Can I? Written by P.L. Cobb

Can I?

Can I,
Chew my way out of this cocoon,
This thing in which I’ve been marooned,
Or can I,
Join the birds–might I fly
Into the lonely void of the sky?

Or must I remain
Trapped, to grow insane,
Or may I walk free
Beneath the churning seas?

Is it solace I seek,
Or is it vengeance to be eked
Out from this miserable soil?
My cup is so full, it overflows, and boils.

I am wild rage, encased,
The result of a fair lady disgraced.
If I must, I shall wait within this cocoon,
For it would not do to taste the sweet honey of your judgement … Too soon.

Posturing Prick, by P.L. Cobb

Posturing Prick

There are gals and guys

Who we just can’t stand–god!

They like to cock-off, that’s no lie

Pretending to be more than the truth of what they are.

That’s no surprise though, no, we know you know,

Why–it must be exquisite fun to walk around–I don’t know, maybe–sit around

All day–hissing like cats, gnashing rat-like incisors … What?

(Or this and that)

Mincing words, inelegantly, riling you and riling me,

And there’s no way out!

Stay put, hunker down, cover your ears

Unless you’d like to drown in bullshit:

The choice weapon of the hypocrite.

We’re alone, left to fend for our own

In the cold of the wilderness, against our society’s finest…

The posturing prick,

The rotten scumbag.

And perhaps the prick is just a bag of scum,

Dressed up in a tie, with two button eyes…



Lust: A Desire

Lust: a desire for success
in excess.

Early mornings
and late nights,
half-baked, strained
lizard brains.

Bright white,
flashing lights,
stale smells, bland hells,
and watered down caffeine≠

“Learn your lesson yet?”
A simple ask.

A typical response
from an egoist,
an ass.

“All right then!”
Flippant, unconcerned.
Our parliament adjourned.

Back to business:
unhindered mediocrity–
the territory of
draconian alacrity.

Failure comes along dully,
from lack of sleep and wistful dreams.

And a desire for success,
in excess,

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The Old Year is Dead, But . . .

It all started last year, when they shot a mighty beast,

The overlords of the media had a hearty feast,

And that was all the West seemed to care about, while children were slaughtered

But news like that doesn’t bring you a profit,

Now does it?

So their truth was watered-down, forgotten . . .

Then there’s the matter of the US election.

Our smug liberal faces received a mighty thwack.

When the unthinkable happened, and now there’s no turning back . . .

The moral of that story: some things are better left to natural selection . . .

The old year is dead, but it left much to be desired.

It’s 2017, and we’re so damn tired.

We want change, but are too apathetic to achieve it.

I want 2016 back, but I’m too lazy to retrieve it.


Sorry About Your Dad, written by P.L Cobb with art by Jake Zaccaria

Self Reflection #1

Please answer each question to the best of your ability. Honesty is optional.

Honesty is sometimes a curse. Survival is your prerogative.

1: Who were you the day before?

2: Is this statement true or false: At the beginning of each day you are a different person.
Explain why this statement may be true or false in essay form.

Bonus Question: What type of person do you think I am? I mean, who in their right mind would think to ask these kinds of questions.

The Enigmatic Monster Project: horror of all flavours.

The Adjuster

By R. J. Davies Mornix

Stepping into the room, it suddenly felt like the temperature dropped a few degrees. She scanned the room with precision, knowing exactly whatmore importantly who she was looking for. Once she saw him, she only had eyes for one person. Crossing the room purposefully … Her clicking heels came to a stop as she stood in front of him.

He looked up, smiling, with an approving gaze.

Frowning in response: “Mr. Nettle come with me.” Turning, she lead the way down a  hall and into a vacant room.

“I’m glad to see you, Clara.”

“Have we met?” she asked coldly, pausing only slightly before she came around and sat down at the table across from him.

“You don’t remember me?”

“Should I?”

“Well, I suppose not. It has been some time since high school.”

“Hmph,” she laid her briefcase on the table. She paused as she was about to open it and tilted her head to one side. “I remember you now. You were the first boy I had ever kissed,” she went about opening her briefcase. She pulled out a file with his name on it.

“You haven’t smiled once since you approached me. Should I be concerned?”

“Mr. Nettle, this is a serious matter.”

“Please, call me Eric.”

“Do you understand the money we invested in  you?”

“I do and I intend to pay you back.”

“Really? You happen to have two billion dollars in the bank right now?”

“No … But I can pay you back by making payments.”

