down, but leaving room to push bean after bean off the windowsill into the alley below. At first only the rats noticed, but eventually an old woman pushing a

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Institute for Wayward Gentlemen she crept around by night waiting for a murder to occur. She found success one night, but unfortunately it was she who was strangled. The next

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-d her nose and the militiamen wound up on top of Mt. Everest, where they soon died from the cold. "It's not my fault," said Samantha, "if they weren't prepared." She and Tabitha

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I remember years ago, when this spot was what was left of Diddy's Retreat, I used to come out here after work and park over there by the glorified puddle they called a pond. At 2AM

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The rough waters avoided him like a plague. So did the shadows, the cold spots, and the bumps in the night. He didn't give it much thought. It creeped me out and I am his brother.

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Right now I am hearing their dreams. I don't know how... I guess it is like a podcast but not really. Way beyond VR. Anyway, this guy, he's from Ohio but dreaming about Berlin in

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The sky princess reneged on the deal and walked off with our samples because Quito's idiot cousin, Tonto, left it on the hood of her car & went across the street for a wet burrito.

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I saw the racetrack in my mind. The agoraphobic chick was sneaking up behind the Mindwrestler who was already fending off the Jenkin Triplets and their mind whips. Slowpoke was dig