The wall

April 4, 2018 1137 am Tucson AZ
What the hell is he thinking? This blowhard pretending to be president. All he is is a glorified douchebag. And there is nothing we can do. As a soul living near the border to Mexico let me say here, once and for all, that I have never been afraid, or scared of the immigrants coming up from Mexico. We need more of their can-do attitude in this country. What is there really to fear? Ingenuity? The wall will not be a deterrent, nothing will, so I am going to embracing them and letting them into my community. It will be better for it. And so now, his fearmongering has lead him to take our troops and put them at our southern border to keep them out? What exactly is the point in that? I do not understand. Help me understand.
April 4, 2018 134 pm Tucson AZ
Woah there, nelly. I have been inundated with information, most of it right wing propaganda. I get that some immigrants kill people. Some citizens do too. There are bad seeds everywhere. But really. And then there was this news article. I included a link below. It is hooey, well thought out hooey, but hooey none the less.
(Link to news article talking about the unprecedented amount of violent deaths in Honduras and some missionaries coming back telling stories of creatures in the night, as well as the political upheaval)
April 4, 2018 421 pm Tucson AZ
Well, that got so much more feedback than I expected. You people really have a thing against cryptozoology, don’t you? Creatures in the night? And then I got sent this. It sends shivers up my spine. Is this real? What the hell is this?
(A picture of a creature with big teeth, almost like he is grinning for the camera. It is humanoid, standing on two feet with scales and a clear slime dripping off its body. It has almond shaped black eyes that are way too big for its pinched face, a face that is all mouth and eyes.)
April 4, 2018 435pm Tucson AZ
Ok, well, now I am starting to get scared. That picture looks real. And then I was PMed by a guy who says he actually saw one, last year, while he was visiting family in central America. Could this be what we are building a wall for? Could this be what we are sending troops down there for? Could this be the reason for everything? But then why the secrecy? Controlling mass panic. Someone, call the loony bin. I fear I just boarded the crazy train.
April 4 2018 513 pm Tucson AZ
I found the interview with the missionaries. Link below.
(Link to a youtube video of a man and a woman talking to a man. The man looks familiar, but it might just be the lights. They talk about terror and being shoved from their hostel and forced to return home, but not before witnessing a creature crawling into a nearby home and screams erupting from said home shortly thereafter. It didn’t take much to convince them to leave.)
April 4, 2018 1037 pm Tucson AZ
Well, I am a fully cohabitating rabbit, thoroughly invested in said hole. And this just gets weirder and stranger.
April 5, 2018 337 pm Tucson AZ
I tried to sleep. It isn’t coming. I am scared. Every sound makes me jump a mile. What is happening?
April 5, 2018 437pm Tucson AZ
Decided to distract myself with work and what not. So far, its been working. But now, we get the news that 150 troops are going to be deployed to the border. Is that enough? I am on the band wagon now, President Trump, build that wall! Build the wall! Build the wall!


Lost Magic

The misty silver squid glided through thin air straight through the enemies. While they were transfixed by the illusion, I swiped their wands and their wallets. Might as well profit off of all of this. By the time my familiar vanished completely, I was blocks away counting my newfound wealth. I checked my golden pocket watch, it was almost time. And then I looked closer and was astonished. It was amazingly nearby. I started walking, almost running through the city streets.
And so it went all through whichever city I happened to be visiting at the moment. That’s the thing, you see, about these great grand quests. You are on the hunt for these items of lore. And what no one tells you is how taxing it is for your body, wandering around lost most of the time. And it’s boring, days without a clue. That’s not to say the expense. I have never spent so much money at one thing. But it’s all ok, because I might have found what I am looking for. Right under my nose, in my home town. Now whether it’s been here all along or it just arrived is none of my concern. The point is, it is here, now, and I can go and retrieve that which has been lost.
And so, with my new found wealth and my glorious new wands I meander across the threshold of the antique shop by day, and magic watering hole by night. It was dusk, so I was just in time.
The green mist traveled through the shop transforming it into an antique speakeasy, complete with the misty fog of ancient memory. I knew this mist would infect the people with a pleasant forgetfulness if they didn’t ward against it. I was always warded against such things. There was nothing to stop me.
Except that ghost. It was awfully familiar. It looked like it owned the place, and yet, I could see right through it. I tried putting my hand through the apparition, and it came back cold. I stood transfixed, and then I turned, unsure of why exactly I was here so I just went back home.
On my way out I passed a man holding a couple of wands and a great gold pocket watch. I commented on how handsome the piece was and he smiled me away.

