For a while, I’ve wanted to write stories that would play out, at least in one’s head, like a kind of sketch comedy where the “skits” are akin to single-shot gags. I guess technically those are called vignettes. The other caveat: it’s centered entirely around things (both real and made up) that happen at/in the…
Having sex with a werewolf just before the moon’s rising was not Allen’s smartest idea.
Keep dreaming, trashboy.
The myth that comedy will inevitably be offensive.
Mexico was not North Korea. In fact, they probably didn’t even look the same naked. But Cuba wouldn’t know because she’d never seen what was underneath North Korea’s perfectly pressed, gray suits. If she had, she wouldn’t be sitting next to Mexico then, sticky leather seats beneath them and an expanse of constellations above.
When he opens her up, she doesn’t care that they both look like monsters.
I feel her everywhere. She is the shadow at the end of every hallway. The eyes staring at me from the darkness. The black figure I catch in corner of my vision. The chill that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand. She is never in front of me, always behind. Always…
How fun it was to think that these gentlemen had no clue that the hair they twirled around their finger was fake, that the lips spilling sweet nothings were not a woman’s, or that the breasts their eyes would drift down to were not breasts at all.
On America’s birthday, England “fondly” remembers the “best” memories of his “son.”
And the eagle will fly, man, it’s gonna be hell.