« Previous Issue | Main | Next Issue »

May 17, 2005

Volume 1, Issue 5

Some people suffer for their art, but whatever you do, don't lose your head.

Today's theme is "a severed head."

Permalink · Comments (33)

Stacy: The Transporter

I drive too fast down the rain-slicked road, smears of street-lights flashing in my water-faceted windshield.

From the trunk I can hear the noise, over the sound of the tires on the wet road, Guns N' Roses in the CD player. Every thump reverberates through the car, creating knots of tension in my spine.

Thump, thump. It’s louder now, against the back of the rear seats. I glance wildly in the rearview, see nothing.

Why had I agreed to this? And why is so much damned noise coming from my car...when Rollo has the rest of the body in his??

Permalink · Comments (1)

The Eschatologist: Confessions

Old, bearded Bertilak could feel the weight of age bearing down as he stared into the roaring firepit, sparks twinkling in his wild eyes for the last time.

"Damned fool," he muttered, leaning on his Danish axe for support. He stroked his chin with a green-hued hand, running his fingers through whiskers that his wife, many years dead, had chided him as resembling a beaver.

He chuckled quietly as he recalled her quick wit and quicker tongue, knowing he'd be joining her soon. Despite his sins, this was no way, he mused, for a Knight to come to his end.

Permalink · Comments (3)

Laurence Simon - Don't Put Another Drachma In The Jukebox

Podcast of this storyWhat's with the singing box?

Well, remember the old story about Orpheus going to Hell to free his girlfriend?

He looks back - WHAM! Eurydice is back in Hell. A gang of women tear Orpheus apart, and his head falls into the stream, still singing.

Some chick puts the head in a box, sells it to a joint on the island, and it becomes the first jukebox.

Here it is. Just fifty bucks.

Problem is, it sings in Greek. It sounds so painful and sad, but beautiful. Too bad I don't know Greek.

Do you?

Oh well. Still sounds beautiful.

Permalink · Comments (1)

Michele: The Cat Came Back

Twice he brought mice. Bloody, ragged stumps of rodent left on the doorstep.

Once he brought a bird, a beautiful blue jay torn to shreds by angry claws.

The duck was probably the worst. Splayed out on the doormat, bleeding into the flowered “welcome,” feathers everywhere. Or was it was the rabbit, its body ripped open, entrails hanging?

Finally, tired of cleaning up blood, Jeff took the cat to the woods and left him there.

When the cat’s head appeared on his doorstep the next night, dripping fresh blood, Jeff knew he had a bigger problem than a killer cat.


Andy: More Than a Mouthful

I saw it on the news.

Some crazy ass woman chopped off her husband's dick and drove away with it. Cops caught her crying by the side of the road, but they didn’t find his dick.

I tell you what, my wife ever did a fool thing like that, she'd damn sure be sorry.

So anyway, I hear this scratching at the trailer door, figure it's Sam come back from his walk. Because a dog should be free, like the wolves, see.

He comes in, tail wagging, with a goddamn dick in his mouth.

I knew that dog was queer.

Permalink · Comments (1)

Ted: The really weird thing

The really weird thing was the head. Not the fact that it was missing, just the fact that there was no wound. It looked like the body had grown to adulthood without a head.

When we found the second one, I knew it could only be one thing--clones. These rich people gotta have their body parts, but they don't want their organ banks ever growing a soul so they make a tiny change at the second cell division and WHAMMO, no head.

I don't know what these guys do when they need eyes, but I hear Chinatown is very popular.