Goodnight moon

Empty Cans liter the ground. Time slows down. Nothing positive comes of it.

Stereotypical Asian man stands on a toiret and licks it.

Batman Sues Batsignal: Demands Trademark Royalties.

two blue sheep frolic gaily. One eats grass as the other gets to work on producing future sheep.

Gown removed carelessly. Head, less so.

A horribly disturbing image that I'd prefer not to desscribe

As my head rested on the porcelain throne I regretted the late night tequila shots and gus burgers and wondered where I'd gone wrong in life

The priest at the funeral home asked if she had been a loving mother. The children all stared at each other. The silence spoke volumes.

When Gibson hit that homerun in the fall of eighty-eight, my old man had never been so happy. He hugged me for the first time. I was eleven.

Happily sobbing she held the boy, her memory of his violent conception falling away. She had learned to love him, this would be her revenge.

Tony was a snitch, so I wasn’t surprised when his torso turned up in the river. What did surprise me, though, was where they found his head.