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The cannibals and headhunters were at it again. The cannibals brought out the old chestnut about headhunters wasting good food. The headhunters called the cannibals ass eaters. It

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an unfortunate scientist who had been passing by. Papet hurriedly checked the man's pulse, worried that he might have crushed this man with his rotund features, but then

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His skin hadn't seen the sun in 13 years. He wasn't about to let that go for naught over this upstart floozy of a queen from the Red Planet. He hated that it had to be voted upon.

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the time he and his dead sister fell into his shadow. Even as they fell they argued as to which of them was at fault. She claimed she was at fault for scaring the substance out of

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dog's podiatrist cross dressed the wrong rottlabootle as a canine Trump throwing his bone into the race as a write-in candidate. Sensing a change in the wind the Trumpers jumped on

Origuru's photo
 

The N in NILF, you see, stands for Narcissus. For I would gladly F myself, I whisper it constantly to my reflection on the lakeside. At least, until that fateful day

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see my skin growing saggy and tired. In retaliation, I threw the hourglass at the old man- no, the infant, who started to cry as if this whole situation wasn't his doing. Then

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"Why are you eating your sweatsuit?" asked the shadowy figure. I rather rudely responded that it was none of its business, and I can eat as many clothes as I want, regardless of

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I continued flirting during the course of the date, but Death was rather more dense than I was expected. I tried to do makeshift pole dance on his scythe but he didn't seem

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would shine with wisdom untold as you stared up at me, eyes wet with dewdrop tears and the promise of mutual comfort. I would tell you not to blame yourself, none of this was