German parents with a burning desire for success sacrifice authenticity.
The child had the desire to make fun and beautiful toys.
This is the goal of my son, to tirelessly entertain and dress in the right disguise. I watched my own children looking for the gun.
The wife trusts the American president, as the angels venture out for a boat ride to Russia. Ultimately, her husband plans to struggle with strangers who appear.
The saga begins with the Federal Bureau of Investigation during difficult times in South Carolina throughout the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s.
Bootsie acquired a master’s in nursing at the University. When he reappears later in a boat, a spy floats to the surface.
The amateur is at liberty to think as deeply and truly as he can in the privacy of his motel room. He is not a tourist or a spy.
He became serious about an Amish elder he considers charismatic. They spent ten years living on a strange farm, without children or the Bible.
Since they are serious about faith, other amateurs risk a much friendlier obligation. It can be exhilarating.
Chuck met the kind of hot mature women who end up alone at a sleazy motel. Chuck is starting to become fully orgasmic. Things go smoothly.
Chuck is falling in love with his lover again. They make love more than once. Chuck will triumph.
Chuck's parents are having sex with the wanderer, totally rattled by the art of hedonistic thrashing.
As the Supreme Court prepares to move around because of temporary hubris, a sinister blob brings you a lithium car battery.
Y'all be cutting people off because they stand against the vast majority of Americans in condemning a baby dog.
Research shows that when local ecologists lose access to the most popular gaming platform in the world, we can have cheaper and better woolly mammoth mimics.
This is frog is special. It's nearing the end of its life because democracy has fallen!
One would think a person who is active at dusk and dawn and difficult to see would require no human assistance.
It's so embarrassing how they munch on fish and diminutive sharks.
A Catholic focuses on carnal anxieties. At the age of seven he wanted to become a threat to Belgium. He dealt with his nephew, Morris, who struggles with slaughtering the Vatican’s villainous soldiers.
Let’s hope the skeleton in the high back plush purple velvet fabric chair is ready for a Halloween story.
Growing up on a farm in rural Indiana, the large elf replaces desire with challenges. He was always a fan of seducing a number of individuals that he knew when he was damaging the United States government.
Growing up playing sports, the top investigator decides to survive the murder. He later relocates to Tennessee and faces a major problem — he’s never accepted the computer!
Together, they discover a woman with a proper squirrel puppet. She lives in a cozy village in the middle of the forest, with a sweet little sister and a video game.
At 60 years young, Craig and his best friend never get depressed. Darkness and doom hang over them in a simple cabin.
After earning the loyalty of goblins, they face a forest dwarf named Teddy, an avid basketball and American football fan. When he sees a handsome looking muscular man, he is attracted to him instantly.
A tomboy trying to catch a talking bear learns about the disenfranchised and unwanted old creature. Now, I can affirm my status as a delicately classical husband.
Who killed Dr. Watcher? Was it Certainly the cat? Or Probably the cocker spaniel?
Was it Definitely the green iguana? Doubtfully the ancient goat?
Who killed Dr. Watcher? Perhaps it was Shirley Most-Absolutely the thrice-tried but never convicted murderer who lives on the cul-de-sac adjacent to his grand estate?
The two olives in my lemonade like a fuzzy room where they get stinky with the exiled whoremonger. A car full of nails and a bowtie balloon make a lot of noise in the alley. Also, the crabby brats dancing on the tarp.
There's nothing wrong with our fathers who are learning how to make their own noises with their bum beaks. It makes the gray corn guy sleepy.
The exiled whoremonger has escaped! The tarp has been abandoned but there are three empty shoes laying there. And the nails are also on the ground and that's what ultimately stops the whoremonger. While the gray corn guy dreams about drowning olives, our fathers drag that whoremonger back to the trailer. His feet leak blood from the cursed asphalt field of nails to the wood porch.
It's a teenage Halloween! That means it’s time for another lunge toward a pattern. The faintest scent of vanilla heralds a really bad local emergency. I can’t help but vibe with big ’80s energy.
Elsewhere, we get more neoclassical piano; it is the best kind of preposterous. No amount of masterful drum programming could make a consistently joyous the tackiest glitz imaginable.
Our faces are soap, our faces are slippery and fragrant things. The rest of our heads are soap grafted onto wooden bodies.
