Thursday, June 21, 2012

Vol II, issue iv

What makes you so fiuckin sure? No, reallly.  What makes you so fuckin sure?

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Vol II, issue iii

The white sage smoke billows through the open door and weaves its way through the prayer flags hanging above the porch. The cat languishes. The fermented meat cures in My stomach. The weed smoke and 'iron cross', (4 parts vodka, 1 part Becherovka, on rocks), course through the head. All is not well. Soon there must be morphine.

Now you'll all start howling and carryying on about how The Pisstaker has changed and isn't what He used to be. Fuck you. Galley-washing scallywags. Stupid horde of drastics.

Do they carry Pedi-Files in the foot care depsrtment? Suck my dizzy-wick, bitch. It seems to be working normally, which is to say not very well.

But We digress! This week's award! This week's awrd goes to...wait for it...Caryn Flanagin! Best artistic director of any regional theatre in Wyoming! Let's all give it up for Caryn! How otherwise would any of us ever know how seriously to take things?

The desolation of the post-apocalyptic period will be a dreamscape. It will be sublime and romantic, like living a movie or video game, finally interesting and entertaining. Of course,that's easy to say right now. When it happens one might feel somewhat differently about it.

Embrace turmoil, shitbirds! She's a Snip off the Old Bitch!

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