om using Frontline, which was about as useless as the proverbial screen door on a submarine. Bill's fleas were proliferating over his face and abdomen. Sara had to take the fight

as is typical for these kind of days. "Please clarify, ma'am, are you or your house or both on fire?" Before I could answer the 911 dispatcher the line went dead. The melted base

costume, his statement clearly at odds with his attempts to get out of his own. By now he had a nuanced appreciation for every other schmuck who'd vomited in the Skylark's head.

, where they landed, set out to build a Utopian city for troubled toddlers. Regrettably, Don de Con built a brothel for the mentally awkward out of popsicle sticks & Lincoln Logs

so close together, although the physical dimensions of my first mancave were admittedly rather small. "We're not here to play games," said my therapist, Dr. Petra Frump. "We are

chicken-like being hardly seemed dazed. Not much. He weebled & wobbled a bit but it seemed to find it pleasurable. It made a pink furry purrr. We all heard it in our minds, not our

time watch all of my space keys rising up in the Rapture. On their way to opening new dimensions for the traveling passion show this universe turned out to be. We never suspected o

with vomit after triggering her gag reflex. Ms. Chodderstein caught one whiff of that spew and tossed her cookies directly into Professor Finkelstein's third martini.

e and into the baptismal font which, like the public pool, was full of urine. Then the best man got loose and ate all the little communion wafers (the Jeez-its), and the bride ate

slowly congealed into a fibrous coat on the Panama Hat that Al had left on the table on the Promenade Deck his body was hacked up & used as chum for the sharks in the boat's wake.

"Ouch," said little Johnny as a duck hit his head as it flew by. However, as the ducks began to drop the softballs on the ground, the whole community was pleased to finally have

My friends insisted that having a neck caved in by necrosis worked for me. It brought out my bone structure, they said. My mom complained that I was costing her enough in concealer

Glyph-Cipher but you can call me Vajg. We haven't had a new girl in here in ages. Did the Motherhouse send you? I ask because we have seen some true believers. We have to see to th

his unwritten folding stories spilled out intent on finding a new writer so that they'd see the dark of night. Which is how we ended up in these dungeons under the profaned church.

the standards of the Flemish flan. For that, Julia possessed the beaters to forever fail to make the perfect flan. The noise was their wailing at failing their mistress. A sobbing

It was a good thing Elsa was on board the train. She single-breathedly got the train running. In fact, it ran so well that she had to stop breathing lest she send us into the

-stead of it's intended landing target on the plains of Titan. The astrocows smell brisket and realize their mistake just in time to over-ride the cowship's autopilot and land on

fix my fucking desktop, but the recovery drive didn't work. I could tell the computer to boot to it, but then it'd just stay blank. "Maybe I can just cut myself," I thought aloud.

a phat spliff, and on every puff of his self-entitlement, Director Czar thought up another dirty slur for his departed audience. The audience moved onto a midnight screening of

that he had listed on a note. His first subject was Philandry 101. Lance knew he would claim Crown's Privilege over his own forays into such saucy trimmings. His next subject was