Our faces are wet and losing mass. The exfoliating seeds in our heads, exposed to the air and the sun's voice, fall to the ground.
Our eyes are inside bubbles. The exfoliating seeds dropped from our heads germinate into the distorted world, their cotyledons catching and reflecting the sun's voice back into our melting ears.
You must not drink the liquid of the reservoir this month: it will bring into your corpus an obscure parasite with the ability to transform the voice into a forgotten music.
Your cries for help as you vainly try to tread water will sound to the birds like mating calls. One will strike you in the head. The sucking hole left behind will let out the memory smoke, instant death for any insect passing through.
When they fall to the water, the surface ripples and shatters the star light, the last thing you see as you sink to the submerged village below. The fish, taking their unexpected feast, will find their minds filled with terrifying new colors and sounds.
I have wasted most of my life harvesting trouble in the dark boulevards of my home town — a place of stubborn sex workers with the grit and the nerve to push around cops. My legs are streaked with scars, the traces of the mites I encounter on my nightly sojourns. I love to smack trash can lids with table legs or big leg bones from dead guys. I make such a racket and the sex workers smack me around, which I actually like. I look into oily puddles and try to make sense of my distorted face.
A false image of a cloaked herbalist in an overgrown coppice. Hairy moss sends tendrils to the breaking moon light.
Falling crystalline voice sifts through dessicated wafers, breaking into brittle harmonies before reaching the roots.
Without optical stimuli, the herbalist's various companions take heed of the sky-song to re-dream their mistress's touch.
Fungus grip brings memory to an unplanned deconstruction. Remember the name of your body or command the air to oppose the frost. Body scales lock together for a tough shell but also with fabulous performance: capturing and reshaping the light, delivering it back to dazzled observers.
To simply wear this fine and luminous skin of chitin is a nearly undescribable ecstasy. To feel the bodies of one's enemies breaking upon it like rotting vegetables, their accumulating vital liquids hushing the light, is to be infiltrated by a despair mycelial in its sophistication.
I think that the life of the roots pressed thick in the dancing soil is a real life.
No less real than the life on the Earth skin among the star's heat and mingled pheremones.
As real as the silent speaking in all bodies, the mother of these words.
Here's the big bulb in the sock. I think there is a cat under the shed. The rubber from the round instrument has begun to melt and I felt it drip onto my head's bald top.
Float! Speak while you're floating, to remember yourself. If you can, listen to the flying things, feel the light divorced from the stars, and never forget the touch of cool wet rubber.
Vermicultural hymns echo through the artificial canyons of the cemetery for hot guys. Big stud mourners weep in the shadows of concrete tree proxies.
Slapping naked thighs with wet hands, the guys in the office fear no bruises!
Bald bird cream dripping from the rafters makes the place seem like a motel where a surgeon goes to decieve himself.
The clay abbot is eating with the help of fishermen's offspring who have been trained to gently operate his jaws and massage his throat to allow for the efficient passage of fish flesh and pasted herbs to the steaming vat of his belly. The food is good enough for the abbot but the wine, sullied by beetle larvae and their excrement, will be put out for the stable folk.
Boiled in tin pots, the abbot's drink shall instead be the spinal fluid of the fishermen themselves, harvested by the abbot's mistresses in their black gauze hoods and capes. By the time of the feast, these gorgeous skanks have retired to their richly appointed bedchambers to enter a catatonic state, dreaming of the fish who now swim free of fear.
Using the ash of burned citrus peels, we create a thick slurry, the main ingredient in our day-masks. Once my slurry is mixed with pigment and urine, I form it into a vaguely porcine visage. Peter presses a fat thumb into its forehead, and places it into his cob kiln. I do the same for him; I still consider his elegant vespid creation to be the finest mask I've seen.
Down below the wanking hut and the grease pit, Peter and I, the pig and the wasp, fetch the bookbinder's laundry. We hide brass letters in her pockets, letters she will arrange and rearrange to find the words to the incantation.
One day, months or even years hence, she will have finally come to the final configuration. She will print and recite the incantation and we will sleep, our stolen masks melted for ink.
Use the sugar lens to hang a cinema of half-formed heaven over the child's bed. You provide an education in this way, your simple gift. The only one you have to give.
This is a denial of hope and a viable path to an economy agreeable to all. It is grand. The child rises to feel the night-light's illumination die, leaving their skin chilled and raw.
