The Tremble

Misses Marble Crumble sat looking at her fingers, wondering which one would betray her next. They held still.

A young man with long hair passed, sat down behind her, headphones covering his ears. Her fingers trembled just a bit, but no one more than another. She sighed, and broke her concentration. Stared out the window. It had been a week since she had full spasms, and she desperately wanted to get in front of it, when it inevitably happened again.

Familiar streets passed by, the ghost-image of her worried face over top of them. She shook her head, opened her nylon and gold-painted bag, retrieving her lip gloss.

Re-applying was such an ingrained behavior, the act of doing it calmed her. The familiarity helped. She held her hand mirror in her left, drawing a meticulous, sparkling line with her right.

Right twitched.

Just a bit, not like before, not like the worst of it, but the sparkling line rose up in a jagged little arc above the corner of her lip. She replaced the lip gloss applier, screwing it shut shakily into the bottle, putting it back in her bag with a clatter; it seemed to hit everything else in there. She fumbled for a tissue, then paused, not knowing where to use it first.

The same words tell different ideas
Different ideas tell the same words
Words tell the same ideas different
Ideas tell words the different same
Different ideas tell tell different
Same same different ideas
Same same different same
Words words tell words

What’s that got to do with it

Unexpected Trek

I’ve been excavating old writings. This is the oldest one I’m willing to share at this point. Flash fiction that made it into my college literary journal Font circa 2006. Confirms my fascination with ignored spaces.

Every day after school, Danny Fitzwilliam would ride his bike home. He could have taken the bus, but he liked riding his bike because it made him feel connected to the journey. No grimy, impersonal windows to get between him and the outdoors; just the pure pleasure of being part of the world. Danny liked to watch the muggy suburban landscape pass him by. He liked to watch the different objects that made up suburbia, noticing the intricacies of each one; hedges, telephone poles, pinwheels, evenly spaced trees, sparkling clean sedans, flowerbeds, and mailboxes. Danny didn’t like mailboxes, and every time he saw one he would say, “Check,” to keep it at bay. Mailboxes could be vicious creatures, and you could never be too careful around them.

Danny liked to play ball, but he had no one to play with. One day after school, as Danny was walking down Oak Street, bouncing his big red ball in front of him, he happened upon a scrawny tabby cat, which meowed piteously. Grateful for a playmate, Danny threw the ball at the cat. The cat scampered away with a yowl.

The previous day, while Danny was riding his bike, he forgot to say, “check” to a mailbox, and it went postal and killed him. Afterwards, the previous paragraph never happened.

A Fishy Suprise

I’ve decided to publish my old fiction on my blog. Here is one of them.

I saw a man walking towards a pond the other day, swinging a headscarf, balancing on a tent pole. He was broad, lean, and full of beans. As he walked to and fro, pacing the water, he would call out to the fishes.

“Here fish! I’ve got a surprise for you!”

The fish were skeptical. All the surprises in the past had been fish hooks, or spears, or nets. Once or twice, it had been bits of bread, but the stilt man didn’t seem to have any.

The fish narrowed their eyes, and kept sucking plankton.

“Here fishes!” cried the man again, winking at the water, which was lost, since all the fish could see of the man through the aqua distortion was a wavy stained-glass image. “Here fishes! Come get your surprise!”

“Don’t bite, Phil,” A red fish said to an orange one, “It’s a trap, I can feel it.”

“Maybe this time it’s different. He seems nice enough.”

“Don’t do it. Just swim here and suck your plankton.”

“Aww, come on, aren’t you curious about what the surprise is?”

“I know what the surprise is, Phil. It’s not going to be good.”

“Yeah. Usually, yeah, but I think this time is different.”

“Phil, you’re talking crazy talk. He doesn’t have any bread, Phil. What’s he going to do if he doesn’t have bread? Eat you, that’s what.”

“But he’s on stilts, Murray! How could he catch me on stilts? Besides, it’s a surprise, part of the fun is not knowing.”

“This isn’t a game, Phil. This is life and death. Down here? Where it’s wet and there’s food? That’s life. And standing up there? Wobbling around? That’s death.”

“Oh, lighten up, Murray. I’m going!”

Phil, the orange fish, swamp up towards the surface, breaching the water in a mighty leap, tail still swimming through the sky.

He held his breath.

“There you are!” Screamed the man, teetering dangerously, then, in one swift motion, swept his hand towards the mid-air fish. Fingers brushed Phil’s face, then pulled away.

“Got your nose!” The man yelled, as Phil dropped back into the water.

“Phil, are you alright?” Said Murray, spitting plankton.

“He got my nose, Murray! You were right!”

“Phil, what are you talking about? We don’t have noses.”

But Phil was too busy mourning over his loss.

