That got people started. After all, as I always say: "No such thing bad publicity!" Do you have any idea how difficult it is to wear a hat with a flat head? My green skin clashed

lorded over the lard in the larder, she could not stand asparagus. "Sorry, Mom; I have to go vanquish homunculi," she would say as she rushed out the door, oversized spatula in her

"That's hardly an excuse. It should be fresh on your mind!" argued the very bratty homunculus. The doc was this close to jamming him back up into that hamster water bottle where he

e-maid popcorn of three parts prune juice vinegar, two parts Ecto Cooler™, and stir with a rectal thermometer. Everyone has to make it in bartending school, and classes are only on

But if a tree falling in the woods makes no sound, how is a bumpersticker a bumpersticker without being stuck to a bumper? Rope burns will chafe your neck, so I use Vaseline™ on my

Game of Thrones. "Can we get more tit action?" George R. R. Martin tried to raise a fleshy stub from his rotund rolls of American as he directed his latest rape scene. "Her tits

Bobby had a timetable worked out for when he took over dominion of the dark side. Cthulhu & the other Old Ones had let the survivors turn the world against them while they slept.

It was something about the way she carried her eyes at breast level. We didn't have to choose. Unfortunately, eventually our mind gave up on trying to work out how she did it & we

on the anniversary of that day 11.3 years. I argued how that .3 seemed tacked on. Nevertheless the court upheld the arrangement. What was I going to do with 11 lemons from the car

she exudes Schadenfreude from every pore. Less so in person but to the same effect. Her scene as Lenny in Legion dancing to You Know How I Feel revealed facets of Audrey Plaza I'd

So much for staying off the tree for a week. What other plan of mine will go awry next? Dare I ask my Queen for succor? I’d be a cheeky monkey indeed. Sucking eggs would be my fate

My “Manuscript found next to a dead Uber driver” was really a retelling of Philip Gardnier-Lanet’s “Memories of the fœtus”. But from the POV of the dead driver’s Kia Sorrento. When

I hadn't seen Ann in over 2 decades. Despite my mask & the years she recognized me on the street in Omaha. My 1st thought: "She was there my first time." She'd been an onlooker to

donned his most August orange parka & did a March of the Pubs with April; looking for May and June. In spite of November winds Oktoberfest was still raging at our final Biergarten.

And like any good dystopian story this reality had a "hero" who would be privy to how god damned woeful the future really was. What good was teleportation if everywhere you went or

Gene left town a few weeks later. His cousin Jeb, before he died, told me Gene had joined the Navy. He was a SEAL in Vietnam. Last I heard, around '74 he was a mercenary in Angola.

splashed out the toilet bowl. "Fucking dammit!" Andrei said. "I've got to go to work! I don't have time for this shit!" She started clubbing the toilet with the plunger in fury.

created meat rations, so Master Splinter was counting on his restaurant's clientele to think it was just jargon on menu entrees such as Grub au Jus. (It was actually grubs.) Or

mathemagician. Her father was a huge fan of the rhythm method because of his professional obsession with predictive statistics and such. He even knew when my cat would give birth!

There was no question. The idea was his and his alone. But where did he get it? Had the old grey matter thrown him a bone? Or maybe HE had reached in and placed the idea there. How