The Alien

There were gray aliens with tentacles raining down from the sky and killing everything around, but it was just another Sunday for me. Everyone was pissed. Angry mobs with guns and ammo gathered in public places shot volleys of bullets at the aliens's forcefield protected spaceships. The bullets, of course, all fell down without doing a single thing except occasionally coming straight down onto very people who shot them.

Some people tried to worship the aliens and appease them. They brought them sacrifices - corn, candy, McDonald's, and when that wasn't enough, minorities, homosexuals, and virgins. But the aliens didn't seem to care. They continued blasting away, each creature fully armed with eight ray guns. Kittens, grandmothers, potted plants - none of them were spared.

Then one day on the brink of humanity's destruction one particular alien came down from his spaceship. Armed to his teeth, he was excited to continue what he'd had so much fun doing the previous few weeks. But he stopped for a second and looked around. He saw people cowering in fear, he saw his fellow aliens laughing as they shot up everything in sight. The alien stopped. And that's how I realized I could change the world.

Persian Ponycat

I had a dream... where I found a Persian Ponycat right outside a church. He could talk. I asked him if I could take him home with me, and he said it was OK. I asked him if what he ate and he responded: "For breakfast and dinner, I eat one egg. For lunch, I eat ribs."

Dad

All dads have at least one pair of unfortunate shorts.

Little Shley

Squonk

If Only I'd Lived On Cidermill Court

If only I'd lived on Cidermill Court I wouldn't be such a fuck up! Kiwi Loop, maybe. Those guys know how to party. North Appletree? We'd see. South Appletree? Smells like pee. Starlight Road, fuck no. But Cidermill? Oh heavens yes. Oh Cidermill.

All I think about nowadays is bouncing balls off of a garage and melting on a blacktop driveway. If I'd lived on Cidermill I'd think about different things. I'd probably own a muscle car and drive it around and around. I'd only disturb six or seven houses. Round and round and round. Vroom. If only I lived on Cidermill Court I'd be driving stick, not civic.

"Grow the fuck up motherfucker!" The chorus shouts. Praise chorus? No pay, no raise. Peachstone ain't to place to call home. Tami Trail's got no houses for sale. "Grow the fuck up!" They repeat. If only I lived on Sesame Street.

It's too easy being me, everyone can see. I can write and write and write and never put up a fight. Except that's a lie. I fight myself all the time. On everyone else's time. It's my worst crime. I don't know where to go. Peachstone has no path of its own. Hedgewood and Starlight bookend the night.

"Grow the fuck up!" The chorus still says. I sigh. Okay.

The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows

Puddle sat alone by the side of the road. There was no wind. There was no air. Space flowed all around without a single spot of home. Time spiraled in loops and loops. The sun had no power. Everything, in equilibrium. Thermodynamic and dead. Disorder dissolved. Chaos consumed. The Sea of Tranquility and Utopia Planitia. Spherical homes of rock. Still. Stop motion.

Then.... plop!

Shit.

Treeman

“Eat my fruit!” The Tree Man barked. “Come on, drink my sap!” - From "The Tree Man and The Sap"

Magnum Stripes

Vagabond Lake and the Triumph of Elias James

Every homeless person in America drank out of the same body of water and peed right back into it. On the shores were cabins, stacked high like discount silver dollar pancakes. Mossy molasses poured out from between their darkwood panels and slumbered down to the ground where they formed the centerpieces of vast insect oases. The night sky was filled with a collage of mismatched lavender and crimson crusts. Droning clouds labored on by, stretching and scraping themselves across the restless palette like wasted, withering slaves.

If there ever was a time for fire this was it. Gasoline Fred liked to immolate effigies of abstract commercial symbols. The McDonalds clown. The Starbucks goddess. The Apple apple. He lived off of eggs and tadpoles and, every once in a while, a delicatessen turtle. A beggar had once told him, "beware the cautionary tales that everyone tells. they are often as mythical as they are myth." He didn't know what that meant, but every day another part of him started to believe it.

There were canines in all shapes and sizes. Fiesty chihuahahas barked and bit the wounds of those stumbling across the sand. Golden retrievers shadowed their owners, loyal and grand, yet irreparably forlorn. Sweet pitbulls tore out each other's necks. Sheepdogs circled around waiting to herd whatever into the pits. The pits were dark and deep and funneled their contents into a place that few things ever returned from.

On the pier stood a man with a vision and a paintbrush and he recast the world in new shades of emotion and logic. Animals and plants and funguses from beyond all become one kind of living thing. Optical disillusions stopped being visible. Everything glowed and glew.

