Thursday, April 4, 2024

Vampire Snail

Art by Petra

 "What's the meaning of this?"

"What's the meaning of what?"

"This! My car! What the fuck is this all about?"

"What? It's a joke!"

"A joke! You painted shit all over my car!"

"Yeah, I got you a paint job. It's the letter 'S' all over the car."

"What. The. Fuck."

"Yeah! So when you drive by people will say 'look at that s car go!'"

"... are you retarded?"

"Yo! Not cool."

"You just painted shit all over my car for a joke. Did you eat too many paint chips as a child?"

"It's a joke!"

"Did your mom drink too much alcohol while pregnant?"

"Seriously not cool."

"Why the fuck would you take my car and paint over it without even asking?"

"Okay, sorry. I thought you would get a kick out of it."

"I don't."

"Well, you don't have to use the r-word."

"The r-word?"

"Yeah, that's not cool anymore."

"I've never been 'cool' and I'm not trying to be 'cool.'"

"No, I mean it's not kosher. Not appropriate."

"What's not kosher?"

"The r-word."

"What r-word?"

"Yeah, ah, retarded ... not cool."

"You're telling me that's out of date now? What else is over?"

"Oh, ah, the f-word."

"I've been saying 'fuck' all night!"

"Oh, no, the other f-word."

"The other f-word?"

"Yeah, ah, faggot."

"That's like eighty percent of my insults!"

"Yeah, they're not cool anymore."

"Those were the height of humor in the nineties!"

"Still not cool now."

"You have to keep me up to date on these things. That's a familiar's duties."

"I know, master, but I, well, it really hasn't come up until now."


"I think so - usually I only see you in passing as you go out to hunt."

"I've never insulted you?

"Oh, it's not that. I suppose I haven't fucked up quite like this before though."

"You have been a dedicated familiar, I will give you that."

"I'm sorry, master, for failing you on so many levels tonight."

"Are there other words or phrases I should know not to use?"

"Well, pretty much anything Tom Green ever said."

"I can't think of anything he did."

"You know - a lot of shock comedy in the late nineties. Kind of the precursor to Eric Andre."

"Eric Andre?"

"Uh, yes, another guy. Surely you remember Tom Green though? 'My butt is on the rail'?"

"I vaguely recall."

"Well, anything he used to say is considered out of date now."

"Ah! Well, I'll try to keep to the times then. You will have to teach me new slang."

"Yes master."

"Good. Spend your day tomorrow compiling lists for me to get up to date."

"Yes master."

"Get some sleep. Fix the car. Find the slang."

"I'll fix the car, certainly. I'm so sorry master."

"Good. You should be. I'm off to hunt. Now... snail you later!"

Monday, March 11, 2024

Spectral Assets

Art by Sabrina

"Hey Jay, are you buzzy right now?”

"Did you just say buzzy?"

"Busy. Busy. Sorry. Are you busy right now?"

"Why did you say ‘buzzy’?"

"Slip of the tongue, tongue, I swear."

"Sure, Fred, sure."

"I swear! Sorry."

"...fine. What do you want?" 

"I'm so sorry about my slip of the tongue. I didn't mean to imply anything." 

"Sure, sure. What did you want?"

"Well, Jay, I… uh… I was wondering if you could teach me how to dance."

"Really Fred. Really."

"What do you mean? I hear you're a great dancer."

"Yeah? You want me to tell you where the nearest flower is, you need some pollen pointers? Some insect interpretive dance? Fuck you."

"No. Jay! I swear I didn't mean anything. I heard you have some great moves and I could use pointers."

"You mean it?"

"I swear, Jay, I swear." 

"You're not putting me on?." 

"I'd never - I've known you most of your life."

"That's what, a month?" 

"A month, a year, who’s counting? I know you have the moves and I want to learn."

"I suppose you’re not wrong."

"Well, will you help me?"

"You mean it?"

"Yeah, Jay - I have a strong urge and I need to see something special." 

"Something special?" 

"Yeah, I want a mate with... well... a certain spectral asset."

"Fred, please spit it out." 

"Jay, sorry. I want you to teach me to dance so I can finally see some boo bees." 