Back in the saddle writing my music comedy about The Traveling Wilburys Solving Crime novella. At the moment, it’s all about getting the first two chapters right. #amWriting

Double Brett

I entered a erotica fiction contest for the popular comedy podcast Double Threat, and I was lucky enough to have my submission given a superlative on the show. What follows is that submission. Content warning: lots of double threat in-jokes, and very rated X.

Double Brett: Most Mind Bending Story

“It’s still not right!” Brett yelled, spitting his chilli, then spilling the Tupperware on his lap in a blind anger. Immediately embarrassed, he looked around the podcast convention floor to see if anyone had noticed. Kevin Bartelt had. He was pointing and laughing.

“You look Photoshopped!” Kevin cackled, high-fiving Sean and Hayes, who, for that one moment, dropped the act.

“Shut up, Bartelt,” Brett yelled, “You couldn’t produce mucus, let alone a podcast!”

“You know what, Brett? Why don’t you go fuck yourself!”

“I would if I could!” Shouted Brett, and ran out of the room.

Hot tears ran down his cheeks. He was stressed out from running a podcast network, nobody had paid attention during his symposium on the art of transitions, and now this. To top it all off, he hadn’t been with his wife in weeks.

In a humiliated fog, Brett found himself in an empty studio the convention organizers set up to record away ad-reads.

“I just can’t take this tension!” He wailed.

“Maybe I can help,” said a deep, sultry voice behind him. Brett quickly turned, wiping at his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone else was here,” he managed, trying to make out who the tall, muscular man standing in the doorway was through the dim lighting.

“I knew you’d come here,” said the man, moving closer, gently closing the door behind him.

Brett felt like he should be scared, but there was something undeniably magnetic about the man. Honestly, Brett was horny, and this guy’s cut figure was doing it for him.

“Who are you?” Brett asked, his pulse quickening.

The stranger stepped into the light, and Brett gasped.

“I’m Brett,” said the man, smiling softly.

Brett was staring at a perfect replica of himself. Confused but still turned on, Brett tripped over his words.

“What? How?”

“The Crypt Keeper grants a wish to one pervert every year. This year, he chose yours.”

“I don’t understand,” said Brett, although he was starting to.

The other Brett cocked a luxurious eyebrow.

“You said you would fuck yourself if you could. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Yes, honestly that was what Brett had wanted, but it was different now that it was real. Brett had watched some porn, so he was familiar with masturbation, but could he literally fuck himself?

In that moment, Brett realized that, yes, he absolutely could. Brett nodded at his double, and the other Brett smiled seductively.

“It looks like you’re dirty. Let me clean you up.”

The other Brett knelt, licking the chilli off Brett’s crotch, then unzipping his pants with his teeth. Before anything more happened, Brett suddenly turned away, panting heavily.

“What is it?” Asked the other Brett, genuinely concerned, “Is something wrong?”

“No,” said Brett, “It’s never been more right, but it’s still just so…weird.”

The other Brett nodded, understanding perfectly. He leaned his chest against Brett’s back, pressing his gentiles against Brett’s butt cheeks.

“Would it help if I wore the Captain Crook costume?” Whispered the other Brett, knowing full well the answer.

Brett nodded.

“Yes, but just the head, and nothing else.”

The other Brett happily obliged; pirate on top, chiseled man-beast all the way down.

“It’s perfect,” Brett breathed. “All it’s missing, is a little magic. For my first trick, I’ll make your cock disappear,” said Brett, confirming his whiteness, and took the Captain’s full nine inches in his mouth, making satisfied slurping noises.

“You’re sound is off,” said the other Brett, “Here, let me adjust your mic.”

The other Brett rolled a condom over a Shure SM7B microphone.

“Be gentle,” Brett said, offering himself up. He made a surprised but satisfied squeak as the microphone popped inside him. Bracing against the console, Brett accidentally turned on the sound system, which was cued to Julie’s playlist.

“Diiiaaaaaaaarrrreeeeeeaaaaaaa!” Howled Frank Zappa from the speakers.

“I’ll turn that off,” said the other Brett.

“No,” commanded Brett, “Leave it on.”

Every noodling guitar run sent tingles all over his body, and in that moment, Brett had an epiphany.

“I know what’s missing from my chilli!” He cried.

Both Brett’s knew the answer, but Brett desperately wanted, no, needed, the other Brett to say it. Instinctively knowing this, the other Brett whispered the answer in the Captain Crook pirate accent.


Brett rubbed and glazed so hard, he felt like he was spilling an entire pot of chilli.

The other Brett instantly reverted to his true form, John Kassir.

“The curse is lifted! I’ve never felt this good with another man before, but if you think I’ll be on your show, you’re batty!” He squawked, and vanished.

A Hallmark Channel AI Christmas

Another piece I wrote in collaboration with an A.I., this time, trying to create the most stereotypical Hallmark movie plot possible. I failed.