Suicide Hotline

Since the prophet Mannville was killed last year in a very unlikely lynching, it has become overwhelmingly hard to sin. People have tried, with abandon, and people have failed. Mankind does not like to fail. When faced with a challenge, humans rise to meet it. Mankind got creative with the problem, imagining whole new worlds of sin never before thought possible. The downfalls of continuing the blessing of the freedom of choice.
One of the new phenomena is the suicide hotline, to help customers attain the greatest mortal sin. I, your wily and courageous reporter braved the currents of technology and called the number we see published in the footnotes of magazines, and in the index of the internet.
Operator (with a calm soothing voice of a mother tucking her child into bed): Suicide hotline. How may we assist you today?
Me: Uh, yeah. I wish to let go of the mortal coils.
O (for short): What is your location, sir?
Me: I am in America, the land of the free, and I am oh so brave.
O (not a chuckle, I am TRYING here!): What city and state?
Me: San Diego, California.
O: Do you have access to the zoo sir?
Well this explains all the break-ins to the zoos in recent years. The poor schmucks who nap with lions hoping to provoke an attack.
Me: No, ma’am. No such luck.
O: What about a boat?
Me: I guess I could rent one?
O: Here we promote suicide without becoming a burden. (How kind) What about…..hiking? Or fast cars?
Me: I can do fast cars. My mustang is quite the mechanic marvel.
O: I am going to send you coordinates to an old road, follow the map have a nice day. Thank you for calling the suicide hotline. We hope your demise is swift and painless, and that you find what you’re looking for.
With that she logged off and sure enough I got a text with a location for a road way outside of town, but close enough to San Diego.
Being the research monkey I am, I could not leave this article on such a cliffhanger. I drove out there. Very slowly.
It’s a paved, well maintained road all right. It’s not on any maps. It’s mostly straight, allowing the adventurous driver ample speed build up. And then it ends. Gloriously. Right off the edge off a cliff into a great gorge. I parked and walked to the edge. Dozens of cars were in there. Bodies and fire eaten terrain. And the smell. It was overwhelming. And exhilarating. And downright disturbing.
So, if you are considering walking the plank into the memory banks, let me assure you that you certainly will be remembered. At least by me. As a total jack ass who became a martyr of idiocy. There are a lot of sins to defile. Choose another.

Calamity Jane

To whom it may concern,
Which is no one at all, really. For my eyes only and all that jazz. I cooked up something good this morning and thought you would like to see it. Well, that’s not true either. I simply cant help myself. My thoughts refuse to be tempered without being discussed in such a fashion, so here we are. Designing my downfall, even as I plan my uprising. Such is the way of the supers I guess.
For you see, we march into and out of this life without ever realizing the full potential of our powers. The man whose power it is to give the cleanest, smoothest shaves ever without any nicks, well instead of being a barber as was intended, he became a high power lawyer and used his smooth baby bottom skin to woo people to see things his way. Or the woman whose power it is to embroider without thought, to make these intricate designs upon anywhere that will succumb to needle and thread, she is found with diapers in her hands rather than canvas. We all sacrifice our gifts on the altar of life, but I want to relish in mine. My gift will ultimately bring be freedom, and that’s something that is hard fought indeed in this life.
My power is paranoia. I wield it like a sword, so naturally, I am a reporter. I can reach many more people, and if I say boo, there is panic in the streets. It’s not a game to play around with. Careful planning must be taken before I step into such chaos creation.
When I was a child, I stood up before my class and told them that the teacher we all loathed for her discipline and stern nature, was in fact a super spy who was there to fight one of our parents, but I wasn’t sure whose. The response was rapid and cruel. The teacher was torn apart between irate parents and a school board that was unable to withstand the grouped efforts of its students. She was sent packing less than a week later, screaming about the untruth and injustice of it all. It was then I learned, I speak, people listen and believe, and act accordingly. It’s a dangerous power, yes, but it’s also more convenient than the man who makes food, and everything tastes like spaghetti. Granted it’s the best spaghetti you have ever tried, but it gets old after the first dozen tastings.
So today I unleash my plan to take over the world. I will start small, with a sentence in an article about a local city meeting and the Satanist they have to pray there, failing to mention they always have different religions leading the opening devotional chosen on a voluntary basis. An archaic practice in and of itself. Anyway, this sentence will be innocuous and innocent and completely overlooked in the initial reading of said article. But that’s just the thing, it’s a worm, meant to infest the brain and come back to the reader later on so it seems natural and completely unrelated. Then they remember, oh, that Satan is coming, I better protect my family. Leading to rumors and gossip flying, which leads to grocery and gun stores being overrun, and panic in the streets. And I will be sitting here at the helm, watching it all happen counting the minutes before I step in to ease the panic.
See I have found that the easiest and best way to wield my power is not through journalism, though I do love my job. It’s through preaching. And what better way to sneak my way into pocketbooks across America, than by preaching calming things, to counter act the rumors I set spinning in the first place. Brilliant, right?
Or at least, here’s to hoping,


The news reports that morning were far from good. There was another cult attack; the God of Mayhem would be here soon to rule the earth and to feast on our souls.

To say I was scared would be a terrible understatement.

So I did what I always do, I followed my routine. Right now, my schedule has me kayaking in the ocean. It calms me, the silence and the surf.

Sure, apparently Cthulu will come from the ocean, but to get my bit of peace and quiet, I will chance it. I have to.