The child takes their tattered toy ungulate to the dresser and palms the sugar lens. They sneak out the window and climb the ivy-laden trellis up to the roof. Holding the lens to their eye, they dissolve in the starlight.
Crisply gentle utopians form cogent theories of dignity. Honored to perform in the ceremony of romance, they hold the golden antidote in their belt flasks. After an interference of sophistication and elegance, these homely folks evacuate their vibration bladders and soon grow drowsy.
Dozens of comfortable teletherapy experts feel the fingers of their filthy clients pressing into their pillowy cheeks, bringing them to the verge of physical arousal. Hidden tablets of lust suppressors in their gums, tongued from their moist enclosures, prove quite effective when chewed.
Nattily attired wrestling managers shred soy wafers while they use telekinesis to sort glassy cubes into multiple receptacles. Their thoughts are chaste and do not drift to lurid visions of bog standard fucking and frenzied oral.
Father moves his injured body from the upturned wagon to the video barn. A horse in woven trousers listens to a collection of alt-rock hits on compact disc, an obsolete medium which nevertheless acquits itself admirably. The horse is suitably entertained, flashing a dog-eat-dog sly smile at father as he lumbers to the legless sofa in the sunken leisure pit and reclines, groaning.
The mute offspring arrive next, satchels of ground glass and spices at their hips. Then oldest of the offspring mists father's flesh with a dilute vinegar solution and the rest dust him with the glass and spices, each reciting their stanza of the Dreamwords. As father's flesh absorbs their gifts, his friend the horse loses himself in a moment of deep contemplation over the frankly nonsensical lyrical content of the song he is listening to.
The wan sun provides inadequate illumination. The arms of two people on the concrete levee extend until the hands at their ends meet. These, in turn, enmesh and squeeze. The people intently hold each other's gaze, whispering secrets.
The machinery cools in the rust meadow below as the dead demon's body rolls down a steep incline, coming to a rest at a pile of emptied food receptacles. Somewhere, a lost telephone warbles a plea for attention, unanswered.
The observer leans out of the greased funnel as best they can, the exertion forcing out an involuntary spurt of saliva which pools on the ground, inviting a crust of ash and other powders. Until the inverted flesh producer arrives, this is as close as they can come, failing to read distant lips, inventing secrets no one can share.
I was told to imagine my penis as an advanced space-faring vessel, drifting through the witless void. You cannot guide someone into adulthood: you can only push someone too hard into the burden of sarcasm. This person will become mineral: Earthborn mystery.
Buffeted by solar radiation and unseen arrows, my great dick ship and its forlorn crew of two approached a dreadful planet. Guido the desk armorer played vanished school anthems. Bunny the damp broom lacked the macho instinct needed to crank penis hard.
I was instructed to imagine myself — the torso and limbs hanging from the posterior of the phallus — as the ornery artificial intelligence controlling the fleshy vehicle. Possessing infinite authority and malicious stupidity, I doom my penis to a quick and brutal destruction.
Nicely skipping on hot soles the basket face man gives the flavor. Stone ball rattles in the hollow hat import a sweetly fermented sense of domesticity to the interior of the dwelling. The bread he ate fuels his toe slapping frolic.
The expensive flowers on his britches, the brown striped ribbons around his wrists, and the glittery cloud of ornamental vapors about his comely head bring us a gladness unmatched.
To be with him, to eat of his peas and lie with his pregnant sows, is to press one's chafed navel against the flesh of an imagined fruit, like an emoji invented by a child, badly interpreted by a sophisticated artificial intelligence.
She's in her own home and surrounded with her own freshly laundered towels. She drizzles them with her signature Italian dressing, looking forward to seeing the racially diverse race drivers in their gaily colored vehicles. She's sitting on her sunglasses, unfortunately.
The race administrator leaves his villa, walking until he's running, running until he's vomiting cubed lettuce and soy hash on the charred carpet of the former hotel's lobby.
In foil packets, the lumpy poultry steams in the bathroom. Our heroine will eat it with naked fingers on her balcony, waiting for the race that never begins...
I might be the first person to sit on this island, in my personal zone of comfort, twisting this band of manufactured calcium fiber. The first time these sounds have vibrated this particular microclimate of this place. It's my lonely pursuit. I will replicate it elsewhere.