Roar to Rawr

“What in the world is going on!?" Gene roared. 

"Nothing! Nothing, I swear!" Kelly responded, hastily pushing a box into a closet. 

"Nothing my butt! What are you hiding in there?" 

"Nothing?" Kelly responded slower this time. 

"That doesn't seem like nothing - that seems like something that you're doing a bad job of hiding from me." 

"Uhm," Kelly said slowly, "It is something, but for later" 


"Yes. A surprise!" 

"If it's such a surprise, why were you making so much noise as you put it in the closet?" 

"I didn't mean to - I just knocked over some boxes by accident.”

"On accident? 


“I think you woke me up on purpose.”

“Oh?” Kruk took a second before confessing. "You got me. I didn't mean to ‘wake you’ wake you - I thought you were just laying down."

“So what's up? What's in the closet?" 

"Nothing, babe - I'm wearing it."

With this Kelly slipped out of her over clothes to reveal some lacy lingerie.

"Happy Anniversary!"


Wednesday, February 28, 2024


Art by Kohlwin

“A broom? I’m not your maid.”

I looked from the woman to the implement in my hands and then back again. She didn’t seem to notice my incomprehension.

“But it’s a gift?” I tried.

“Are you telling me my house is dirty?” she spat

“No, no,” I fumbled. “It’s… I thought you used them to fly.”

“Oh, are you telling me to get the fuck out then?” Well maybe I will. Maybe I’ll just pack up all my dirty, unwanted potions and leave this shit little town to wallow in its mediocrity.”

“No, I-” I started

“I don’t want to hear it, you little shit. And here I thought you were being a helping hand. But no, you’re just like all the others. Always in need of something or other without offering anything in return.”

“I don’t want anything?” I tried.

“Then what do you want?”

“I, uh,” I paused. “I want to say thank you?”

“Oh?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Ever since you came to town everything has been a lot better. Fewer illnesses. You fixed Jim’s broken arm. Our crops have grown faster and have been more plentiful.”

“Yes, yes. And what?”

“So we made you this as a gift - it’s not much, but we carved all our names on it and tried to make it as nice as we can make a broom.”

“Well, we noticed you didn’t fly a whole lot and figured maybe you needed a broom or something.” I explained.

“Well, in that case, I’ll take it. Hand it to me.”

I obeyed.

She looked it over for a good moment.

“Now where am I supposed to put this?”

Wednesday, February 21, 2024


art by Evan

“What in the dick-licking, cunt-crunching fuck is that!?” I exclaimed loud enough to get my point out but soft enough not to startle anyone.

“What are you talking about?” Ben asked, the words dribbling out of his mouth before his eyes left the phone in his hands.

“That!” I gestured at the mailbox.”


“Holy fuck, Ben, look up from your phone for two fucking seconds.”

“What? Jesus dude, you don’t have to harass me like that.”

“Apparently I do.”

“Fuck you dude. I was paying attention.”

“Yeah, to Tik-Tok.”


“What? It’s true. If your eyes were any more glued to that screen I’d have to start carrying around rubbing alcohol.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s a solvent. It dissolves glue. I’m saying you’re really fucking glued to your phone. Fuck, dude.”

“I’m not that bad, Ben said, instinctively looking down at his phone before looking back up. “Hey, it’s not like I’m the one who crashed his car.”

“Yo, fuck you. I know I fucked up, but I took my licks. And it’s not like I was texting and driving all the time. You’re the one whose eyes never leave the phone.”

“Still didn’t crash a car.”

“Fuck you dude.”

“Yeah, and fuck you back. Now what the fuck did you want me to see?”

“The mailbox dude, look at it.”

“What about it? Is there a big spider or something?”

“No - LOOK at it. Jesus.”

“What? Fuck you and just tell me.”

“It’s not USPS Standard 7C compliant. It shouldn’t be out here.”


“It’s fucked up.”

“Fuck you dude.”

Wednesday, February 14, 2024

Valent9s Poems

[Tonka Tanka]

Metal and Yellow
Amid Oshkosh clad children
they beep, crash, and roar
a tune-less construction ‘toon
Animated by small hands


Flowers and chocolates and symbols of love
pink candy hearts and fluttering doves
laying on blankets watching clouds of cotton
memories made and moments forgotten
the aisle with your father, the speech by my brother
today is a good day to love one another

Wednesday, February 7, 2024

Lucy w/ the Good Vodka Water Glass

Art by Emily

“Lime or lemon?”