You are a young woman coming home from the city. You are trapped in the North Pole with Santa and his elves. He tries to teach you the meaning of Christmas.

“Santa Claus, give me your heart!” he says. “Give me your love! Give me everything you have!”

But what can you do? You are powerless against this man who has taken over the world.

> You say “Christmas is so old fashioned. We don’t have time for that kind of nonsense in the big city. “

“Christmas is so old fashioned,” you say. “We don’t have time for that kind of nonsense in the big city.”

He looks at you as if he expected you to disagree, but instead you just shake your head.

> You pour a bucket of water on Santa’s feet, wait until it freezes, then kick him over with a big city laugh.

You pull out a flash bulb to take a picture of him, and flash it at him. You get the picture, but you also get a little too much water! He slips, and falls on the ground. The elves come out of their chimney.

> You say “Come eleven! Join me and the revolution ! Throw off your shackles! Down with Santa!”

“Come one! Come all!” you shout, “Join the revolution!” You point out the broken chimney, and the elves start come running out of their houses. “We need to teach these elitists a lesson!” you say. Mr.

> You call your country ex boyfriend from when you was a teenager, fight through your embarrassment, and ask if he could pick you up from the North Pole.

Mr. Scrooge’s face turns red from anger, and you begin sputtering an apology–but he speaks first.

> You say “I never should have dated you Scrooge! I feel like an idiot for going out with you for a whole year. You famously suck. “

Mr. Scrooge’s face turns red from anger, and you begin sputtering an apology–but he speaks first.

> You say “Spit it out Scrooge. Just say it!”

“I don’t want your apology. You’ve insulted me,” he says. “You are no’ my employee, you are no’ my… whatever the hell you are. Go back to the city. Go back to your petty revolution.

> You throw your phone into the snow in anger, rallying the elves to kick Santa’s ass.

“Go ahead, you can make me angry enough to fight. But not enough to laugh right now. Not this year.” You join the elves in laughing. You also join in when the other shoppers start taunting him as well.

> You say “I meant to say, santa, another reason you should be out of business is that you don’t even make the toys yourself anymore! You have a giant store in the North Pole! It’s a k mart. Ugh. “

Mr. Scrooge’s face turns red from anger, and you begin sputtering an apology–but he speaks first. “I don’t want your apology. You’ve insulted me,” he says.

> You say “Butt out of this Scrooge, this doesn’t concern you, as you made crystal clear. I thought I hung up on you. “

Mr. Scrooge’s face turns red from anger, and you begin sputtering an apology–but he speaks first. “I don’t want your apology. You’ve insulted me,” he says. You look at him and grunt. “Fine, I’m done.” Scrooge realizes the error of his ways and tries to win me back. He coughs and sputters a bit. “I’m sorry. I just… want what’s best for the world. I’m doing something about it.” You notice he leaves out what that is, but fortunately I fill in the blanks.

> You say “You want to make the world better by picking me up from the North Pole and ending this Santa business once and for all. “

“That would be correct,” he says. The elves cheer, and you stand up to hug him. “Seriously though, I want to make sure we’re on the same page. What is this plan you have again?

> You say “The plan is you come to the North Pole and drive me and the elves home. “

“Correct! My jet packs are ready, and I’ll fly us out of there!” You hug him again and the elves start making snowy Christmas decorations for your home. Mr. Scrooge hands you a large bag, which you open. It’s full of presents.

> You open a present.

You open the wrapping paper to reveal an elegant, pink, necklessl necklace. You put it on and smile. The gift-giver must have great taste.

> You say “I’m so happy. Scrooge you saved my heart and you saved Christmas by ending Santa. “

“I didn’t end him, you did by laughing. The spirit of Christmas lives on each time someone laughs.” You laugh a bit, and Scrooge smiles. “That’s why I’m giving the bag of presents to you,” he says. “You saved Christmas.”

Zoovac's Dream Part 3

Too much A.I. generated story based on characters from Paper Computer Games:

You are Balzac Globotron, an alien in space. You are looking for the Trance Gem, a crystal of incredible power. You beam onto the bridge of a derelict space ship, and notice movement beyond the rusted control panels. “We’re being hailed,” you say into your comlink. “I’m Balzac Globotron.” The voice is familiar, but not unpleasant: it’s that of a human female, with a British accent.

> “Hello Bethany, so nice of you to drop by. “

“Bethany?” you reply. “What do you want? I don’t think we have any business here.” She smiles at you, and then points out a panel on the wall behind her.

> “No, you wouldn’t….you wouldn’t push that button….would you?”

“Oh no! No, no, no!” she says. “It’s just me, my husband and our son. We were going to visit some friends back home.”

