Saturday, July 30, 2005

"Brain Strain" is a fast fiction based on an image sent to me by Austin Glenn. He is one of the thousands of people who've clicked across my site over the past couple of days.

Oh and by the way, who are all you people ? Drop me a little hello in the POST COMMENT down there. Where your from. How many times you brush your teeth. You know that kind of thing. Come on. I won't bite. Or make fun of you.


Mathew Link was a neurologist from Chicago who loved to gamble and masturbate but usually not at the same time.

One afternoon he come to a cross-roads in his development as a professonal. Vegas had come up in some introductory chit-chat wherein Dr Link's patient expressed his love of lady luck.

"If I can't remove that aneurysm within one hour the entire surgery will be free for you but if I do it under an hour then you've gotta pay me double the price." As Dr Link explained all this, he blinked and blinked his eyes which were reddened after a night's weeping. His wife, Margaret, had left him for a nose and mouth specialist.

"You're on," the patient replied.

The money that Mathew won went to an obscenely large collection of pornographic videos and cheetos but not in that order.

Friday, July 29, 2005

“AND A GUM TREE SHALL GROWTH IN HIS BELLY…” is more qwik-lit based on an image by Jeremy Pruitt .


Willow Pearlman worked as an exterminator who specialized in cleaning out Metaphysical Book stores. He ensured a “safe psychic exit” for vermin from this world to the next.

“Oh yeah I travel all right. I’ve gotta move to where the action is, you know,” he explained to a passenger he’d picked up just outside of San Francisco. Crystals tinkled reflections of light from the rear-view mirror.

“Is there a lot of money in that,” asked the passenger. Unbeknownst to him, this was the one-thousandth time he’d asked that question in conversation. He himself, was still bidding his time, waiting for the perfect job to appear on the scene.

“Well I don’t always get paid in money. I’ve got a great collection of various kinds of Gnostic gospels. Check this out.” He maneuvered once arm into the back seat and fished it around until it landed upon the eternal truth. On it’s return he dropped a book in his passenger’s lap.

The book fell open upon one of the more controversial lines from this gospel whose translation had been commissioned by a candy factory in Japan.

In the beginning was the gum.

Thursday, July 28, 2005

“POPE ON SOME DOPE” is some fast fiction based on an image by Jeremy Pruitt .


Marc Teller worked as a sales clerk in a head-shop in Vancouver, B.C. He sold glass bongs that resembled icy plumes of smoke, writing paper that you could high off of and novelty rolling paper with the likenesses of just about everyone you wouldn’t expect to be on dope. People sometimes bummed Marc out.

“So you’re saying it’s not legal per se, but then it’s not illegal ?” asked a tourist with an American drawl.

“It’s been decriminalized,” Marc replied bluntly. (Right behind him was a shirt with “bluntly” emblazoned in weed across the bottom.)
“Rolling paper with the Pope on top, huh. So I can roll a marijuana cigarette with the Pope wrapped around it during a Canadian church service and there’s nothing you all can do about it ?” He smiled, figuring he’d uncovered the absurdity of the system.

“You can’t smoke in churches in Canada and I’m sure you can’t smoke in the churches in America either. Would you like to buy this ?” Marc’s boss was keen on the American dollar and had told everyone in a recent staff meeting that US tourists were to be treated with the utmost patience.

Marc was once again so bummed out that he wouldn’t be able to indulge in an after-work joint to calm hi s nerves. Too low to get high.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005


Brian “Thumbs” MacKenzie ran a small septic tank cleaning company. On Tuesdays he wore a “Shit Happens” t-shirt. He often peed on people’s driveways behind his truck while brown sludge was sucked out from backyard septic tanks with an elephant truck sized hose.

“He’s urinating on our driveway !!” Martha shouted to her hubby.

“Do you want him in the house ?” her husband replied. Deadpan.

The sound of pumping continued unabated. Brian’s reputation for being a klutz - along with the fact that there was no other septic tank company in town -.gave him freedoms unknown to the rest of the world. Nobody wanted his mistakes tracked into the cleanliness and godliness of their homes.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

"Decapitated Daydreams" is some qwik-lit to read while taking a pee or opening a bag of potato chips. Today's story is based on an image by Mark Frauenfelder.


Bert Stanstein made a small fortune creating all sorts of off-kilter toys over a total span of three decades. The secret to his monetary success was that he single-handedly designed all 756 games, puzzles, dolls, stuffed toys, action figures and flavours of glue that came out of his company, TOYOTOYOTOYO.

"Bert what do you... ahh how do you... ahh you know what's the thing that.... I mean how do all those ideas come to you ?" asked Pierre Parlem, famed reported for "Inarticulacy Today Magazine". Bert's wife herself suffered a stutter so he was sympathetic to the cause of the magazine.

They sat across from one another in the south wing of Mr Stanstein's 32 million dollar mansion. Sun poured in on the rather obese Mr Stanstein as he puffed away at a Cuban cigar, mulling over the wording of his response.

"Cruelty. It's simple. I mean we put up these ads with little robotic armed kids holding hands with Sue the Tooth or Gee-Whiz I Don't Have a Body Giraffe, but the root of all this is suffering. When I saw the Godfather and there was the scene with the decapitated horse I almost pooped my pants. I knew that I could have a whole line of animals without bodies. You zoom onto stuff like that and you'll strike it rich. I've based most of my toys on Scarface, the Godfather, Raging Bull.. You know those kinds of movies."

Bert Stanstein knew that he only had a couple months to live and he truly wanted to leave with an uproarious bang.

Monday, July 25, 2005

"LOAFHEADS" is such a small story that you're going to want to petition your government to have it printed on your country's pennies so that the old adage, "Find a penny pick it up and all day you'll have good luck" will once again ring true.

Today's story is inspired by an image that comes compliments of Paul Parvulescu.


The boy in a bubble grew up to be a clown in a bubble. He made it his life mission to get people to stop and smell the flowers, but really he was just lazy at heart and didn't want to break into a sweat.

"Hey man, just stop and smell the flowers" he said to a slack-jawed slacker.

"I was born with no sense of smell," the man said in a lazy drawl.

"What's the point," they both sighed in unison.

Sunday, July 24, 2005

Hippie Snakes

Yan Dubrovnick specialized as a locksmith for zoos. He was allergic to anything with a lot of hair, including hippies, he half-jokingly told anyone who cared to listen.

“So I hope this doesn’t bum you out too much but we’ll have to pay you in ostrich eggs this time around,” explained the long-haired owner of the extremely small Nature’s Big Wonders Outdoor Park.

“Oh no trouble at all. And hey I hope you don’t mind me using some crystals instead of actual locks for the boa cages.