“Mr. Nettle,” she began.

“Eric,” he insisted.

“Mr. Nettle, I highly doubt you’ll see two billion dollars in your life time. Then there is the matter of the time we invested in you. The time and resources spent to train you is very valuable.”

“I understand. But I can’t do this. When I signed up I didn’t know what you were asking of me. I didn’t  realize you had intended for the candidates to give up their rights and their lives. You never said that.”

“Mr. Nettle, when you signed up with Xplore what did you think we wanted from you?”

“I was told that I could do the training and if it was something that I didn’t feel I could handle, I could talk with an adjuster and they could process my release.”

“Is that what the nice man told you when he recruited you?”

“Yes,” his eyes narrowed a bit, a little wary of her tone.

She smiled staring at him. He began to think that he liked it better when she wasn’t smiling.

She tapped his file with her long manicured nails. “Well, Mr. Nettle … I am your Adjuster.”

“So tell me, what do I have to do to get out?”

She chuckled. “First let me explain something to you that the recruits don’t tell. When you sign up for Xplore. It’s a one way ticket. Yes, we are partners with the government; they help us with the funding. Yet at the end of the day when you signed your name on the forms: we own you.”

“I’m a human being, you can’t own me.”

She chuckled, “Mr. Nettle, we own you. It’s like you coming into my house and taking whatever you want without asking and then walking out. It’s stealing. You wanting to leave Xplore is like that: coming into my house and stealing from me. Now look at me Mr. Nettle, what have I ever done to  you? Why do you want to steal from me?”

“You don’t own me,” he spoke softly.

“Yes  Mr. Nettle, I do,” Flipping open his file she flipped through a couple of sheets and paused. “Alright,” she slammed her hand down on the table. He jumped.

“Since I like you, I’ll make a deal with you.”

He leaned forward, eager.

“Here are my demands. I want one of your kidneys, three litres of bone marrow, four litres of spermand this could start the processwe want monetary compensation as well: you will owe us until you go to your grave.”

“I’m sorry, I only have the one kidney.”

“Hmm well I guess that is a problem for you, Mr. Nettle. These are our standard demands for an individual to be released.”

“Please, there has to be something.”

“Yes, Mr. Nettle, we are not monsters. You have a choice. If you agree to our release conditions then sign here,” she passed him a form to sign.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Mr. Nettle, there are a couple things that you should know about me. One, I never joke …  And two,  I believe everyone has a right to choose.”

“If I sign this I’m dead. If I don’t, I die in space. How is that a choice?”


“I’m sorry, what?”

“We all die Mr. Nettle. But like I said: we own you. And here I am giving you the choice of where you want to live out your final days.”

He shoved the papers back at her, got up, and headed for the door.

“It’s a brave choice, Mr. Nettle.”

“I can see how you got this job … You’re a heartless bitch.”

“I just happen to be very good at what I do.”

The Enigmatic Monster Project

Furious Grey

Written by P. L. Cobb

Life is a furious sea

The colour of dust, ash . . . Grey

There’s no clear split down the middle




It scares you

But it’s commonplace for me

Time to snap back to reality

There’s no simple yes or no

There’s no one to tell you where to go

Whether to go up high, or to go down below

What do I know?

I couldn’t even show you where to start

Which begs the question: what part

Do I have in all of this?

How did I find myself at the heart

Of your turmoil?

Who made me your keeper?

Go away!

Take your own ideas with you

And drown in a sea of furious grey!

The Enigmatic Monster Project: horror of all flavours

Large White Olive Branch

Written by Jonathan Kruschack

Hello, how are you? Well, I hope. What was your name again, lady? Sorry, I’ll try and remember. I’ve had better days. I think. Thought? It’s hard to remember much since . . . that day. The day, I met that giant. What? Sure, I’ll tell you what I remember, forgive me if it doesn’t make much sense. I didn’t understand it as it was happening until it was over. And I do apologize if I go back and forth with how I describe it with past and present tenses, it just doesn’t seem important now. I’m sure you understand.

The day was going as most of my days went. I was walking along, looking for food and shelter among the green of the jungle, which shaded me from the intense light and heat of the sun. By nightfall, the air was finally cool. I needed to be careful though, even though my armour was tough and strong I am not a fighter. My kind, hide when confronted, curling inside our armour until the aggressor gives up. It works . . . for the most part.

