Humor
Erratic Fiction
He lies sprawled on my bed, arms and legs tied up, a can of whipped cream waiting invitingly on the end table by his blindfolded head. He’s a sight to behold, all right: three hundred pounds with bumps in all the wrong places. This is about to get freaky, I think as I shake up the can of whipped cream. Real freaky . . . What the fuck?
By McKenzie Price4 years ago in Fiction
Kenny the Kosmic Kitten
Nick November was a fourteen year old boy, and all he wanted in the whole world was a cat. He was allergic to dogs so he thought a cat would be the perfect pet. Every time Nick asked his parents for a cat they always said the same thing “Maybe.” He had a pet rock, but it ran away from home. Don’t ask me how a pet rock ran away from home I don’t know. Nick was getting good grades in school so he had a feeling they would say yes. Nick’s parents were Nattily and Neil November. Nick’s Mom worked in a jewelry store and his dad was a dentist. Nick’s dad made lots of money, but didn’t like to spend it. It was Sunday afternoon Nick’s parents were sitting in the living room on the couch. Nick’s Dad was watching a football game. Nick’s Mom was pretending to watch the game she didn’t really care about sports.
By Jmjulius15 Jay4 years ago in Fiction
Minister Fer Roads
Minister fer Roads _______________ I live in South Morang near Melbourne, Australia. What’s interesting about that is there isn't a Morang; no North Morang and no East or West Morang just South Morang and while I’m talking about whacky suburb names, how about this one: Just up the road from here there’s Whittlesea. True. Whittlesea. Nearest bit of coast is over an hour’s drive away. Can’t you feel sorry for the poor bugger who bought a boat and moved there?
By Suzsi Mandeville4 years ago in Fiction
Death Inc.
Technically, Jerry Carroll had been dead for seven days now. That was, dead in every conventional medical sense of the word anyway. It had all come as a bit of a shock to him, as you would imagine. Firstly, he had been somewhat down on his luck anyway, but being killed had really been a downer. Secondly, his death had been a huge mistake and it should have been someone else who’d copped it. He attempted a heavy sigh as he pondered this, but it sounded more like he was blowing a raspberry, as the flap of skin where his throat had been cut vibrated noisily in the escaping rush of air. Typically, he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and had gotten involved with the wrong people. There was no denying he had been involved with some slightly dodgy dealings but had never intentionally hurt anyone and certainly didn’t deserve this. It should have been one of the other couriers, Al the Snake, who went on this particular delivery. Admittedly his memory was patchy at best; but now it was cracking up like an iceberg drifting further and further into warm waters.
By Phil Tennant4 years ago in Fiction
