Where the hell is it? I left it right here! Did the dog run off with it again? I think I would’ve felt that. What made me think it would be such a funny idea to have a voodoo doll of myself laying around? Christ, I’m such an idiot sometimes.
It’s not in the safe. It’s not in the refrigerator. I feel kinda sweaty…oven? Microwave? Nope. Why am I so wet? And what is that smell? Smells like…alcohol? Rubbing alcohol? Whiskey? Continue reading
Excerpts from the various books of the forthcoming bestseller The Bible, Part II, perhaps with the subtitle Revenge of the Christ:
The Book of Exposition 2: 3-5
And the again risen Jesus decided the most pressing concern of His now that He’d crawled from the grave was the need to take a shower. An unholy funk clung to the Christ enough so as to water the eyes of passers by, whom Jesus misinterpreted as being ardent, overcome followers. He passed by them, laying on hands for a quick blessing, and made His way to the nearest public spicket, whilst those touched by the Lord vomited in his wake.
The Book of Angina 7:14-18
And the wayfaring Jesus thus reached the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, where He was greeted by the four headed monster Beelazarus of the seabound zombie nation of San Salvador. Jesus recognized the vile beast as having once been the man He’d resurrected from the dead many years earlier, and now found it ironic that He would have to send the creature back to the afterlife. And, as is His wont, Jesus wept. Continue reading
Famed author. Presidential candidate. Teen Wolf enthusiast. With all these titles under my belt, and all these planned-for accomplishments piling up like forgotten mail, what else could I possibly have room on my dance card for in the coming weeks, months, and years? What psychotically huge and controversial project could I sink my teeth into for anywhere from one to three hours a month for the remainder of my life? Well, it’s a doozy. A writing project, a writing challenge, and it’s a sequel to something I didn’t begin.
“What a hack!” you are undoubtedly muttering to the kid next to you at Starbucks, upon the reading of this. Well leave that kid alone. He doesn’t care for your hullabaloo anymore than I do, and that ain’t much, sister. It’s not like I’ve decided to tackle an unauthorized Harry Potter 8, or the fourth of The Three Musketeers, or Mobiest Dick, no no. What I have in mind is much grander, and steeped in that noblest of all pursuits – straight cash, homey. Continue reading