The Integrity of my Sphincter

 [written exquisite corpse style at writing group - each author could only see the previous line]

The gas pains were so intense.

They hurt so bad that even the artisanal ass lotion I'd bought wasn't cutting it.

My ass, honestly, needed relief.

Reading the Preparation H directions incorrectly, I accidentally applied the salve to the wrong end of my alimentary canal.

I'd say I yelped in surprise, but it was more like a dog's frightened howl.

I had lost all faith in the integrity of my sphincter.

I prayed to the Ass God for the strength to deliver this burden.

But there I sat, broken hearted - tried to shit and merely farted.

I dismissed the tumescent centaur from my bathroom and cried into my Caesar salad - freshly tossed - and managed to peel the centaur cum from my eyelashes.

What awkward timing! My mom was calling me on my phone.

Fuck that bitch, I thought, and crushed my phone between my powerful breasts.

The FBI agents tapping my phone knew something was up, but they didn't understand what they were dealing with.

Despite their training, the immense capacity of my anal cavity was enough to blow their minds - a la "Scanners" - and, in an inspired moment, I indulge in a binge of bum-stuffing, cramming the G-men inside me until I could no longer walk, my analphagia yet unsatisfied.

I let loose a sigh - from my mouth and from my gaping asshole, filled to the brim with soft-serve justice - with a cornucopia of pleasure and pain.

And that, I tell my children, is the story of the happiest day in my life.

Cookie's Birthday

[written round robin style at writing group]

Cookie

It was the night before Cookie's birthday and I hadn't bought her a gift. She already had an industrial sized bottle of children's NyQuil with codeine, so I took to the Silk Road to find her something to match her erratic personality. Soon she'd be a coked up Cookie.

On my Silk Road journey I also discovered a vendor who made built-to-order robotic cats - I couldn't resist getting Cookie a playmate. The cat would have teal, metallic fur and its meow would be 'guttural'. I clicked 'buy', but a pop-up appeared citing a 'flagrant system error'.

Ghost Story

Art by @ghosts.semiweekly

"It all started when he said to me 'if you have time to lean, you have time to clean'. I was mighty tired that day, having spend the last few days overworked and having covered two other workers who called out. Like everywhere, it seems management has decided running a store on a skeleton crew is entirely acceptable. Workers, to them, are just cogs-"

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"I thought you were going to tell us a ghost story."

"I am telling you a ghost story."

"Is the only spooky thing going to be the crew of skeletons at your work?"

"No - that's a figure of speech. 'Skeleton Crew.' It just means there are barely enough people to keep things operating. No coverage if someone is sick or injured, no time to cross train for redundancy, and it always leads to the best staff leaving because they can find better places to work that might treat them with dignity. Of course, if your only goal is to extract wealth and increase human misery, it doesn't matter if-"

"Dad?"

"What is it this time?"

"You were telling us a story."

"Oh, right. 'Time to lean is time to clean', right? Well, that was the last straw for me. I told him if he had enough time to bitch about me running the whole store he had enough time to hire another half-dozen staff. He got all 'nobody wants to-'"

"Dad? Is this a work story?"

"Yes, eat your marshmallow. Anyhow, I told him to lead by example and do five minutes of real work around the place. Then I coughed a couple times, told him I'm feeling sick, and now we're out on this beautiful night roasting marshmallows and telling ghost stories."

"Dad, that wasn't a ghost story."

"Kid, we're ghosts. Any story I tell is a ghost story."