Moving along the dirt I reached the enormous lair of a giant. My kind tells tales of these giants. They are to be avoided. They often attack without provocation, as they are fiercely territorial. I didn’t believe them, though. Why would a giant care about us? And how could they even notice us. I’ve seen them from afar, and even hundreds of miles away they tower over most things, especially us. Hungry, I press onward, climbing the stone of the domicile. It took me hours but I finally got to the first ledge. I could see light, faintly. The ledge was some kind of porthole to the giant’s home. There was a ginormous netting meant to keep my kind out, but it had a tear in it. Apprehensive at first; I thought to run away, the risk not worth it. My stomach growled, though and my foolhardy pride kept my feet planted.

I was brave and I could prove my elders wrong about the giants, maybe even be like one of the truly brave who ventured into other giant’s homes and lived there in secret. Forward went my feet, rhythmically tapping as I scurried along. Upon entering the home, I promptly fell off what I thought to be a cliff. Without time to think about how afraid I was I reflexively hid in my armour, hoping it would cushion my fall. The feeling of the impact was . . . jarring to say the least. But after a few moments not being sure if I was dead or not, I realized I was in fact still breathing. Ceasing my orbicular stance I looked around my surroundings. I was on a ledge again. But the material was different. Not the stone I had climbed or the alabaster wood I’d fallen off of. This was cold, hard and a brownish grey. There was a crevice, which my kind loves as I often seek shelter in them though I could not fit into it. Oh well, what’s over OH NO. GIANT! There is a giant. Oh, please don’t notice me, please.

I had shut my eyes and prepared to curl inside my armour again when I noticed something. I hadn’t been immediately crushed by its mountain-sized fist. In fact, it wasn’t even looking at me. Exhaling, I regained some confidence in my earlier thoughts. It won’t notice me. I’m too small. Laughing at my cowardice, I began to look for food and shelter, as I was confident, not stupid. Unfortunately, there was none. Oh well, plenty of time to SHIT, THE GIANT IS MOVING! I froze. The giant stretched its elongated limbs as it rose from its bizarre throne in front of the light-creating rectangle it manipulated with what I could only assume was magic. The sound of its joints popping was like thunder, and its yawn like the roar of a great beast. Or more accurately, like the roar of a great beast multiplied by a thousand. It stretched its neck to one side then the other, vertebrae grinding loudly. It looked very tired, with its huge eyes barely open. I calmed down slightly but not much as I realized it may just be going to sleep. I resumed moving, albeit very, very slowly. Then the giant turned to face the wall where I was. I watched his brown eyes trail down, again thinking I stature too minuscule for him to care. He seemed very uninterested, which made me feel very good. That feeling died though, as I noticed he was now staring, face devoid of any emotion, at the exact spot I was occupying. Staying incredibly still, the most still I had ever been in my life unless I was asleep, I once more looked at his eyes. They were slowly focusing, fighting his sleepy state. Appropriate, because I was slowly losing any hope of a continued existence, fighting the urge to commit suicide. Please, please don’t see me. I’m not worth it I’m not HE SAW ME! RUN! RUN AND NEVER STOP RUNNING, OH WHY AM I SO SLOW? STUPID, STUPID ARMOUR! STUPID SHORT LEGS! As I cried and cursed myself the giant moved, easily crossing a distance that would’ve taken me hours in the blink of an eye. Panicking, I shut my eyes tight. Hoping for death’s grip to be gentle, quick and painless; alas, he didn’t smash me, though. I opened my eyes. He didn’t look angry. Or scared. Sometimes the giants kill because we startle them. But he didn’t look at me with any malice that I could see. Curiosity? Maybe. Pity? Kind of obligation? Yes, actually. I certainly wasn’t happy. But he did seem as if he had to do whatever he was about to do. I just hoped this task he didn’t like was called ‘Murder The Small Thing’. I saw something I’d never seen before, suddenly. A huge, alabaster rectangle of a soft material. It was flat, and the giant placed it in front of me. Why? I turned away and the giant placed it in my way again. Why, I asked again. He definitely wanted me on it. What could it be? Then I had another one of my great ideas, in a moment of hope. What if it was a makeshift vessel of some sort. A kind of large, white olive branch.

Maybe…maybe I was to be an emissary of peace between our people. Usher in a new age of peace, where we coexist in harmony. So, I stepped onto the white rectangle, finding it very soft. Ah, what comfort. He may not look happy when tired but boy is this giant friendly. He said something, I did not understand it. But there would be time to work out a way to communicate later. Come, my new friend. Let us rest and why is he folding it over me? Oh, he’s sealing me inside it.