Then the sun returned.

High School Shley

*potential concept art for my webcomic coming soon: 1001 Sundays W/ My Dad...

Ground Mouth

Psychoeconomixxx Lab

Everything vibrates," she says. She stares straight ahead, her light brown eyes filled with marred amusement.

"Everything?" he asks. "Even the patent leather ones?"

She nods.

He looks around, cracking his fingers repeatedly with nervous excitement.

What he sees is a cornucopia of pleasure and comfort. Adult toys with three or more gyrating heads, liquid gel cooling systems, and blinking lights and speakers for letting you know how turned on you are. Butt plugs sculpted into the shapes of 1980s celebrities, textured in rare animal skins from the jungles of Borneo. Adult magazines and videos made entirely out of an asscluster of non-reproductive body parts.

He picks up a glass dildo. Blue LEDs line the inside. Its surface is smooth and cool to the touch.

"I think I'll take this. How much?"

"It's on sale. You get 50% off."

"Why only 50%?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why does it only get you 50% off? Shouldn't it get you off completely? Is that why it's on sale?"

She stares at his two heads with an appropriate look.

"The sale is 50% off… you pay half price."

"Oh! That makes more sense, I guess." He looks out the window and scrunches his face at the people passing by on he street. "Y'know, I think porn will be responsible for the end of humanity."

"Yeah? That's nice." She says. She adjusts the rabbit ears on the tiny analog TV next to the desk, the tips of which are capped by nipple erasers. Staticky footage of stock tickers and day trading advice pops in and out of focus.

"Too many horny people fucking. Having accidents. Making babies. All because of porn."

"You think people wouldn't fuck if there wasn't porn?"

"Of course not. People have been fucking since long before porn. I still think they'd fuck, just not as much."

She twirls her finger through her jet black hair. "I think people would fuck more. They'd have to go out and actually get laid instead of staying at home masturbating to their favorite sex blog."

"That assumes being horny results in better game. Which is a false assumption."

She narrows here eyes at him, slicing his soulthing.

"Are you some kind of analyst?"

"Maybe." He smiles wry.

"Ever have electric sex?"

"Depends. Sex with electrical equipment? Or Sex with a person using electricity?"

"Either."

"I fucked wrapped in Christmas lights once."

"Any burn out? Y'know, cause of sweat and all."

"The whole thing. They're connected in series."

"Yeah..."

"We fucked to an electric song though."

"Electric slide?"

"Electric avenue."

She laughs and shakes her head. "Are you going to buy that?" She points at the glass dildo.

He places it down on the counter. "Nah. I have to get back to work."

"Where do you work?"

He opens his mouth, then pauses.

"Saltwater distribution."

Her eyes widen with revelation.

"That explains it."

"Explains what?"

"You."

He nods. "Ah. Probably."

"I distrust all saltwater."

"Even the kind from the sea?"

"What did I just say? ALL. But yes, especially the kind from the sea."

"Most people like seawater."

"Most people eat shit too. Whales shoot out 400 gallons of sperm per ejaculation. Why do you think the sea is so fucking salty?"

"You know that's a myth."

"Yes. I spent three years clad in an iron cage by the pier. I called it the Tet-anus-anic."

"Clever girl."

He looks out the window again. A train of umbrellas passes by.

"Shit. It's storming. I better get going. The pumps need me."

"See ya."

He flips up the color on his jizzleberry jacket and steps out the door. A few seconds later, she sees him pass by the window, muttering something as he rushes through the rain.

She turns her eyes back to the TV.

The price of grains is going up. Everything else remains the same.

C@v3_GURL...

Stegosaurus

There once was a hairtoad that sat on a pedestool on top of the world and dreamed everything into existence.

There were lots of things he imagined. Purple portals puking pteradactyls and relic reading rocket ships. Zombies dancing the herky jerky in airport lobbies while singing in hexadecimal. Cryptid creatures wiggling their yarny little fingers at the universe. Old ladies reading voodoo and old men listening vicariously to the slappy sounds of butt beat fucking. Great sand storms of glitter dust choking the sad out of every stupid kid on earth.

Then one day he dreamed of a great ocean that covered the entire world and washed away all the wonderful things he'd made. Or maybe it was an asteroid that coated everything in fire and ice, causing stuff to shrink and shrivel like dehydrated, lonesome cacti.

Either way the hairtoad couldn't remember the things he'd made so he decided to make new things.

And the very first things he made were love, and dinosaurs.