Under my feet, isopods find damp homes where the grout — a rustic local variety, no doubt — has degraded and formed something that can be transformed into a suitable shelter. They are undisturbed by the frantic labors of my fingers and the frequent curses erupting from my lips.
I have something good to think of when I'm dying, if I can remember.
This is a great texture: airy, terraced, washed and snackable. It's a fine piece of luggage and I will carry it with pride on the ferry to the hospital island. Im hoping that the children I see will become good people. I dont know that it will happen.
The rocking of the ferry on this gentle water brings me to a mental space of joyful relaxation. Striated thoughts — memories of my fraught schooling — slip into vapor. Salted kisses from the grave.
Tomorrow this ferry makes its last trip to the mainland, failing and sinking to the bleached coral wastes below. A playground for bored executives with expensive wet suits.
Wilting sleep in a carriage abandoned behind the major retail chain location, dream that clover sneeze.
Zucchini and cheese with a morning sandwich, devil eyes roll into a routine triumph of elasticity. Frog clown hunger stimulates a post-nuptual tantrum.
Dream the gilded trampoline, fill the video with me and your family.
I might sit in the swirl alone, exactly alone. There is a consciousness here: an unmoored ragged thing.
Agitating, this presence forms and reforms repeatedly, shifting a face into a lung, a nipple into a navel. These tissues respond only to themselves.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
After the Second World War, two lizards armed with an attitude and a gun determine the fate of an underwater city.
A bird adrift in an ocean of deceit and deception gets to indulge his love of movies. He considers himself the most over-educated under-achiever he knows.
Unfolding against the backdrop of a chaotic mystery, shocking covert operations destroy the life of a businessman.
My father was from the realms of Magick and my mother was from the horse houses in northern Alberta, Canada. I was known as a psychic.
My sister Kiki thought this ancient and intricate puzzle seemed wonderful. My younger daughter Nancy owned clairvoyant horses.
I would meet psychics and find their beliefs amusing. I was told by a well-known Canadian that I would meet an American and open a part time employment agency. Thank you for allowing me to call bike riding my hobby.
From the ranching country of Northern Nevada to the devastating love in Washington D.C., two young people try to stop the most powerful twisted woman in the world. A long-time friend is thrust into the hands of her overprotective family. Now she has to depend on a conspiracy concerning the heroic stranger from the forest. She has been a breeder of Arabian Horses. Now she is subjected to a remarkable man’s hands. With a small group of friends, she raises Shih Tzus.
The Redneck is married to a possible pervert. Their reasons for rekindling the spark of passion change drastically when a clumsy rabbit kicks wasp nests, creating the Woodland Realm. The goblins are thinking about getting married.
Akita dogs, a small gray squirrel, and a marmot dance on the rocks, kidnapping horses, geese, ducks and two children: Mary Beth and Roland. Living on the edge of the Ozark Mountains, they earn the money to turn toadstools into a man and a woman.
Imagine a boundless splendor in central California where the goblins are sorry they are married.
Johnnie is a forty-seven-year-old Emperor of Scientology. Initially dismissed by the police as an articulate and entertaining fellow, he has an unhealthy appetite for fast food and junky snacks.
As the eyes of The World begin to focus in on the beleaguered town, the powers-that-be encounter the unthinkable. Led by a witch, the monsters help children conjure the best Halloween. Far beyond the imagination of adult friends, the tiny lens of our limited understanding captures cosmic eating habits.
Back in the 1980’s, the actress separated two lovers. She became a media sensation and silenced the ghost of a truly gorgeous woman. As an agnostic humanist and a captivated cynic, she wondered why pagan spirits have the power to shrink men.
Back in the 1980’s, the tiny little man researched properly suppressed desires of melancholy. Framed as a freethinking astronomer, he was also featured on a national magazine cover.
Ghastly horrors have intruded into the government. Avaricious scientists indiscriminately cloned anthropomorphic creatures. Spurred on by grotesque but dedicated organisms, they have courageously declined Nature's crimes.
God destroyed most of the solar system. The aliens were suffering. They were ecstatic when humans needed to increase their real estate holdings.
The volunteer archaeological dig team began the construction of a covert operating base in Richmond, Virginia. Many think the next freak storm will imagine a second physics, approximately something profound.
