Contributor: Rasputin - - Everyone has secrets. It doesn’t matter what you appear to be on the outside- no matter how outwardly noble a person seems, deep down, they keep a secret. They keep it locked away in a vault that no safe-cracker can access, and no hypnotist can coax open. They will never admit this one thing, this horrible, loathsome memory, even under pain of torture. And some people have more than one. Some people have entire warehouses in their minds, packed to the brim with tales that range from the merely embarrassing to the damnably unspeakable. Hell, some people even get paid to keep secrets. Oh, the stories… What I want you to do is think of your secret thing. Go ahead, do it now. It doesn’t matter if there are others in the room- after all, it’s not like they could possibly know what you’re thinking about, right?...

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Author: Rasputin

Contributor: Sam Gem - - Yea I've killed lot's o animals round these here woods. I lugged around my 22 rifle and I'd shoot just about anything that moved and drew breath. All differnt kinds but mostly dozens o squirrels. No perticular reason for it, I was bored and just thought it was a fun thing to do. Once I tried to adjust the sights of the scope, but I messed it all up. I'd aim for the head and I'd hit their legs, and they'd just go crazy flippin around in pain before spazzin off with leaves flyin all round. I seen one of those I shot again. It had a big gash across it's thigh where the bullet skinned it. This time my rifle was fixed and I laughed and shot it in the belly. Did it think it could meet me twice and still live? Most of it's guts went flyin out. That'd what happens to em when you use hollow bullets, it hollows em right...

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Author: Sam Gem

Contributor: Rob Harris - - one The Squid clung to his hips with its eight arms and wrapped its tentacles around his thighs like climbing ivy. It was gorging on his man pipe, suckling him deep into its bowels, so deep that it felt like it warped through space-time into some pleasure dimension outside normal reality. As the squid scoffed on his wong he felt all gooey and sexually clamorific. Its beak, a soft gelatinous substance, was not like a normal squid beak, instead it was like a vagina made of the same material heaven must be made out of, pressing into his abdomen and balls, teasing his organs and sending shock waves of pleasure through him. He orgasmed so hard he went through his dick and deep into those extra-real dimensions within the Squid. There was a sound like a Schluck as he slid through its velvet-heaven mouth, all but...

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Author: Rob Harris

Contributor: Rob Bliss - - A new generation of them popped up. Sons and daughters of those goddamn hippies I fought in the ‘60s. Still greasy long hairs, welfare bums, pot-smoking degenerates. If I could still get it up, I’d give them free love with a hard fuck. Leave them by the side of the road where their hitchhiking trail ends. But my dick is dead now, after long years of bad use, so I do what I can. I wouldn’t pick any of them up, wouldn’t touch them. But I watch for them, thumbs out, packs stitched with patches sagging on their skinny ribbone backs, tie-dye shirts flapping in the breeze, full of holes like their liberal minds. Travel the back roads looking for them. Where traffic doesn’t happen, just gravel trucks heading away from the pit, loggers, transports that can’t slow down, keeping tight to their schedules. Good hard-working...

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Author: Rob Bliss