Really Solid SEO Master

I will set up the phone for you. You can download a new stain for your exposed bone. Roll the phone in tannin-rich leaves and bind with cotton twine. Twist a finger into the correct shape for the bottom jack. Tinkle first! It will take more than an hour.

Grommets in the Incubator

Scalloped rompers, eyesores for a picnic, and the oozing of the dark stone portend formal wimp flesh cravings.

Wimp meat baked in plaster slabs flakes fibrous like pixelated portraits.

Tube cranked wimp meat liquifies readily, good to squirt through pump chutes to prank fancy towel vendors or witty people in silk suits. Pick on a wimp, teach the wimp milk magic today. Rip the wimp apart.

Itching for Charlie's Hands

These people are properly insulated. They hate their jobs but with the fine reactions to their screwtop polo shirts and soaked neckties, paisley quilt weekends are the norm.

Twig arm hugs solidify the geometry of affection. Etched weed runes carry the whispered curses of the designers of our insecurity. Welts rise on the leather.

Cervical Worm Flood

Truth lies in the etchings of enamel, product of rootless wives and grifting mothers.

A movie made for a goof makes dad happy. His tidepool smile tells the story of our future.

Putting me in your mouth, you squeeze police car lights into the room.

Kitchen Sluts!

A hard gray flame in the object, which is an imitation of a person's head, makes a cool sound like dried sponges rubbing together fast. It was donated to the school by a Realtor® who owns a local pub.

The pub's funky barkeep bakes a special sort of a soup cake called a Blouse Pump. Selling them at the community farmers market, she makes enough cash to pay stripe licking hunky fellows to tinkle on her sister, a person she despises!

In the cold brick school, future netizens engage in a cruel masquerade. Dramatic brat fights occur daily, and it is only a matter of time until the fake guy's head is damaged. Repair will require not only the proceeds from the sale of hundreds of Blouse Pumps, it will necessitate less contract pissing in the name of revenge.

An Incredulous Witness

In view of the bizarre happenings in our world today, we advise tympanic communications sneak messages of mild affection and prudent disdain. In the boat-like dwelling, a heliophilic wise lady who knows a lot about mycelial response to human emotion sneaks her own special spice into the groveling routine of immature craftsmen.

She is the mother of four daughters, who refuse pleasure whenever the opportunity presents itself. Clutching their excised toes to her chest, she sings a pretty lovely tune to herself, and to her unseen watchers.

She has a vivid imagination and will live this way, steeped in unprovoked malice, until the neighbors intervene.

Aching Plumes of Garlic

Last night, a family experienced a looping convergence of tick dreams, spiraling iterations emerging from the psychic navel

Mother saw the tick with the gear-marks on its back, beached like a whale on the edge of the estate's central retention pond

Father felt the sucking of the fist-sized tick on his back and felt his skin orgasm and soften, embracing its passenger, providing refuge

Brother sat side-saddle on the herd's tick runt on the ash plains, his eyes protected by name-brand athletic goggles

Sister's hot tick sandwiches provided a free and nutritious lunch to schoolchildren experiencing poverty

Rapid boil ticks in hydrogen peroxide

Methane Smackers Whisked Hard

Out under the yellow horizon, a door leads to the calm. Revolving, sheathed utensils seem to serve as a kind of prize — unwelcome, perhaps, but certainly foreign.

Welcomed thusly, the fear rises in strong jazzy throbs. Supposedly, a key is hidden in the pavement. I fail to find this fact charming. The royalty show no signs of life and I honestly don't know what they are.

Illusory machines exhibit a structure heretofore unobserved, vaguely heretical, intensely aggravating. So no one here knows amusement or follows procedure. But their eyes swell with lust regardless.

Jonathan Slabflippers

I cough cheap linoleum perversions into this retail crypt. The webs dissolve, speedily!

Flat phallus clocks sponge up the conversations of the clerics below. They're laminated by their own aerosolized saliva. I don't know how that happens.

The clerics collect their wages from the radio administration, enough for a humble meal of celery lint and cabbage rolls. My curse, apparently botched, is forgotten.

Fields of Familiar Traumas

Pimples of light in the black face of the sky and the moon like a kaleidoscope's tongue: gently throbbing with stored secrets. The whistles from the surrounding vegetation seem to give names to the sky's scars.