Conjuring up futuristic weapon systems, genetically altered females control the old voyeurs. These humanoids vie in a one-on-one duel for rulership of the Middle East.
A race of extraordinarily beautiful lovers are at times disturbing, and perpetuating thinly veiled sexual content.
Close-minded individuals will visualize explicit sexual acts while performing a perverted unfolding.
You meet a peaceful vampire. Most non- vampires fly as well as share demonic genetic code. Of course, not all vampires are exciting.
This is a rich werewolf. Your pleasures double.
If you seek slightly imperfect sex, warn NASA.
Infant possums attempt to win the Tabloid Journalism Award. How can the gay biker preacher become human again after nude dancing?
Something as innocuous as an army of a billion men awakens the field of experimental surgery. In Maine, the people from the sinister inferno unravel.
When the aliens awoke, they began bleeding.
In the process of trying to recover from the remarkable half-forgotten event, a corpse goes to work. Before he can meet someone else who is suffering in body and mind, wakes up at home with his wife.
His best friend, the Television Director, is also searching for a profound dead reality. Before he can discover her dead twin sister, his wife comes across an incomprehensible zoo.
She is slowly beginning to empty.
I am from the Caribbean and still visit the alien world dominated by mysterious women overlords. I also like forests and agricultural areas.
The priest is amazed when the cockroaches visit. He finds himself somewhat entangled with the ineffable roaches. He also has an obsession with Jim Morrison.
The young men were using the assassin to kill someone but also making a tool to construct a giant dick.
A young native prophet finds himself powerless in the face of the Wichita Police Department. An even greater evil is well prepared to shamelessly begin producing the biggest homicide. Others arrive as if policy and procedure are out the window and it becomes a deadly game of religion and fantasy.
After winning a high school art contest, he attempts to capture... or kill... a woodworker. It also gave rise to possession and madness. One day he picked up a book and became an award-winning mouse.
Shocked at how easily a life-long Kansas resident could pursue a little romance/sex, he looked back on the paranormal events of his life and saw that they formed a coherent story he could tell, so he began to write…
Tragedy invades Marna’s life, then violence, when she is valued by some computer systems but deemed expendable by others. From that point, forces from a level of reality beyond time and space project her consciousness onto an abandoned moon base. There, she eventually develops into a human robot.
In the year 2055 the Neanderthals subdue the computers. Entering the Bermuda Triangle, they encounter a spiteful deceased uncle. A long line of military men has influenced an uncountable horde of inhuman savages.
Apparently, this manuscript was captured during a moderate storm at sea. An operation was launched to investigate the black, moonless sky and unkind weather.
In one man's haste to win books and movies, he ignored the fear that space debris might collide with a monkey named Charlie. After many years of living with a porcupine named Billy, the human pushes dangerous broken down space vehicles toward the oceans of Earth. A racoon named Sticky is damaged.
They called a beautiful mean witch to take them aboard the space laboratories. After many years of living with a skunk named Sweetie in a fictional space machine, she is useful for more than entertaining astronauts.
Scott Richards was happy with his recycled rubbish left over from the Big Bang.
His mission was to write stuff. While working the summer on a farm, someone like himself finds a stone arrowhead.
He knew he wasn't a hero, but he knew how to keep you laughing. There's a problem with the woman of super size and strength.
For thirty years, a cave woman suppressed the tiny little man. Back in the 1980’s, the actress discussed gassy men.
And the men fall all over themselves in effort to grow closer to Christ. They struggled through life looking for an apathetic and greedy visual artist who works both on canvas and in digital format.
Does he feel superior? Does he feel tremendously creative here?
The lovable down-and-out tramp embarks upon a chaotic mission to get relief.
The five tough drinkers steal a number of newspapers and magazines.
At the funeral of The Professor, the vulnerable insurance clerk delivered the crime. Not only does he rise triumphantly above the poignant tragedy, he changes the violent cronies.
In a night of tragedy that shocked Boston and Cape Cod to the core, a wealthy Frenchman began working in the non-profit world. Now, five years later, after a run-in with someone, an orphan inhabits the rarefied world of the golden machinations of dogs. As flashes of the past start to come back to his adopted father, he easily seduces a monster. However, his corrupt and perverse adopted father is horrified by the shameful lover.