“Lime or lemon?”


“Don’t you mean lemon or lime?”


“Isn’t it normally ‘lemon or lime’? Like it’s not ‘breakfast and bed’ but rather ‘bed and breakfast’.”



“... lemon or lime?”

“Better, thank you.”


“Well, what?”

“Well what do you want in your glass?”

“What do you mean by what I want in my glass? I ordered a vodka water.”

“Yes and-”

“And I want a vodka water in my glass.”

“Sure, yes, gladly.”


“But we usually add a bit of citrus.”



“And you want to add some citrus to my glass?”


“Which is why you asked me about limes and lemons in such a weird way?”

“... yes.”


“So, Lucy, would you like a slice or lemon or a slice of lime with your vodka water?”

“Uhm, actually, do you have orange?”

Wednesday, December 27, 2023



Art by Gabby

"Pretty puppy, Papa!" Darla exclaimed, immediately rushing in to squeeze the poor thing to death as only a tot can. Her father caught her before she could do any harm.

"Calm now, please," her father implored. "he's fragile."

"Fragile?" Darla asked. Her interest in the answer subdued her squirming somewhat.

"Fragile. Delicate. Easily hurt. We have to be careful with him since he's still so little."

The words "Okay Papa!" preceded a jerk toward the box in which the poor pup had been placed. The puppy, for its part, darted around the box, excited by the excitement.

"Darla, you're going to be a big girl now and you have to take care of the puppy. This means we pet like this-" he pet her head gently, "-and no grabs or hard pats. Okay?"


"Do you understand?"

"I 'stand."

"Show me on my arm please."

Darla stroked her father's arm politely and gently. Her father nodded.

"Okay, let's say hello."

"Hello!" was more squeaked than said as Darla flew out of her father's arms and toward the dog. Keeping her promise, she stopped dead at the edge of the box and tentatively lowered her hand down into it.

"Let him sniff you first - that's how dogs say hello."

The pup snuffled around Darla's hand for a moment before taking a playful nibble.

"Oh!" Darla exclaimed in another squeak. "He bit me!"

"He's trying to play - are you okay?" Her father extended his hand to look at her injury.

She drew her hands into her chest and started giggling and wiggling her shoulders back and forth.

"What's up sweetie?"

"He wants to play!" Such excitement could not be contained.

"He sure does - why not give him some more gentle pets? Maybe he'll lick your fingers this time."

"Oh! Okay!"

Darla lowered her hand into the box again and carefully, carefully stroked the animal as it wormed around, excited to learn the rules of this new game.

"Eek!" Darla exclaimed after a few moments.

"Oh? Did he bite you again?"

"No! Dah-Dee!! He's licking me!"

Her father let out a chuckle of relief.

"He likes you! Do you want to pick him up and give him a little hug?"


Her father helped her pick up the creature and snuggle with it for a moment.

"So, what do we name him?" her father asked.

[Author's note - this is where I normally put some twist, but you get to choose your own adventure this time. Highlight your selected choice. Happy New Year!]

Boring: "Spot!"

Cute: "Brownie! 'Cause he nibbled me like I nibble brownies!"

Absurd: "Doctor Henry Kissinger."

Wednesday, December 20, 2023

Greater Than or Less Than?


Art by Gabe
"Greater than!"

"Less than."

"Greater than!" the bearded man in the plaid shirt punctuated his words by shoving the mustached man in actual flannel.

"Fuck you!" the second man exclaimed as he recovered his balance.

"Guys, guys, let's just chill," the bartender said, attempting to calm things down as best he could from behind the bar.

"Fuck off!" the two men said at the same time. The bartender responded by raising his hands to indicate he didn't want to cause more trouble. He brought his hand back down to the bar after a moment.

"You two know I can't have fights in here. Either you calm down or you take it outside."

"I'm calm," the mustached man said angrily. "It's this fucker who's mad."

"I'm not mad - I'm completely fucking sane!"

