Reptilian Rodeo

Days of malaise ducking the Reptilians and Greys from the base at Dulce were spent shooting craps while wearing tin foil hats.

A Requiem for Roasted Rodents

Rat plinking and pest finking allowed us to feast like Philistines in the Philippines.

This is Walpurgis Night

Dimly drab marshes of molasses shadowing blackly churning masses and hordes of the hideous sacrificial pyres illuminating the accursed and ever burning fires of Pan's most wickedly prophetic lyres. This accompanied by the nauseating ichor of 10,000 squirming maggots in their most damned fits of wriggling snicker - resulting in that dripping and dankly infectious fluorescent pus emanating from the ghastly green and rotted husks of the moldy mollusks. That, in of itself, an amalgamation of the blackly burned cadaver of the Beast and Cotton Mather.

Upon this preternatural plane of Pyrrhic pederasty, a multitude of micromanaged manicures demonstrate the monstrosity of Man and his doomed if noteworthy divinations into the ill-conceived but all-knowing metaphysical massacre. Embalming thymes and approximate rhymes serve as a solvent for the cancerous group mind.

This the dreamscape of a deviant - a night under a palely apathetic moon, a glum harbinger of comedic despair and nonchalance beyond repair. Forlorn midwives shovel turnips into the crawlspaces of the infertile as crickets chime the time and date of one's death if one is so inclined as to decipher the Satanic algorithm brooding underneath the horridly incessant insanities in the vibrations of said insects' wings.

Syphilitic dreams plague the minds of the otherwise innocent as the witches cackle into the dreary emptiness of space - absolute in its cold isolation.

This is Walpurgis Night.

Mexican Jumping Bean

The nightly horror swiftly approaches - Vaseline on a Mexican jumping bean, keen for the uncouth youth in houndstooth who seek the truth, later settling for vermouth for lack of proof. A mangy dog scuttles with scurvy, topsy turvy and nervy in its nectar but curvy in its vector, he shudders from the spectre of Uncle Hector.

The Defector Detector

My bellicose belligerence beckons for concubines and reckons with cactus spines as primordial prickliness seizes limbs most languid in their luxury - crocodile muggery and happenstance thuggery dominate the seventh expedition into the private premonition of the Prussian hives and Hessian jives.

Family Motel

Free hugs, bed bugs and assorted pests are available to guests along with a courtesy ashtray - enjoy your evening and por favor no moleste.

See You Next Tabernacle

Fetish sheiks and oil freaks made for cheeks of beet red hues amongst the church pews.

Terror at the Tickle Party

Timid ticklers panicked as Paul pickled pigs' feet and Peter choked the parakeet.

Are There Vampires in America?

My latest spookfest "Are There Vampires in America?" is this week's featured story on Schlock!

Bugaboo Bongo Babylon

Masticating maniacs and ovulating lumberjacks violated my venereal velocity with Venezuelan voraciousness, pounding Caracas bongos under the influence of Bacchus or the aphrodisiacs of the Angolan Kongos.