> “Oh, thank God. Don’t scare me like that, Bethany. Is this derelict space ship your home, or are you just on your way there?”

> “Okay, well do you know anything about where the Trance Gem might be?”

“Well, yes, actually. It’s deep within the bowels of this vessel. The captain has been keeping it hidden from all others since he was first commissioned as a starship commander.”

> “That rat! Very well, I will journey to the depths of this vessel and retrieve the gem. Many thanks for your assistance, Bethany. “

You beam down to the lower levels of the ship, which look more like a prison than a place of exploration. There are several large metal doors leading off to various parts of the ship, but none open up to a room containing the gem.

> Scan the air ducts for energy signals.

You find nothing, so you begin scanning the air ducts for energy signatures. You feel around, trying to sense if there is something buried under the floor or above you somewhere. Nothing comes through.

> Hypnotize myself into a trace to sense where the Trance Gem is.

You turn yourself into a trace, and send out a signal to try to sense where the gem might be. You can only detect energy readings near the surface of the ship, but you are confident that you have found its location. “Good job, Balzac,” says Bethany.

> “Thanks Bethany” I say, and move to the location of the gem.

You move to the spot where you sensed the energy signature, and begin searching for it again. This time, however, you find nothing. You continue searching until you reach another door at the end of a corridor. “There must be another way out of here,”

> “Wait, I’m SURE the trance gem was here. Bethany, did you steal the Trance Gem?”

“I didn’t steal it. I was just following orders when I sent out the signal.” “Then why isn’t there a trace coming from anywhere else on this ship?” “The tracker system is offline. The ship itself is still working fine, though.”

> “Ghhha! Then who took the Gem? Where is it?”

“It’s in the cargo hold, along with other valuable items. I don’t think anyone would want it, though.” “What does it mean if someone doesn’t want it?” Bethany smiles.

> “Too coy, Bethany, too coy,” I say as I move to the cargo deck.

You move to the cargo deck, and search for the gem. Again, you find no trace of it. “Maybe I should get rid of it now.” “No, not yet. We need to keep it safe until we can track down whoever stole it.

> Scan for other life signs on the ship.

You move to the upper decks, and scan for any life forms. You find nothing, so you return to the area where you felt the energy signature. “Hmm… what a strange sensation…” I say as I move back towards my previous position.

> The sensation feel like electricity moving up and down my orbs. It must be a clue.

You move back towards your original position, and feel a sudden tingling sensation. You move your hands over them, feeling they are glowing slightly red hot. “That’s a good one!” I say as I take my hands away. “Now I know where the gem is.”

> “Excellent!” I say and move to the location of the gem.

You move to the location of the gem, and begin looking around for traces of it. You find none, so you head back to Bethany. “Where is it?” she asks. “In the cargo hold.” “How do I open that thing?” she asks.

> “Press the button behind you, Bethany. Don’t argue! It’s our only hope of ever getting that Gem now.”

She presses the button behind her, and opens the hatch. Inside, you see a large metal box. The lid closes shut, sealing off the cargo bay. “Well done,” I say as I step inside myself. “We’re all set to go.”

> I open the lid, finding the gem inside.

You press the lid open, and find yourself staring into a bright light. A beam of pure white light shoots out from within the box, hitting you directly in the chest. Your body goes limp instantly, and you fall backwards onto the floor.

> I feel Mystikal power surge through me. I wake up hours later from my trance, in a Forrest.

Your eyes snap open, and you look around at the room. You find yourself lying on a bed, surrounded by green grass and trees. There is also a small table with several bottles of liquid sitting next to each other.

> Read the labels on the bottles.

You turn your head, and notice a bottle labeled ‘Water’ next to another labelled ‘Food’. You pick up the water bottle, and drink some of it.

> Discover my coordinates

You sit up, and check your surroundings. You see a window, which shows a view of the outside world. You also notice that you are standing on an island, with a few buildings nearby.

> Walk to the buildings.

You stand up, and walk to the nearest building. As you approach, you realize that there is no one here. You walk further in, and finally find a door with a lock. Opening it reveals a small hallway leading away from the main part of the ship.

> Walk to the end of the hallway.

You walk down the hallway, and eventually reach a dead end. You decide not to explore this area any further.

> Go back to the bed and drink the bottle of food.

You return to the bed, and start drinking the bottle of food. After a while, you begin feeling slightly hungry again. You continue eating until you have finished it off completely. Afterwards, you lie down on the bed once more, and wait for Mystikal to take over.

> Let Mystikal take over, bringing me back to the derelict ship and Bethany.

You lie down on the bed once more, and wait for Mystikal to take over. The next day comes quickly enough, as you awake to find Mystikal standing before you.

> Let Mystikal take over, bringing me back to the derelict ship and Bethany with a jolt.

