"Let's ride," he said. Plumes of blood and

"Let's ride," he said. Plumes of blood and gristle rained down on his lips. The salty copper of the kill overran his tongue. The vomit awoke, where it slept deep in the pit of

whatever hell the Thai food was reigning in his gut. Pulling a trigger was like giving up a little of humanity, and he'd given up enough to become a monster that night.

He carefully removed a coin purse from his pocket. Fashioned out of a kangaroo scrotum, it was a novelty gift received at last year's white elephant exchange. But now it held

His testicles. A gift from that bitch Marcie. He had only meant it as a joke, but when she went totally crazy when she learned that I had

grit her teeth angrily, but then she shrugged. "It doesn't matter," she said, "Gleek has a brother. Or rather, a clone. I have an army of clones." I shrieked as the spider monkeys

sang Dont Stop Believin'. They

twirled and danced merrily while ingesting copious amounts of alcohol. The modern nightclub scene is a crude example of how the Homo Sapiens creature

began the process. Come but may, the men were ready to rocky road. Just as they were settling in