I HAVE MADE AN ANOTHER TERRIBLE DECISION! Oh no, oh no, I must find a way out but there’s no way out WHY ISN’T THERE A WAY OUT?! Wait, I know, I’ll just curl into a ball. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. That always works. It has to work. Please, please let it work. He’s lifting me up. Carrying me, but where? I can’t see out. Maybe he’ll take me outside his home and release me? Oh, how foolish I was. He carried me very quickly and then let gravity take me. I fell for what seemed like ages, and then I landed in a lake. At least I think it was a lake. The water was very cold. Wait, is he drowning me? I can’t get out of here and the material is taking on water and HE IS DROWNING ME? Is that why he looked unhappy? He didn’t want to smash me but knew he couldn’t let me live, so he gave me this for a death? A watery grave? THAT DUMB, GIGANTIC BASTAR–what was that noise? Why am I spinning? The water was rising very fast. Oh no, I thought. This is it. With my last gulp of air I curled into a ball but as usual, it did me no good. I was rushed down with the water, wherever it was going. I knew it wasn’t taking very long but when you’re drowning it feel like an eternity. Then, I lost consciousness and true blackness took me.

And when I…awoke, is an appropriate word for this, right? Okay, when I awoke I felt no pain. And there was no water or giants. Only you . . .

Just you lady with your robe and your big grin; I guess I can’t really call that a grin. Yeah, you totally do need lips for that. Oh well, I still like you. Nice robe by the way. I like the way it compliments your sharp, shiny thing on that curvy stick. Thanks for waking me up, by the way. So, what’s this place you’re always going on about? The sunless-lands, huh? Sounds neat. Hey, how come I hear wings?

Love Me No More

Written by P. L. Cobb

I’ve been so distracted lately

Love (with its multitude of fangs)

Has become a chore

(An unwanted mess, by a cruel goddess)

Bless me without eternal fire

(And your cold ire)

Grant me this one desire

(Free me from your third eye

Spare me from your truth, I long for my lie

Save me from your beastly heart,

If death must do us part,

So be it)



(Love me no more)

photography, writing, horror, weird, fiction

A Spayed Goat

A spayed goat leads the march

of crippling genocides.

My how the times are changing!

Tireless slaves.

Ringing of metal, banging and clanging.

As the grand army marches forward,

backwards progressing.

Who needs a home anyway?

Burn, burn, burn–

–The baby is the devil:

A clichéd mockery; sly, evil,

but twisted nonetheless.

All hail the Salamander King.

Bow before him on backwards knees.

All our troubles starting with

(an imagined?)

Spayed goat?

(It’s more than I hoped.)

Adventure Time

Isolated, by P. L. Cobb

I like Adventure Time (a lot). I am also an adult.

I like Adventure Time (a lot). I am also an adult. I know of other adults who like the show, and I have had others tell me that it’s too much. Does that say more about me or them?

For me it’s the layers that the show has: it’s cute, weird, bizarre, macabre, and Lovecraftian (any episode involving the Nightosphere). If you watch the show you’ll find any number of these things. Re watch the show and you might notice more things in the background. For a cute kids show Adventure Time is . . . Different. For crying out loud, there is a freakin’ Lich King! And. It. Is. Voiced. By. Ron. Perlman! My family would have tried boycotting that. They would have tried to convince me that the show was evil and dark–not that it would have helped; I read and loved the Harry Potter series, it’s no more magical than the Lord of the Rings or The Silmarillion, or the Chronicles of Narnia.

While I wouldn’t class Adventure Time as exactly the same as Harry Potter or The Lord of the Rings, it is very close. I suppose this means a segway into why you can’t blame a book, a movie, or a cartoon for your behaviour (Clockwork Orange, The Catcher in the Rye), or why you can’t just assume that someone is weird, angry, or undesirable because of a certain thing they like. Now that I’ve said that I suppose this means a segway into people, and the pre-conceived notions that other people have about them. I call them ideas, or odd ideas. They’re odd because you don’t really know the person. Or they’re odd because you don’t fully know the person.

For myself there are several people who have had these odd notions about me; needless to say I never held them in very high regard. Why should I? If you’re not going to take the time to at least try to understand why someone is the way they are (without going overboard, mind you) why the hell do you get offended when they don’t extend the same thing to you? Can you smell another segway? Perhaps I should title this article: Adventure Time Made Me Think About People?

This is either a segway or I’ve unknowingly come around full circle.