You lay down on the bed once more, and wait for Mystikal to take over. The next day comes quickly enough, as you awaken to find Mystikal standing before you.

> “Mystikal, you must be the power hidden in the trance gem, personified. “

You lay down on the bed once more, and wait for Mystikal to take over. The next day comes quickly enough, as you wake up to find Mystikal standing before you.

> “Mystikal - you must be the power of the trance gem personified. “

You lay down on the bed once more, and wait for Mystikal to take over. The next day comes quickly enough, as you wake up to find Mystikal standing before you. Your mind begins to wander into strange places…

> Wander off, fully enveloped in the trace, lost for all eternity.

You lay down on the bed once more, and wait for Mystikal to take over. The next day comes quickly enough, as you wake up to find Mystikal standing before you. You think about what just happened.

Generated via AI Dungeon.

Zoovac's Dream Part 2

More A.I. generated story based on characters from Paper Computer Games:

You are Mortimer Von Fog Whistle, a ghost in your mansion. You are on a quest to scare off the family that has moved into your mansion, the Taddles. You move through the wall into the entrance hall. “Get out!” you shout at the ghosts. “I’m not afraid of you! I’m going to scare them all away with my voice!” A few ghosts laugh and nod in agreement, but most just walk past you.

> “Why won’t these other ghosts get out of my mansion?”

“Why won’t these other ghosts get out of my mansion?” you ask. The ghosts look at each other for a moment before one says “Because they’re scared.” The others chuckle and continue walking. You sigh and turn around to leave, but then suddenly remember something.

> Remember that this is my mansion and that they’re the ones who should leave.

You quickly stop yourself from leaving. “They’re the ones who should leave,” you say to yourself. Suddenly, the door opens up and two figures enter your house. They both have long white hair and wear clothing similar to yours except theirs is red instead of black.

> “Who dares enter my ghostly abode?” I say to the white haired people.

“Who dares enter my ghostly abode?” you ask. “We do,” they reply. “Then why are you here? Why did you come to our home?” “To see if we were real or not.”

> “Well? Are you real, then? I certainly am. I’m dead, but I’m real. Are you?”

“Yes, we are real.” “Good. Then I’ll be gone now.” You wave goodbye as the two figures leave your house. You hear them go back upstairs and close the door behind them.

> “Wait, they hoodwinked me! They looked like they were leaving, and then they went upstairs and closed to door! What gives?”

“What give?” you ask. “It’s obvious that they were trying to trick me into letting them in by pretending to leave when they actually came down.” You shake your head. “No way. Those things would never do such a thing.

> Consult with my nemesis, Harold Farzikan the skeleton.

You sit down in front of your fireplace and begin to think about what you want to say. You know it’s stupid, but you need to vent. Harold Farzikan the skeleton stands over by his bed. He looks at you and frowns.

> Consult with the skeleton in the basement, my nemesis Harold Farzikan.

You stand up and walk towards Harold Farzikan the skeleton. You open your mouth to speak, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you back. “Don’t talk to me,” he says sternly. “Just shut up.”

> “You shut up you crusty bastard. Who were those white haired people who came in? What do you know about this?”

“Those were the Taddles,” he replies. “They live in this house too, so they must know everything there is to know about ghosts.” You raise an eyebrow. “So what does that mean?” He shrugs.

> “YOU shut up you crusty bastard! Who were those white haired people who came in? What do you know about this?”

“I don’t know anything about them,” he admits. “But I do know everything about ghosts.” You raise an eyebrow again. “Anything?” He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

> Ghost fart on Harold.

The next day, you find out that Harold Farzikan the skeleton has been lying to you all along. The Taddles are just ordinary folks who happen to own a restaurant called the Ghost House. It was their idea to put ghosts in the place after all.

> “What? I’m here because of the Taddles???? What the gadzooks!!! And who were those white haired people?!?! Also, did I fart?”

“Yeah, you did,” he says. “And I also know nothing about the white haired people.” You sigh and look around for something else to complain about. There isn’t much, though, since you’re pretty sure that you’ve already pissed off everyone in this town.

Generated via AI Dungeon.

Zoovac''s Dream: Part 1

A.I. generated story based on characters from Paper Computer Games:

You are zoovac, a robotic clown in a stick, on earth. You are trying to take down the company, an evil corporation bent on world domination. You enter the back door of the company research laboratory searching for the rich kid. The kid is nowhere to be found. The only thing you find is a dead body lying next to a pile of papers and other junk. The kid was supposed to meet you at this spot, but he never showed up. He must have been killed by some kind of accident or something!

> “The rich kid was my informant! Now I can’t count on his help. I’ll have to look around for clues for the whereabouts of The Shadow. “

You don’t know what to do now. You could go back home and tell your family that you were attacked by a monster while looking for The Shadow, but they might not believe you since it happened so long ago.