"Who said anything about sanity?" the mustached man asked.

"You said I was mad - crazy!"

"I meant you were pissed!"

"I'm not drunk either!"

"I don't care who's drunk, crazy, or angry," the barman said, sidestepping the wordplay issue. "There's to be no fighting in here - and that includes shoving, jostling, or other non-consensual contact. If you want to play rough, you have to leave."

"Sorry boss," the bearded man grumbled.

"I'm not - this guy's all fucked up." the mustached man said.

"What the hell are you two even arguing about anyway?" the bartender asked.

"He says there's greater enjoyment to be had from alcohol than from video games," the mustached man said, pointing at the bearded man. "And that's nuts."

"And he's--" the bearded man started before the bartender hollered over him.

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen! I don't care which brings you more pleasure, but you're both in my bar. If you keep this shit up, I'm going to make the alcohol stop flowing. Now will you both shut up?"

The men nodded and gave their assent - more into their beers than to the bartender. The bartender went back to the other customers.

"So what do you think," the bearded man whispered. "Are there more doors or wheels in the world?"

Wednesday, December 13, 2023

Dear Satan,


Art by Francis

Santa rode the hellhound ragged.

"Onward, beast!" he cried, kicking his heels into the creature. "Onward! Onward!"

The beast obeyed as best it could. Its supersonic speed made the pair look like a blur to anyone they passed.

It had been a cruel trick, but that's what comes of making deals with the devil. It seemed like a shortcut. It seemed like a good deal. Don't they always?

The problems started when the sleigh broke after dodging a particularly nasty bout of anti-aircraft fire. Santa and crew had managed to limp home and patch things up enough to finish the rounds, though Prancer and Dancer would take months to recover. The whole mishap caused a rift in the North Pole community.

A debate raged through January and into February as to what fundamental changes should be made to the sleigh and present delivery system. One major camp wanted to up-armor the thing and issue flak-jackets - at least for use through active war zones. The other major camp pushed for speed above all else - why worry about being hit if you can't get hit? Terms like "acceptable casualties" and "titanium bathtub" were bandied about. The cost, both in materiel and man-hours, was another sticking point - if there was a lucky strike or other issue, would any of this be worth the trouble?

It was into this fray another red-clad figure stepped. Satan, visiting the North Pole to belatedly pass along some mis-addressed mail, listened with interest. Attuned to strife, he quickly formulated a plan. An offer. It was simple enough: the reindeer would work for Satan for a time and Santa could ride a hellhound. It couldn't pull a sleigh, but it was faster and impervious to the weapons of man.

When asked why he wanted the reindeer, some words about worming into children's hearts were spoken, though they rang false. The issue at hand, however, forced Santa to make a decision. After much haggling and contract-writing, a bargain that ensured Satan would never harm the reindeer was struck. Provisos for the repair of the sleigh and other improvements to Santa's workshop were included. It was too good a deal to pass on - especially as it was only to last one Christmas. Or, at least, that's what Santa had thought.

The deal had originally been set to end at 11:59pm on New Year's Eve the next time New Year's Eve and Christmas Eve were on the same day of the week. The wording had been waved away as magical formality when first questioned - the to Eves were seven days apart and are always on the same day of the week (if Christmas Eve is a Thursday, New Year's Eve will also be on a Thursday).

At the last minute, however, Satan asked for a one day extension. He asked to change New Year's Eve to New Year's Day and Christmas Eve to Christmas Day. No one worried too much - after all the bargaining back and forth, what was another 24 hours?

As you may have guessed, not all was fine. While Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve are seven days apart, Christmas Day and New Year's Day are 359 days (360 days on leap years) apart. Barring manipulation like the switch from the Julian Calendar to the Gregorian Calendar, Santa had signed a permanent deal.

"Onward! Onward!" he cried again, pushing the beast to its limits. Every ounce of hate he had for himself for sentencing his reindeer to servitude to Satan came out in his treatment of the hellhound. Where once he was jolly with a belly full of jelly, he was now hateful with a heart full of spite.

The Devil, for his part, watched and laughed. He wondered what Vixen was thinking as Santa whipped him, seeing only his hellhound form.