Hypocrisy. We all do it. That doesn’t mean we’re all horrible people. At the same time that means that someone does not get to say what’s so because of something else, especially if they are a perpetrator of that same thing. If a nice person puts their foot down, I don’t get to call them out for that:

  1. Being assertive is not wrong.
  2. If that person is putting their foot down, it’s likely because I am an asshole.
  3. I put my foot down all the time; I’ve exploded when people don’t listen.
  4. If I can do it, why can’t they?

If you were wondering what I’m getting at, this is it. Don’t get me wrong, people are tricky; we react to certain things, often ridiculously. We can’t all be like Spock. But the fact remains that we do this; people do it to me, and I do it to them. It’s a never-ending cycle. Sometimes it is spectacularly wrong, vicious . . . And unnecessary. A lot of the time it is unnecessary.

Just as unnecessary as labelling someone. As Coca-Cola said: labels are for cans. I listen to heavy metal and I run a horror blog. But I’m not goth. I’m. Or punk. I watch Adventure Time too, but I’m not really weird. I used to be quiet; some people assumed that I didn’t like to talk to people or that I would never want to travel. The thought that I was just trying to find my footing in a world full of jerks never occurred to them. For the record I love tourism; I enjoy people. I’m a social-introvert. And I enjoy getting away from Sault Ste. Misery. I’m also a graphic designer. Because of that some assumed that I wouldn’t be able to take constructive criticism, but never stopped to consider if they were just nagging . . .

I have had my fair share of wrong assumptions too. To an extent I try to be fair. Not all the time, because it’s not always worth it. Life is just one big grey ocean, and you just have to learn to tread it carefully.

In the end, adults watch cartoons. Not all cartoons are bad, and just because you think Adventure Time is too much doesn’t mean you’re right. It also doesn’t mean I have to quickly adopt your opinions, or you mine.

What it does mean is that there is something somebody put time and effort into that other people enjoy. And it’s not for everybody, which is okay.

Before I go I would like have my last hurrah: this is why I write horror. Horror is the vehicle in which I use to dissect. The nature of people, my own experiences, the experiences of others–this is what inspires me to do what I do. There are more grey areas than there are black and white. Hence the grey ocean. If I sound preachy I apologize, but this is something that I am passionate about. And if I can’t do it then I am going to go out with bang.

Miss Goop

Miss Goop, by P. L. Cobb

We’re ushering in yet another Monday with this weeks free colouring sheet!

Sweet Feet

That delightful aroma

which makes it way to me;

the smell of your feet

makes my heart beat


Treat me to those delightful appendages.

Make me their master.

I must have a taste of

those sweet feet

of yours.

Give them all to me,

and we can have our

happily ever after.


Fancy Face

Fancy Face, by P. L. Cobb

I know you’ll love my fancy face. I made you a new colouring sheet! Enjoy!

Ancient Grains

Gifted to us by ancient astronauts

The seeds of life

The unborn embryos of

Deadly parasites

That we masticate and defecate

Enjoy your ancient grains!

The ABCs of Horror

The ABCs of Horror

The ABCs of Horror, cover design by P. L. Cobb

A bit late, I must admit, and for that I must apologize. I’ve been on holidays with a friend. Besides, this is one of the few instances where Halloween happens to fall on a weekend. The night is still young! I hope you enjoy all 200 pages of the ABCs.

200 pages.

You better believe it.

Please note that this is the first year where you don’t have to click on an external link to download the book. If there are any issues let us know in the comments. For those of you who want to read the book on our site . . . I’ll be putting each chapter up bit by bit.


–P. L. Cobb

The ABCs of Horror

Gumby Chum

Gumby Chum, writing and art by P. L. Cobb

When Gumby Chum catches you, you won’t have time to cry.

The red-eyed bum

with the sickly green face.

Gumby Chum, they call him

Gumby Chum, Gumby Chum,

giving chase, chasing, chasing–

“Holy shit! He’s catching up to the us!”

“Thank God we’re on the bus . . .”

What would become of us

if that weren’t the case?

“I don’t suppose Gumby Chum would tear off your face?”

asked the little old lady who sat across

from us on the bus.

She looked at us with sadness

in her eyes,

said: “You’re both in for a nasty surprise!

When Gumby Chum catches you

you won’t have time to cry.”

Dihydrogen Monoxide

Dihydrogen Monoxide, story and photography by P. L. Cobb

We drink and we eat you!

Dihydrogen Monoxide

you sly devil, you!

You’ve struck fear into

the masses


it’s true!