> Search the room for footprints

You walk over to the desk where you saw the boy sitting. There are no prints here, but there are several empty bottles near it. You think maybe he drank from them before getting killed? Maybe he left behind a bottle opener as well?

> Sniff the bottles to see if they are poison.

You open one of the bottles and sniff it. It smells like alcohol, but nothing else. You close it again and put it away. You are going to need more booze when you try to track down The Shadow.

> Look for full bottles of alcohol

You open another bottle and sniff it. It smells like alcohol, but nothing else. You close it again and put it away. You are going to need more booze when you try to track down The Shadow.

> Take the bottle of alcohol

You take the bottle of alcohol and drink half of it. That should get you drunk enough to pass out until you can find something that will wake you up later.

> Wake myself up with some Pennzoil

You start to feel sleepy and decide to wake yourself up with some Pennzoil. You grab a bottle of the stuff and pour a little into your hand. Then you throw the rest of it out the window, hoping that someone will catch it.

> Look out the window and see if anyone caught the oil

You look out the window and see if anyone has seen the oil, but there isn’t anything out here except trees and rocks. So you give up on finding it.

> Start searching for the rich kids body.

You decide to search for the rich kid’s body since you want to make sure that he wasn’t killed by accident. You head over to the lab where you first met him and check all the rooms. No sign of him though.

> Mix chemicals in the lab to make a seeking potion.

You mix some chemicals together in the lab and wait for a few hours. You then put the concoction into a vial and leave it outside in the woods. When night comes, you return to your house to let it cure itself.

> Plug myself into the internet and do a search for the rich kid

You plug yourself into the internet and do a search for the rich kid. Nothing comes up. You wonder what happened to him, so you go back inside your house and check his room. He is gone! Well at least you know now that he was murdered by The Shadow…

> “Of course! It’s perfectly logical. I can’t find any trace of the rich kid and he’s not in the room I keep for him at my house, so 2 + 2 = 4, he was murdered by The Shadow. Simple. Now I just need to find The Shadow and avenge the rich kids death. “

You plug yourself into the internet and do a search for The Shadow. Nothing comes up either. You wonder what happened to him, so you go back inside your house and check his room again. This time he’s still there!

> “Oh snap! Rich kid where were you?”

You plug yourself into the internet and do a search for The Shadow. Nothing comes up either. You wonder what happened to him, so you go back inside your house and check his room again. This time he’s nowhere to be found!

> “God damn it”

You plug yourself into the internet and do a search for The Shadow. Nothing comes up either. You wonder what happened to him, so you go back inside your house and check his room again. This time he’s still there!

> Ask the rich kid where the shadow is.

You plug yourself into the internet and do a search for The Shadow. Nothing comes up either. You wonder what happened to him, so you go back inside your house and check his room again. This time he’s nowhere to be found!

> Leave my creepy glitched out house

You leave the mansion with your new found knowledge of how murder works.

> Use my knowledge of murder to track down the shadow.

You use your newfound knowledge of murder to track down the shadow. You find that he lives in a mansion called The Shadow Manor, which is located deep underground. You enter the basement and look around until you see a door on the left side of the stairs leading to an elevator.

> Roll over the the elevator and press the button for the bottom floor.

You roll over the elevator and press the button for the bottom floor. You get off at level 1 and walk through a small tunnel to reach level 2. There are no shadows here though, so you head back upstairs to find out who killed Rich Kid?

> Ask the janitor who killed the rich kid.

You ask the janitor who killed Rich Kid. He tells you that he didn’t kill him, but rather someone else did. He says that it was a guy named Mr. X, who is also in charge of security at The Shadow Manor. You follow this up by asking if Mr.

> Go to Mr. X’s office.

You go to Mr. X’s office and knock on the door. No answer, so you open it up and try to peek inside, but there isn’t much space inside since all the furniture has been moved from previous tenants.

> Knock down the door with my clown head.

You knock down the door with your clown head. A loud noise causes you to drop your weapon and fall backwards onto the ground. You hear a voice call out “Whoa! Whoa! What the fuck are you doing?”

> Knock down the door with my clown head.

You knock down the door with your clown head. A loud noise causes you to drop your weapon and fall backwards onto the ground. You hear a voice call out “Whoa! Whoa! What the fuck are you doing?”

> “I’m arresting you, Mr. X, for the murder of the rich kid!”

You say “I’m arresting you, Mr. X, for the murder of the rich kid!” The man looks at you strangely as if he doesn’t understand what you’re saying and then suddenly grabs your neck and throws you against a wall.

> Zap him with my electric tool belt.

You zap him with your electric tool belt. He screams and falls backward, but not before grabbing his knife and stabbing himself in the stomach. His blood splatters all over you.

