A Cordial Welcome

Cosmik Wolfpack is a playground and laboratory for flash-formed poetry and nanofiction written by The Debtor, a white cisgender male and citizen of the United States.

If you have something to say to the author, send it to cosmikwolfpack at gmail dot com.

11.21.2012

An Award-winning Forensic Holiday Purchase

Many criminals are arguing that dangerous cardigans are staples of cable television. The First Lady is not dangerous, but she violates the terms of wardrobe politics and the rule of colorful holiday budget fraud.

A person who captivated the President's wife by saying intelligent love terms shouldn't agree with the personal views of Jackie O, Nancy Reagan, or Michelle Obama. His family is afraid of a real-life poised woman. Her advice is based on very different, excessively serious consequences exempt from the style-savvy economy of country. Now, her voice is like sugar poured into skim milk. He should suffer.

11.20.2012

Jam Out to Songs Like This

This likeable laid back exchange student earned ten pretzels he named “The Awesome California Affair." His blond father bleached a bicycle and dishes. He associated selling his pretzels with profound soft hair. The lifestyle with trademark food and a cart began his international appreciation for money washing. Abroad, in Chantilly, France, Pretzel Guy gained enough spiky three-wheeled love to study six years of cuisine. The guy built it there.

11.19.2012

Claw in Room Crap

I'm licking my own face incessantly tonight. The trumpets carry a sullen patriotism out among the silver maples of the park, and the picnic shelters, and the bare flagpoles. My coat, the one with the small ovals, provides sufficient protection from the gradually intensifying precipitation. I am applying saliva to the skin of my face with my tongue, the one you knew. Now, I doubt you can allow its presence in your defiled memory.

Utterly Impersonal

The manager of business affairs paid for the morphed aesthetic of time. Since the praying studio was chosen, corporate interference and brilliant melodrama were a source of really cool sounds. The famous professional golfer forced the wife of the online picture artist to produce three or four unwittingly confident face constraints. In small doses it's as good as an ounce of feeling ever gets.

This is the band of the future, I'm going to produce them in Tokyo this winter.

11.18.2012

Coochie Snorcher

Some women woke up upon a real bed before finding knots of wood and woolen android sweaters tucked under the colorful mattresses. They all heard healthy little bird-like animals. They were fist-sized and most evil. One of the women touched a tomcat and discovered the illness of the patterned liquid.


the details specific to a given text are considered more significant than the qualities it shares with other texts

Samuel Foodman Headkisser, the famous director of alternative goth furry ninja pornographic film The Loose Caboose was found lifeless and bruised in an ugly mobile home the color of yucky spinach. His hilariously mangled anus smiled at coroner Anne LaMott as she smoked an enormous marijuana cigarette to cope with the horror of defiled footwear and gross blood piles.

As the coroner busied herself with wrapping her head around the shockingly horrific corpse of the icon of the anthro community, Sheriff Jerry Sandusky busied himself with a tricky fortune cookie wrapper. Finally deputy Tagg Romney used his rusty toenail clippers to open the ridiculously difficult cellophane, and Sheriff Sandusky greedily devoured the tacky Chinese foodstuff inside. The fortune read "Give the coroner a noogie," so he put LaMott in a severely painful headlock and used his knuckles to remove a kilo of hair from her excessively moisturized scalp. Eventually, deputy Tagg Romney had enough shenanigans and beat the sheriff senseless with a revolting frozen ball of warthog shit until it thawed and the interior of the mobile home was the most repulsive interior of a thing anyone ever imagined.

11.17.2012

A Truly Dedicated Showman

Fill up the nice vehicles and the brothers will be happy to ride in them. They will hide money, odd candy, bullets, and toy cows in the glove box. Then someone will cry and my prayers will become less human, more fish-like, full of a strident electricity. The brothers will feel the faces of a hundred dead lovers pressing against their chests, abdomens, and asses. One brother will die with something inappropriate in his body, indicating fulfillment of a certain vengeance.