Contributor: Robert E. Petras - - According to Mackey, no news was good news because happiness was merely a neutral state. Anybody who said that she was happy, as his ex-wife Katie always claimed, was simply lying through her Botox. Besides they were simply too busy beings assholes. According to Mackey, society these days basically produced two personality types: A and AA—asshole and double asshole. The nice guys, such as Mackey, were on the endangered species list. That nice guys finished last was a misstatement; most of the time nice guys didn’t even finish. Mackey’s own mood swings, his doctor attributed to a chemical imbalance, the primary chemical being alcohol. He was sitting on his front porch swing, contemplating recent events and sipping on a glass of Shiraz. The wine had a fruity taste, like Fruit of the Looms, putting the...

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Author: Robert E. Petras

Contributor: Anna-Jane Johnson - - I’ve got a question. What do you do When your genre of choice, The one that was all you wrote about As a hormonal little middle schooler And socially inept freshman And clinically depressed young woman, Suffers from a reputation so tarnished That you know it’d be better to give up on it And write something that people actually Give a shit about? ”Of the moonless nights they are kings, darkness is their kingdom. Carrying death and sowing terror. the dark Vampires fly with great suede wings ready not only to do evil... but to do even worse.” That’s from a silent film called ‘Les Vampires’. I used to whisper that monologue to myself As I walked along the streets of Grand Haven after dark, Snowflakes melting on my cheeks as I Imagined what it would be like if Anne Rice’s Lestat Lurked in the shadows...

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Author: Anna-Jane Johnson

Contributor: Warren Danbarb - - He screwed the warrior maiden right there on the cliff. She was barely clad in her bear skin armour. He thrusted and pounded. She was otherwise engaged, she was focusing on the coming onslaught. She looked up quickly from her vantage. He took the cue and pulled two machine guns from behind him and sprayed the purple fuckers full of lead. They crumpled and she came, socketing his cock deep inside. She closed her eyes in pleasure. He opened his eyes, and traced the fan above. He was sprawled on top of his bed. He reached in a drawer next to him and pulled out the cheap bottle of vodka. His cock was raw and his ass sore. It had happened since he was fourteen, and lent towards a fondness for Hulk comics. It came and went. It was more than a dream, he could feel everything as real as the vodka pouring down...

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Author: Warren Danbarb

Contributor: Edward T. Keller - - Whenever I decide to take a flight over the city with the gray pigeons I get undressed and crouch on the windowsill, the wind tickling my sagging genitalia, the cars and pedestrians below fondling my nipples. Or is it me doing that? But every time I do this, the bosomy, sturdy lady that inhabits an apartment right across the street plops a leg on her windowsill and starts shaving it with elaborate queenly movements. She meets my gaze and smiles an oily smile, making me want to tremble and gnaw on things. Today it started to rain. Cats, dogs and hedgehogs splattered on pavements and car roofs, bringing down old ladies and the cats and dogs that were on the street at the time. I saw a cat fall on a cat and kill it. The lady in the window across the street yelped and her leg also fell downwards....

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Author: Edward T. Keller

Contributor: Matthew Wilson - - Mary Kelly knew she was in trouble. Nothing new there but this time it was bigger. Worse. The autumn of terror was almost over, now a winter of hard ship was coming fast as Stephenson`s rocket. She needed money, or a way out. She`d waited in the ten bell`s pub for the right person two weeks running straight. Not perfect but close in build and hair colour. She took pity on the young prostitute, Annie - typical story, abusive father, absent mother - promptly bought her some drink and invited Ms homeless back to her digs. Joe Barnett wouldn`t like it as he was main bread winner but ever since the arguments she cared little for what he said. She was little then six months younger then Mary, her hair not quite as red and nose a might squarer but in time no one would know. History would forget such a silly...

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Author: Matthew Wilson