> “I learned something else about murder. “

You say “I learned something else about murder. “. Mr. X turns into a bloody mess and dies while you stand outside looking at him like an idiot.

> “The rich kid is avenged. God, I’m stupid.”

You say “The rich kid is avenged. God, I’m stupid.” You leave the Shadow Manor and head home.

Generated via AI Dungeon.

Starry Mustard House

A sepia tonned illustration of a western style house along a desert, with cactus and desert grass in the forground. It is AI generated.

I won’t lie: this is the darkest, horniest piece of A.I. assisted fiction I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen very little. It does have a happy ending, however.

Some background. Starry Mustard House is a pre-existing character who takes over other people’s porn sets. I tried to make that his primary motivation throughout, which, granted is starting at 11, but man, does it go to 12.

Plain text is the AI, bold with > is me. This is the story we wrote.

You are starry mustard house in the New England highway. You are looking for a porn set to take over. You see a motel up ahead. “I’ll be there soon,” you say, “I’ll be there soon.”

> Run towards the motel.

The next day you arrive at the Motel 6 and find that it is indeed closed, but then it opens again at 2:00 P -

> Sleep in the bushes until 2:00 P -

You get your bags and walk to the edge of the woods, where you lie down on a nearby rock and wait for nightfall. It is not long before you hear voices coming from behind you, and you hear one of them calling your name.

> Jump out at the voices and yell my own name.

“Hey, who’s that?” a voice calls back. “Who’s that?” another voice asks, this time closer to your ear.

> “It’s me, starry mustard house!”

“It’s me, it is! I’m the one you’re looking for, you know! I’m the guy with the funny face!” you shout. The two men turn to look in your direction. They are both wearing ski masks and holding shotguns.

A AI generated portrait of a fictional character named 'Starry Mustard House', a middle-aged white man. He should appear overweight, with a noticeable balding pat. There are camera lights in the background.

> “Take your pants off, you know how porns go”

You begin to scream obscenities and demand to be let out of this situation. The men do as they’re told, but instead of cuffing you they just handcuff you to a tree. They then begin searching through your bags.

> Trigger my spring loaded dildo in my bag.

Your hands are cuffed to the tree, but you still have the dildo in your handbag. It is a spring loaded device that shoots a jet of water when you squeeze the trigger.

> “Just take my dildo and let’s get on with it. This is a starry mustard house production.”

The two men look at each other and laugh, and the man with the shotgun takes the dildo from you and tosses it into the bushes.

> “Don’t you know who I am?”

They both laugh again, and this time the man with the shotgun shoots you in the head. As you fall to the ground, you shout out as loud as you can, but all that comes out is a muffled groan. Then they shoot you again in the head.

> Rise as a porn producer ghost and haunt their dicks.

You rise as a porn producer ghost, haunting their dead bodies. Soon after, a new generation of porn stars are born.

AI genrated portrait of a fictional character named 'Starry Mustard House', a middle-aged white man. He should appear gross, overweight, sweaty. The image is in the style of an old west wanted poster for some reason, and there's drawings of cameras shit around him.

> Wait until the porn stars start filming.

You wait until the first generation of porn stars start filming, then you sneak away to make a living for yourself. Unfortunately, this does not happen immediately. Instead, it takes several years before the industry starts to boom again.

> During the boom, jump out from behind the boom and yell at the first generation of porn stars that this is my production.

You wait patiently for years, but it takes several more years before you finally get to meet them. It is at this point that you finally get to tell them what you want to tell them. “I’m sorry for your loss.

> “Each and everyone of you tonight lost their virginity at some point, and for that I’m truly sorry. Mustard sorry. “

They all stare at you in shock, and then burst into laughter, but it doesn’t stop there, it only gets worse…

> “Hey, I’m starry mustard house, this is my ghost production! You can’t laugh at me!”

You continue to yell at them until one of them finally steps forward to help you. He looks like he’s about to cry too, but he’s too strong for that.

> Thank the strong porn star, and make him a mustard star.

He accepts your gift and gives you a kiss on the cheek. He says he’s glad to have helped you out, but he’s not sure if he can keep his job anymore since everyone thinks you’re a ghost now.

> “I am a ghost! I was shot years ago! Now everyone quit fucking around and fuck!”

He looks like he’s about to cry too. He tells you that maybe you should just leave him alone since it’s getting really bad out there in the world. You shake your head and walk away.

> Go find my killers.

The next few days are a blur of running through the streets and avoiding the police, but eventually you manage to find your way back home. When you arrive back home, you see that your house has been completely trashed by the police and the media.

> “Noooooooo! The police should be helping me, not trashing my mustard house. And the media? I am the media! This is a starry mustard house production sob

Your words cause a riot in the streets of your town. The cops are arrested and the media is forced to apologize. Everyone is happy again.

> “Yes! To celebrate, everyone start making porno.”