In the bag at your feet, some hot screaming candies shaped like fisted cones begin their inevitable sublimation; the vapors escape their containment and enact their brutal fantasies upon your flesh.

You strip the tacky film from your face repeatedly, to no avail. I'm deeply apologetic. I should have warned you about the candy.

The Slick Eyelids

Offered fragrant cabinets, the town's eldest Realtor swaps clamshell rubber for stubble stones. In her coastal chic jumper, she sweeps her fingers over a porcelain dog belly. Punk. Private dialects of desperation.

Every afternoon, she jettisons a measure of her ornate martyrdom. Rigid miniature planks of cellulose inserted under the neck skin prevent the dissolution of innate hubris.

Cranium Grout

Discounts on epithelial brown cakes at the drover's antique market draw a good big crowd from the hinterlands: stout folk with a keen focus and oaty grimaces always.

Stewing branched flotsam in inauthentic canopic vessels, two sisterly ladies in mutton scented bonnets give flirts to guys with big rifles and tattooed guts!

Mole Lichens

Plumbing as an action, a collaboration, isn't really a thing you ever considered. But what is more satisfying than the efficient movement of potable water, and what shared calculation could be more mutually fulfilling?

There is a pigment derived from the rust of certain cylindrical conveyances—proprietary, naturally—which many of my elders have learned to use as a horrid cosmetic treatment. Faces become amulets. The witless music they once heard so clearly now becomes an attractive craquelure upon each exhausted visage.

In each, a hollowed protrusion becomes the sole admittance of nourishment and hydration. It may be a nutritive slurry or sweetened fluid; each travels adequately to the oily lips and leathery tongue beyond.

A Bathroom Dancer's Plea

In the zebra stink town the cold language of capital eases from its dormancy, a rehydrating leather tongue. It could be mine, a private terrace with false mirror.

The diptera, confused and hungry, evert genitalia in a choreographed perversion. There is a remembered colonialism in the involuntary trajectories.

A false mirror in the light of dawn tips amber. Its value has admittedly been diminished by the repeated pummeling of decades of everted dipteran genitals.

Colony Prolapse

Your sweet sizzle, invisible, easy to ignore, masking the oil horizon. It isn't enough to whisper in the dead yard now. That grief is dry like bundled herbs, neglected.

Volatile compounds in their slitherings punish and comfort in equal measure. I am comforted by punishment and punished by comfort. A twist of a molecular riddle and a satisfying resolution becomes a burnimg accusation.

My imperceptible groaning draws my muscles into new configurations, an early harbinger of the public torments to come. Behind me I feel the tickling voyeurism of the gallery.

Olive Hydration Syndrome

I can grab a breeze in my office. My inflated grape wardrobe, indignant in the afternoon. I fear no predator. I mitigate the bandwidth of the parasocial cathedral by myself.

Crystalline lipid mattress, comfort for my wet flesh, smelling of the community pool. A type of transparent resin seeps from one's pores here; the effect is allegedly the fault of the moon's eye and ionized breath of the obsolete aristocracy.

Siesta calls!

Bouncing emerald swear words

My book will depend on slavery. My book talks about a gift that I didn't know that I had until I was 38 years of age. I guess the Lord wanted me to listen to music when I am with my male friend. A good time to me is lying in his arms watching Africans being tricked.

My book tells a bible story of a producer in Hollywood taken at gunpoint to work in Northern Arkansas on a plantation.

There have been many faithful people who have the privilege of watching a good movie and eating popcorn.

Burmese python with pooka shell necklace

This author has armor. As a mother of three daughters, she speaks to four adults. She has dedicated her life to the feelings children experience.

She knew the sad loss of a giant wolf. Helping her father in an automobile, she came upon a strange mechanical mother.

A selection of excellent firearms

Ollie and Oscar twirl with the mermaids, and a barnyard chipmunk gets a pair of ice skates. Ollie and Oscar are so happy, and they like crocheting afghans.

Mr. Owl helps the human travel by ice skates. A barnyard chipmunk gives a special aquarium to some little animals. Mr. Owl has found countless hours of free time to get into mischief in the barn.

Gloria and her little friends become involved in making toys for blue elves in the island’s cave. A barnyard chipmunk began noticing some bubbles and now has a hidden home in the tall sea grass.