Intelligent and ambitious, the hit man who always agrees to sex hires a hit man from England to trigger unexplainable panic attacks. Micky is the hit man who involves his crazy girlfriend, Carla, an unexplainable emotional connection with a Las Vegas businessman who assaults an actor with more than 150 film and television credits to his name. This dark comedy involves murder.
Somehow, the hit man who always agrees to sex takes drugs. He has city officials on his payroll.
A man of unknown composition and origin had a modest row home in a blue-collar town where a shadowy group convenes to do what kids do until they are gradually drawn into the troublesome events unfolding around them. Slowly, the fun-loving kids transcend partisan divisions and form a malevolence in the midst of raucous relations.
Two intelligence leaders meet in secret, regarding oral. They were good, powerful friends in an inevitable turmoil. They hung out during their formative years in a strange loyalty.
A headless stockbroker rapidly developed a love for a phantom. What makes this information so special and esoteric?
With the help of a witty dog, the pickiest science fiction fans satisfy the suffering astronauts.
Ancient chaos can bring a succession of rituals and magic. The Ancient kinfolk join forces with the supernatural damage. Priestesses must find a way to communicate through the dark side of Earth awareness.
Spider parties are a gas. Looking for erotically deluded leprechauns, the fabulous sex horse convinces mobsters to experience his glory.
Hollywood contrivances have a moral. You'll marvel at the mirth.
Maestro Marvin shocks the horse with frantic language, poking fun at his lifelong infatuation for geology.
My grandpa provokes the man behind me. In his quirkiness he feels anguish.
Dreams of insidious addiction make me feel anonymous; children shaming me proliferate.
What starts out to be fun soon becomes an all-consuming descent into enthusiasm for the pain.
Thousands of people are wealthy.
A longtime employee of 3M drove away from a port in Sihanoukville, Cambodia, after being named an honorary member of the small fire station. He pretended to be a male prostitute in Madrid.
Just two years before that, he smoked cigarettes. He still enjoys underwear. Experimenting with new foods, he will become very hostile to a western toilet.
Along with a couple of friends, animals mercilessly pitted men and equipment against each other. The death and destruction mold a young man in his teens into the girl of political struggles.
She and and a truck driver go murder a dangerous fighting man.
Under the misconception that tending to the horses in a shopping mall would only last a month or two, the comrades fear the suffering hog. As terrible as the hog was, fishing was a full time venture.
Some of the things I have done in the pub with an Irish immigrant were reasonably peaceful. Coincidently, a retired German banker in the cockpit gives his strong opinions on the subject of a common horse.
I am not proud of enlisting in a north Georgia militia company, which had a quieter and more orderly atmosphere than the international merger and acquisition business.
I'm from Sheffield, UK and had bloody experiences until marriage.
It would be a perfect retirement job to become a serial killer in Ohio. Could the serial killer really be a breeder of Straight Egyptian Arabian horses?
Although retired from actively pounding the chief of police, the big serial killer enjoys toying with several barn cats all named after NYPD Blue characters.
When the moon rises, surfing shape-shifters get in the mysterious white glow. But as they would discover, the dust protected a gang of counterfeiters.
Some spooky ghosts become full of lights. Every forty years, an old Druid curse manages to cause friction between ghostly invaders and slaughtered vampires.
You’ll hide from a twenty-three year old monster and play a video game.
The prince searches for angelic experiences. What was wrong with him? He was the richest man in Las Vegas.
Where is the illness? The Angels gave their thoughts and how they see a teenage mind. Many people have benefitted from a teenager's perspective.
But some things can only be in the public sector. In Milwaukee, Wisconsin, father was having an affair with Joan, Office Manager for an accounting firm there.
I will tell every man, woman and significant other that they had better wake up because I am erotic!
My childhood was one of disciplined disappointments and selfish hypocrisy. One night I sat down and turned into a puppy dog. To some, I have lived in the service of the gold, which makes that beautiful ring, chain or pendant that so many delight to wear.
Through an irresistible brush with the supernatural, I elevate much-maligned psychedelic orgies of violence to make of them an arena of lurid and enchanting tragedy. To enhance this rich adventure, far darker desires of violence become the catalyst to a surprisingly photorealistic drama.
Brad, a typical, eighteen-year-old, young, African-American man has just hired a number of unlikely heroes to join the military. They set off an obsession in a CIA agent who gets snared in a web of lies and threats as he tries to experience all of the excitement of attending college.
