story archives
Epic Trash
I don’t have any real memories anymore, I have pushed them so far behind the eyes that all the bad memories are blotted out in the vast mind space like dreams, and occasionally haunt me as such. The memories I do have are ones devised by me, and my own imagination at work. There has never been any time that I can recall that it wasn’t this way for me. I began living in the trailer park shortly after I quit my last job, and took up a career writing unimpressive articles for shit magazines all over the states. My girlfriend and I sat there, smoking reefer and chatting up the adventure of the day, but keeping an eye on the door the whole time to make sure the child didn’t find his way into our room. The dope …
the Morons
The morons are everywhere, they are strong, they are fast, and they are numerous. They evolved quickly to replace most of the reasonable people in the world, wiping across the face like a silent plague, and birthed from the population explosion that threw every generation off their feet from then on. The morons took place over the masses at churches, corporate headquarters, and even government positions. Boom went the baby rush, as infertile couples took turns testing the new drugs to make more and more offspring possible, and their barren wombs soon filled up rooms from nursery to the grave as the space left little option for change.
These retarded semi-conscious creatures grew in number until they had forced out the gathering intelligences of the planet, and huddled under secret plans, the future was written in blood and sacrifice. The …
Little Monsters.
At Holy Poke Elementary, the games were not always in fun. A teacher might piss off some of the faculty, or perhaps just some of the students, either way meant terrible consequences. The little monsters were not partial toward Jesus or priests or even God itself. Torture and corruption were hallmarks of the manipulated system that Holy Poke had become. The errant ways of children became a hobby for most of the staff here, either tolerant and accepted, or mean and despised. The children only saw a black and white contrast to the whole mess, and it was murky at best to get a good glimpse of the faculty’s real motivations.
Tolerance towards anyone was low on the priority list of students and staff alike, and when all-out war broke out between students and teachers, trust was irrevocably shattered for …
imposters.
What masks we wear, projecting sounds and even appearances towards our loved ones and co-workers in a culturally subversive gesture echoing survival in the generations long gone, but this social struggle today is very much like that exalted battle from ages ago…
Grandma Ate My Baby.
WARNING!!! – Please be advised that before you read this story, you must prepare yourself to uphold the Australian characterization by such luminaries as Paul Hogan (Crocodile Dundee), Steve Irwin (RIP), and so on with thick rugged Australian accent begin to find a voice for…
“How the Bills Got Paid”
They all sat there pondering, the couch was full with Charlie and Gomez, and Sandra sat near to Melvin and Grace in the chairs scattered around the room. Those who were the culprits didn’t even know how, let alone a thought as to when, they were going to solve such questions. Jack had been using the electricity without visible stopping point, television and porno blaring, but mostly at a softer volume. Lonny had been playing guitar day and night, and visibly shaking windows with rabid guitar licks all night. The only other two not there to profess in their defense. The only ones who didn’t seem guilty were the kids, but how could they be guilty, they were only kids. As such, they were sent away without any hesitation, and the two of them trudged up the stairs to …
BOOM!
A scream coming from about twenty different sorority sisters bakes my eardrums with a pleasant tingle. They immediately pulled out fake-jeweled cell phones with words like ‘princess’ and ‘hotty’ written on the back in big pink letters. Well, it looks like the authorities were being informed. So, let’s go for shock number two. Push down on left joystick. BOOM! First floor, oh, that one was close. I could feel that dust cloud!
Last Day
Phone is ringing once again. That thing has gone off five times already. Don’t get all upset just because the fucking phone wasn’t picked up and the poor bastard on the other end didn’t feel like listening to how shitty your life is. He’s positive your life does suck worse than any have sucked in the history of human occupation on Earth. Of course, and this merits multiple sessions of whining on the talky-talk.
Get a hammer and destroy this cursed idol.
Man on the rocks.
WARNING!!!! – this material is geared toward a mature and nonsensical audience, anything written here can and will be used against you, and knowledge of this kind will make faces appear ugly by default. Thank you and enjoy.