We drink and we eat you

Soon we will become you too.

One second–we’re 60% there, you say?

In the end, we are your pawns!

There Was a Time

There was a time when I could talk to you. Where did all our words go? All the things we used to say to each other: the curses, the secrets, the knowledge of a time long past? I used to admire you, but now that admiration has turned into disgust; if you are not the same as you were before, then who are you now?

Who is this new daemon you have become?

Or did you really die?

Someone told me you died, but I still don’t believe it. When I hear the truth from your mouth I’ll know. In the mean time I shall have to be content with penning this letter, and more. There is always more when I get involved. You should know this Da’Kiri, we grew up together, so unless you have died you have no excuse.

You can imagine my surprise at the rumours which surround you. Da’Kiri dying? Ever since we were young someone has always tried to kill you-and failed to do so. Survival is in your blood. It’s what marks your kind: the will to live, the ambition . . . The strong desire to dominate everything. Perhaps it’s all a lie and you are still here with us. But then you are not yourself, and I am disgusted. Perhaps I am being unfair. If you have changed you clearly have good reason for it; I know you are not stupid.

What happened to you, old friend? Could the reason be related to your failed marriage to . . . That woman? You know how the saying goes: a mortal does not a good daemon make. Forgive me of my ignorance to that particular situation. I couldn’t possibly know of the finer details surrounding your relationship; I realize that you would not have proposed, let alone entered into, such a contract if you did not have strong feelings for her.  Perhaps I am wrong, and the rumours are just that-rumours. I haven’t seen you in a long, long time . . .

That says something, doesn’t it?

I had the privilege of running into one of your older siblings recently. We got to talking, and naturally the topic of your old lover came up. Is it true that you two were betrothed at one point? I honestly never knew. Your sibling didn’t go into much detail about the other woman; you fooled around with her while you were married, and your wife disappeared. They did express surprise though, surprise at the fact that you fooled around with the other woman while you were married. I assumed that you and your former lover had a falling out of sorts. Needless to say, your sibling was not fond of your former lover or your former wife.

They claimed that they had driven you mad. You. Of all creatures it had to be you who lost his mind.

We were all young once. We made mistakes . . . Oh what mistakes! But we grew up in our own times. I must admit that I began to distance myself from you . . . You grew up too fast. I cannot blame you for that; again, it is in your blood. I assume you noticed, or else you would have said something. Or maybe you were so busy that you didn’t care.

You’ve always had a hollow heart, Da’Kiri.

Perhaps I have answered my question within my ramblings. You were so accustomed to having a hollow, empty heart. You let people in, your lover, your wife, and your children.

And that was too much for you. They all hurt you! You, being so used to having to rely upon yourself, became disappointed. Disenchanted. You poisoned yourself. You wanted what you could never have, and it burned you.

It burned you!

Do you not see the irony? A proper fire-breather such as yourself being burned . . . By a creature that was once human.

There was a time when you feasted upon their blood. When did you become so soft?


It Burped Like a Boss

It opened its terrible mouth and let out a deafening belch.

The burp of a boss.

All the walls crumpled like candy floss

being stomped on

by a poisonous green mace wielding clown.

And when they fell down

the great spider queen frowned

at the houses: they were inside-out,

and upside down.

So the district manager came down from space.

He took one look at the mess,

shrugged, went: “Meh,”

then decided to call the place Sault Ste. Misery.

Now that leaves us here,

trapped within the eternal weird.

Welcome to the kingdom of the apathetic, my dear!

Where the patron saints are Drugs and Beer,

and ugly, drunk, racist white fogeys

steal jobs from the bogies!

What’s that?

You’ve been here for two years, and can’t find a job which pays in real money?

Welfare is always hiring honey!

But I blame IT for our clear loss

(and our penchant for not caring, not using signal lights, and wearing leopard print onesies)

Because it burped like a boss!

It’s Thursday?

Did you know that you can have reading powers too? Yes, that’s right! On Halloween The ABCs of Horror will be released–


Keep it monstrous!

Chipmunk Whisperer

Not the living

but the living undead

the rodent stumbles to

your hand

wriggling around

like a worm

and bites your thumb.

All hail

the failed

Chipmunk Whisperer!

Enjoy your new un-life!

Gaudy Boy

Rainbow sparkles

and silver streamers

festoon the science lab


a party he attended without


all alone he steps down

from his stand

takes a bow

waves his hands

does a jig

then hangs himself back up again

waiting for the next party to roll