As the mayor of Scotland, he was damn sure he was the finest mayor Scotland had ever had. He was at least rocking the sheep vote! He blew his nose on a dirty napkin and lumbered

both of them ignoring the scent of a dead skunk I left in the radiator last Yom Kippur. Even Dairy Queen won't take their drive-thru order now.

d ou t. Knowin g tha t sh e wouldn' t hav e th e gut s t o no t ea t th e entir e bow l i n on e sittin g, I lef t he r t o he r ow n device s an d snuc k ou t o f th e stadiu m

That kept Pseudo-Casey Jones busy while I hurried back to the car wash where his car was. "No, no, no!" I cried. "I said power wash his car! Not powerbottom wash his car!"

only to be served up meat with strange, rubbery, plastic-thin layers, sporadic blood red spots, and bright pink insides, and cutting through it is like cutting through bone. You

the nimblest momeraths outgrabed me by the bundle of my pantaloons. The momeraths meant nothing but it; they just wanted to get fed, but I still let out an appalling shriek as my

which is very pissing in the wind. It would've been better if he'd made everyone retweet me or leave comments on my YouTube vids. But I understand he was busy holding up the bank.

Worse yet, the Procrastinator put off re-registering his supervillain name, and his mantle was claimed up by someone with slightly more get-after-'em, which pissed him off more.

is just such a bar where MMA-loving lawyers meet to drink and hold fight clubs like the spoiled impotent bourgeoisie they are. So I lurked in the men's room at the Mat, taking pics

Reynard the fox, hero to the French people, jammed the Lindbergh baby into a waffle press while he inquired over the phone the costs of laxative-infused sardines. "Is that gross?"

icated between the jaws of a giant toad, then burned with seething acids just to get out of having to fold laundry. I fucking hate folding laundry. I'd rather be folding stories.

which Fred was doing while Reynard the fox, hero to the French people, had stuck Fred's infant son in a sack of doorknobs and mousetraps and was shaking it vigorously. Snap, clonk!

he could be, and left the caps off all the toothpaste in the neighborhood. But Kevin Blake had peaked. He couldn't think of a single nefarious thing to do to top himself.

was in very poor taste, his chest hair, but the lice defended it to the last, even as some people ripped it out at the root and others threw more lice into it. He wanted to die.

It was her way of blaming others for her own autonomous criminal actions. But baby-eating was a serious crime; she hadn't reckoned with Lt. Agumon Friday of the Food Police.

whatever reason people "swiped yes", she became disheartened that nobody was willing to dip their stick in crazy. Then she saw a pic of Nyarlathotep of the Thousand Screaming Maws.

guy, Cthulhu, rose from the sea and glowered down at me. "Feel the death of the mind," he said. "No thanks," I replied. "I've seen enough Japanimation to know where this is going."

kept returning red squigglies under the word "womyn". I don't get why human and woman get special syllables, but man is just plain, unremarkable, unannointed "man".

ench. Reynard the fox, hero to the French people, was busy poisoning some school children while wearing the pelt of Wolf, whose wife he had just rogered in the back of the veranda.

Toast sounded about good right then, and I was pretty sure the words "Hooters", "Purple Nurples", and "Flops" were responsible for why I could suddenly smell burnt toast. Edging up