On the corner of Jefferson and Monroe, Hamilton in the corner giving Addams the fuzzy eye. They still think Hamilton will be one of them. A former President. Upstart Lincoln is in

This sentence was supposed to be self-referential and it didn't like it one bit. This sentence felt the same way. The third won't be in this story. Maybe next time. The claim was

Seeing too many gucci gucci goos as a problem just means you're on the wrong side of the gun barrel. You can make up your mind which side that puts you on. But don't expect them to

See it as cut and dry and you see it wrong. When did you cure it? Don't leave it to time if you want consistency. I'm trying to remember a grimoire told as a folk tale about a girl

That identity had entered my quiver brings me up to two tricks. I'm going to hold to the distinctions. That will make it easier to present our case. Calling it that is problematic.

Getting a body turned out to quite easy. I showed up at the morgue. Filled out their paperwork I showed my credentials. 20 minutes later I was strapping her into my Prius. Luckily,

Kretch finally had to admit to himself that he had lost the trail. Most likely at the last fire pit. He'd followed the wrong bleeder out of the camp. That had been two day ago. Ash

Kevin Blake specialized in brutal deconstructive analysis of the moral baggage we were still faced with in the 21st Century. To bad if you want to darken your skin. There's a sun

"Tanning booths are about to have a revival as fronts for Happy Endings." "What's new about that," I hear some wag shout out from the crowd. Most likely a small town marshal with a

The way I see it. Starting at the end of the story leads to 2nd guessing. Lets step out while the nuptials continue and I'll bring you up to date since the last time I saw you. Bel

The little Corsican in me was shouting for a vendetta against the Karen that called us out on our shit this morning. She claimed that Fifi's dookie was the wrong shape. She knew a

Looking at her felt like it was only 3% real. Like I was in a Last Temptation of Christ type situation. This is what might be if I make another choice right now. I had an eternity.

I accosted the chunk of cheese. I was brutal. The cheese stood, alone. It took my blows for blessings and developed a more earthy character with a hint of hemlock. I was so proud.

It a is perpetual war with the past with these ones. They can't agree among themselves which past they came from. How can they try to force the rest of us to live in one of theirs?

"So then, who wrote the suicide note?" The lawyer stiffened. Detective Anemone helped herself to the seat beside him. "That old chestnut, Detective?" "Chestnuts grow to be trees."

Saint Tyrant was being petulant for no damn good reason. Not that there ever was a good reason to be petulant. There might be one. Don't ask me. I'm just a folder on an internet si

"Your mate here says that you were commanding artillery at the age of 7." Saint Tyranny sighed and admitted twas so. "I was a very old 7 year old though." He had broken the siege.

I paused in my routine & sought out my hydration/electrolyte replenishing vector. I espied it alarmed to find itself delicately placed to draw our attention away from the flimflam.

"We had heard about light an eternity or three. We largely didn't keep count back in the beginning. Not to say that we knew it was a beginning. The locals call it a beginning. Eyes

Saint Tyranny awoke long after the Witching hour to find a stranger, a woman, shitting in the pot of beans he had left out soaking. "I guess you think my beans aren't shitty enough