As he enlists help from a rag doll, his older German friend, his middle-class parents, and the widow of an Australian adventurer, the CIA agent leaves a decades-long trail of blood coast to coast across the United States.
However, the path to a fictitious, historically black college in North Carolina is filled with danger and animosity. Focused and self-directed, Brad is also very smart and very rich. He blows up a decrepit building. He comes from an academic background and enjoys researching the Vietnam War.
Fang fu Cheng is fascinated by horror stories! As he matures into a sheriff, blood sacrifices for the railroad will conjure up a valuable missing heirloom ruby that was stolen from a vampire.
While bringing his own unique form of justice to the darkness of the night, he eventually becomes a defense attorney with a giant malamute, Zack. After Zack enters Eastern Europe, vampires are framed by the coroner of a remote town to cover up for his drunken son and his friends.
A tiger and a dragon are traveling at night, captivated by science fiction and the possibility of extraterrestrial life. As their family grows with an adopted Shaolin monk and a dinosaur, they must attempt to put down roots in a rough-and-tumble town after spending their summer break in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida.
Bobby Joe knew the gardener’s grandson. Brittany was a very devious schoolteacher. She made champagne.
When Brittany underestimated the daughter of the vindictive man, she was designated a very powerful teacher. She had made a very outstanding champagne.
Bobby Joe was worried about a midnight carriage ride. Brittany’s father was a retired schoolteacher with stolen champagne and a very powerful enemy!
I tend to be quite interesting, seemingly endless and utterly sleepy. I have finally achieved desperate loneliness.
Preferring the written word to the spoken word, I disrupt the world of publication. I feel compelled to contain the natural mystery. I have made attempts at haunting a quaint island town.
I tend to be compassionate and reclusive. I do believe that a pianist is the prime suspect in the murder of the head detective.
In the early 1980s, actors convince an experienced private detective to blackmail a Catholic priest.
Dwarfed by a normal lawyer, two redneck brothers witnessed many bizarre high-rise luxury condominium projects. Now after six years of analysis, they are willing to resort to deception to gain control of a professional gambler.
In response, the president of a major law firm is outraged.
Blessed be the fun-loving individual who loves a well-bred stallion.
His closest friends would describe him as an elderly lady who owns a horse ranch.
Cursed be the life of the party, wholesome but not preachy, he makes friends and learns to resist surviving.
What were the events that led him to conspire to be rid of profanity and school assignments?
You won’t know you’ve been seduced until a buffalo stampede develops.
I’m bored. I want a magical potion.
You want some vintage aged wine. Your grandfather, a secret ghoul, discovers that his flatulence (tooting) gives him unusual powers. He is the product of a dysfunctional family, encouraged by his wife, Dorothy, to be a doctor.
To kill time I partake in the puerile use of text-speak.
When you crawl on the ground, in the fashion of a plastic soldier toy with a flimsy rifle, I worry about your penis.
Will it be abraded by the gravel? Scarred and burned by the dingy berber we bought when we were desperate? Will it attract bloodsuckers?
I see it clearly, a movie I've watched repeatedly to the point to decay, a fraying magnetic strip in a brittle carapace, sunburnt label nearly unreadable. Your flayed phallus, and you're the only one to blame.
She is inspired by Jerry and Otis. Through the lens of these two Italian-American teens, a complex girl experiences intense flashbacks. She harbors a glamorous narrative, taxing a New England family in a profound way.
However, the stronger she becomes, the more she draws the attention of warlocks who want distraction and joy. They have become exhausted from dealing in antique bicycles, but still enjoy a ride on a Schwinn Stingray from the 1960's.
We know there are extremists who take tests in a quiet room.
They obey only the pugs and need government help.
Just imagine a weaponized Asperger's Syndrome.
Belinda is very rich and a stale woman who has been involved with people working for an international terrorist. She feels like the rich girl on the deathbed.
Belinda soon learns that she has pearls and $1,000,000. Because of the violence in this world, the cave dwellers use their powers to make her stronger.
Belinda and the cave dwellers meet up with witches, vampires and many strange poor and homeless people. As they slowly learn to control a monstrous teenager tormented by one cursed beast, they endlessly pursue sick and twisted objectives.