The pull and draw of the oars, the sound of the rushing surf, immediately when I started rowing it stilled my beating heart. I felt I could breathe again, and the overwhelming anticipation that the world was experiencing right now was long behind me, on shore with my car.

Breathe, lift, pull. Breathe, lift, pull.

The stress took me a lot further out than I normally go, and I let it. It was exhilarating to feel detached from the constant blabber of our cursed nature.

That is, until I saw the tentacle.

It came from the surf. It was purple and engorged. I could see the broken capillaries and the veins. The suction cups were as big as my head and they pulsed shut and open, shut and open. The whole thing bulged, like it was stuffed too full. There was a clear weeping fluid coursing down the sides of it, like saliva.

I rowed backward, hoping to free myself from this monster before it came.

Everyone who warned us of the ocean were right, I should have heeded their warnings.

I was too late. Another tentacle came up behind me and another on the side.

They came at me, so fast I could barely see them. They seized my boat and it started sinking in the front while the back was lifted from the water.

I panicked and stood, over balancing and falling into the water, but I never hit.

One of the engorged limbs grabbed my leg with amazing dexterity and speed. I felt the ooze sliding into my shorts. I screamed and kicked, and it raised me further in the air.

A thinner tentacle landed on my shoulder. This one started feeling up my body until it found the skin where my shirt was riding up.

I tried to knock it back, but then the suction started and I screamed as it bit into me. I started hitting the thing, but nothing helped.

It raised me higher in the air and I yelled hoping someone would help me. I saw on shore, there were people standing at the end of the dock. They were talking and pointing. One man had the audacity to pull out his cell and start filming.

I looked back towards the water and I saw a giant beak breaking the surface. It had a dark glossy sheen and it opened and shut. There was a tongue inside, flicking this way and back like a giant worm had nested there.

I felt the tentacle holding my leg letting go. I screamed, and I knew this was my end.

I would be the first victim, and all I could do was hope that from my death and its lessons, there would be others that were saved.

As I felt the beak breaking into my stomach, I did something I have not done since I was a child, I prayed.

And then, sweet oblivion.

Semi-Circle of Doom

An Erotic Zombie Fantasy

The dust fell into her eyes as she cowered in the basement fortress. Today’s milling zombies were above average, and until they meandered away, she was safest here. Ruben was on an errand run, and she was aching for his touch to take away this overwhelming boredom.
That was something they never told you about the zombie apocalypse….. It’s very bland broken by spurts of heart stopping, thrilling action. The downtime kills as much as the action.
So, there she sat, occasionally watching through the security cameras outside for any sign of clearance or Ruben, she would take either.
Time passed, the afternoon, an entire day, another few days, and finally the coast was clear enough to get her happy ass out of the bomb shelter.
And then she saw him. Not exactly her beloved, per say, but definitely her right now. He kept peering over his shoulder and running towards the door. She met him there and gave him a hug. Instead of responding, he just pushed her inside and locked the doors.
This response was not his normal kiss and smile she received. She went back to the bed and pouted, waiting for some kind of explanation. Ruben stood at the door for a few more minutes, shoulders rising with every inhalation. She leaned back, and could almost hear a cry. Standing, she approached him.
“Babe, are you crying?” She couldn’t believe it. Here, her big bold man was in tears. Finally he turned and faced her.
Cringing at his face, she prepared herself.
He scrunched up the sleeve of his red hoodie and she cried out.
A clear set of teeth marks, in a semi-circle of doom.
She backed up, eyes wandering all over the room for something to protect herself.
He approached her gingerly, raising his hands above his hands.
“Lucy, I know it looks bad. I am sorry, hon. Please. You can take my gun, but please can we do what we discussed?”
When they first found each other, it was near the beginning of this massacre. During the downtime, they discussed everything, including what they would do if they were in this predicament now.
She smiled and grimaced all at once.
The deal was sex. The last thing either wanted was to feel was the writhing of another body beside them. The deal was orgasm before a quick, brutal, bloody end.
But was she really ready to deliver the promise?
She looked at him, chewing on her lip.
“Look, Lucy, I have everything set, you know the drill, and you know how to get through this. You know I didn’t plan this, so can you please just make me happy before I go?”
That decided her. He was a good man, a good provider, and with what he taught her she knew she could survive… He deserved this; she had to keep her word.
So in response she took off her shirt, then her bra.
“If you feel funny in any way you will stop right? You will not zombify me in the middle of all this, correct?”
He nodded and joined her in the disrobing process.
They didn’t pause for foreplay. She was ready from daydreaming all day, and when he saw her tits, he was always ready. They had sex. It was vigorous and rough, and very pleasing for all parties involved.
When it was all said and done, Lucy raised her pistol. She had always been fond of the purple Ruger. It was her present to herself before all this started and it would be hers until she was over. She made him stand and go outside. The fence was enough protection for now. She sat him in the far corner by the compost heap.
“Zombie or no?”
She placed the gun against his heart.
“It’s been nice Ruben”
“Always a pleasure, Lucy”
And she shot him and ran towards the entrance. It was a good time to start the boring stand again.