The Smoothie Churn

Somewhere, I forgot a big box of office supplies. The problem with this is that I will probably be in hot water over it. Once my employer, Gideon Mathis, discovers my colossal blooper, he'll blow a gasket. Never screw up. Everyone hates it.

The way to avoid the screw-ups and blunders is to write notes on colorful paper. Excellence demands such measures. My additional problem is that the little colorful paper thingies were in the box I forgot. Perhaps I'll find it, and I'll begin the new chapter of my life in which I write things on little colorful pieces of paper and I remember them. Life will be better. Everyone will love it.

Perhaps I will never find the box. It will have been picked up by a miscreant, or I will simply never remember where it is. Last year, some people I know but am not related to experienced this problem. Only they can express the pain I will feel, but they are dead. They are bodies in boxes. Soaking up the Earth.

A Dream Collabo

Take our metal things away. Heap us up. We'll be a pile of hairy bodies. Spray us down with something cold and viscous. Just be as rude and stupid as you want, and we'll make sure you get whatever you want. Treat us like detestable, hairy slaves. If you could hand us meat sandwiches, do that after the weird ritual described above. Once the meal is finished, we will gratefully accept vigorously performed blow jobs, hand jobs, and rim jobs. It helps us digest meat sandwiches.

Fuzzed-beyond-belief Guitars

We don't have to ask for permission if we want to read very little Marx. We want to make people think about how they have endlessly seductive bodies. Stylistically, females are heavily influenced by absence.

Clean-as-a-whistle Barefoot Blooze

Our people couldn't afford to replace the complete history of the atmosphere. They had often been met with derision. So they took up the essayist's pen and began the systematic rehabilitation of their unclear or abnormal notable artists. The whereabouts of these meditations on the city police, light and thought, and church choirs are now unknown.

Spluttery Double-timed Drums

Dear Fred,

They call some guys cholos, and some guys get to be called fags, and other guys get to be called douchebags (sometimes shortened as d-bags). Some ladies are called hags, some are called chicken-heads, and some are called hussies. Sometimes I make up new slurs for men and women. For men, I coined brildos, yampas, tonguebait, and porgs. For women, I coined wabboes, krill, wredges, and quozzies. I'm going to employ focus groups to assign specific meanings to each of these novel pejoratives.

Did you watch the Garry Shandling DVD I gave you?

Sincerely,
Margaret Gains

Tonally Schizophrenic and Tonally Jarring

My favorite character got the whole ensemble together. It doesn’t feel organic. I guess he’s supposed to broadcast embarrassing news about real-life problems to the ridiculous douche-boyfriend character who is trying to seek new kingdoms rather than slumber in peaceful subjection to the rule of others. The historian shows up at the party to deliver an epic beatdown to an incredible asshole.

Drug- and Sex-Obsessed Brats 4

All of the people I know stood on the ground that is my yard and when Ritz exited my well-appointed home, they were beyond crestfallen. I turned on my extremely bright security spotlight. I saw them gathered around the pond where my large goldfish live.

"I will feed you," I said, "But I expect to have explained to me what exactly has driven you to my yard in the middle of the night, culminating in the illicit entry of my home by my platonic friend Ritz."

Walker Jog spoke for the crowd. "We are loathe to explain ourselves at this moment, but we shall sup with you if it be your will."

"Aye, Walker. Aye. It is. Come around to the barn in the backyard, which I use for banquets and such."

And so the banquet began.