The millionaire pushed another shell into the side of his shotgun and used the barrel to indicate the open meadow in front of us. “And now it is time to hunt… the most dangerous game.”
Me: “Like what, like a frisbee with razor blades on the side, or like… football but the ball is a grenade? Which game?”
Apparently I was supposed to be running, I dunno, they don’t make things clear here.
It’s Wednesday and we all know what that means! We collect the bloody iron spikes scattered along the road and once again mourn the escape of the Hammered Man who every week pulls itself free from its many restraints and attempts to rejoin the forest.
But there’s only one tree as big as you, eh, Hammered Man? Can’t hide at all in our meager wood. It takes a few days, but pretty soon you’ll be back in the road where we put you. Until next week, most likely.
Legislators have pushed forward a measure calling for all “little men in the garden” to stop “softly singing in the silver moonlight, calling to our bones, calling for them to come home.”
“Let’s get back to having a country where we wake up in the morning without finding our teeth in little rows on the window sill, lined up like they’re in a parade, like they were only stopped by the glass and otherwise they would have been done to the garden,” says Senator Finkle.
I put my last words on a cassette and rigged it into a loop so it could keep playing
cause I wasn’t sure when I was going to die
but it’s been running so long, the tape is flaking, there’s this hiss
My Knife is a Love Letter
Murder is a Greenhouse and You Are the Flowerbed
Black Cat’s Regret
All the Colors Are Black
What the Rabbit Saw in Hell
COME ON DOWN, it’s halfway to harvest and our show lot is OVERFLOWING with wicker men priced to MOVE
We’ve got towering ones, we’ve got ivy-covered ones… we’ve even got one made from IMPORTED SILK
it’s never too early to start stuffing sacrifices inside, but you don’t have to take MY word for it… tell ’em, John Barleycorn:
F̴҇͢E̵҇͜E̴͜͝D̴̕͢ Ţ̷̕H̶͢͞E҈̡͝ S҈̡͡O̴҇͜I̵̧͡L̷͢͡
We didn’t want to bother the aliens, so we peppered their planet with little translation drones designed to learn a single word of their language. Not a big burden, we thought, if a l’il bot asks you for one word, and we’d use AI compilers to build the translation engine later.
But all we got was the word “What?” over and over and over again.
Ever have such a good time with your bank robbing crew that when they set you in front of the safe, you just lean your head against its cold steel door and turn the wheel, but you’re not really listening to the tumblers click?
You’re just thinking about all the good times at the hideout, making plans, how fun it was to put masks on in the car, how you’re all going to be best friends forever?
Yeah.
First day in prison, you dig a deep pit, place spikes at the bottom, cover it with a tarp. They got leaves at the commissary you can buy on credit. Put the leaves on top of the tarp, makes it look natural.
Then when the tiger comes, it’ll fall right in and you can sleep at night. One night.
Day two, you’re back to having no trap. And that’s where my system, PRISON IS A SET OF TRAPS, available on a set of 6 VHS tapes of $19.99 ea., comes in.