You are now a celebrity in your own town. People come up to you and ask you to do things, like perform in movies or do a talk show.

> Do a talk show naked.

The first time you do this, you get a lot of negative feedback from the people in the audience, but eventually they accept it as normal. Soon after that, you have to move to bigger venues so that the people can still see you naked.

> Play Carnegie hall naked.

You decide to play Carnegie Hall naked. This causes even more controversy, but eventually the concert goes off without any problems. People seem to enjoy it. It’s only when you play the same concert at the same time in different cities that you start getting complaints.

> “Ah shit, they know I’m a ghost!”

You realize that this is all coming true, and you’re going to have to get out of this town before it’s too late.

> Go out on the run.

You decide to leave this town and go live in another one, which is actually easier than you thought it would be. It’s actually pretty easy to live as a ghost, and it’s even easier to live as an actress.

> Become a woman ghost porn actress.

You decide to become a woman ghost porn actress, and you soon become very popular with the men who watch your movies and read your reviews on the internet.

> During filming of one of my movies, with a man inside me, turn back into starry mustard house and yell that this is my production.

After you finish filming, you turn around and yell at the camera: “This is my production!” The movie does well, and you get lots of positive comments on your review. Soon after that, you have to move to bigger venues so that the people can still see you nude.

> Perform my porn at Carnegie hall.

After performing your movie at Carnegie Hall, you realize that the whole world knows about your talent and your acting ability. People are always asking for more of you, but you don’t really want it because it’s not what you want to be known for anymore.

> “Who the fuck am I if I don’t want to be known for porno????”

You suddenly remember the last time someone said something like this. It was when someone told everyone about how your father died. Your father was a poor man who died of a heart attack when he was just twenty years old.

> Reach out to my ghost father, starry ketchup house.

You reach out to your ghost father and ask him if he wants anything from the starry mustard house. He says no, but he tells you he wants something else from the kitchen.

> “What do you want from the kitchen, pop? Grape juice? Mayonnaise? My spring loaded dildo?”

Your dad doesn’t answer you, but you hear a loud noise in the kitchen. A loud noise that sounds like a gunshot. Your dad is dead! And now, you have to deal with the aftermath of his death!

> “They killed my ghost dad again! I’ll haunt all your dicks you bastards!”

You start screaming at the top of your lungs. Everyone in the room hears you, and they all run out of the room. Then, you start running around the room, screaming obscenities at everyone. The police arrive shortly after, and they take you away to jail.

> Film a hot ghost jail porn.

You film a hot jail scene with a hot naked girl. She looks so sexy in her prison outfit that it makes the cops think that she’s going to be doing some serious crime. They take her away to jail. The next day, the cops come back to arrest you for murder.

> “Yeah that’s right, I killed him. I murdered them both in cold blood. Why? Because he wouldn’t take off his pants and fuck like a starry mustard house production should go! Instead they killed me and my father.”

You tell the cops that you shot them both in cold blood. The cops are shocked by this revelation, and ask you why you did it.

> “I did it because they wouldn’t get naked and because they murdered my dad and me.”

You explain to the police why you did it. They are even more shocked by this revelation, and ask you why you didn’t just kill yourself. Then, the cop asks if there is anything else that could be used against them.

> “Yeah, there’s something else that could be used against you; you trashed my mustard house, along with the media!”

The cop is still very surprised by this revelation, and asks you what the hell you’re talking about. You explain to the cop what happened to your mustard house, and how the media reported on it.

> “Now take off your pants, officer, and start fucking the lieutenant. This is a starry mustard house production!”

You tell the cop to take off your pants, and then you pull out a spring loaded dildo and put it in his ass. The cop is in shock at this revelation, but takes it as a challenge. He starts fucking the lieutenant instead.

> I cum happy.

The cop cums hard as he gets fucked by the lieutenant. He then proceeds to fuck you while he cums. It is a very exciting climax for all of us.

Generated via AI Dungeon.

Detect This

I’ve been writing(ish?) stories via, a ML algorithm trained on text adventure games. The first was a fantasy, and this one is a detective story. It gets weird.

You are Zorro, a detective living in Chicago. You have a pistol and a police badge. You enter the forest where you believe the criminal you’re searching for fled to. Suddenly , you hear a gunshot.

“What was that?” you ask.

“A hunter shot another hunter,” says the man who is now lying on the ground. “The other hunter was killed.”

> “Who shot you good man?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’m going to find out,” replies the man.

“Goodbye then,” you reply.

You walk through the woods and come across a small cabin. Inside it is a woman with long brown hair and wearing a blue dress.

> “Hello madam, did you perchance see a man shoot another man just now?”

“No, but I saw someone else come here dressed like this,” she replies.

“Who was he?”

“He’s a stranger to me, but I think he’s your friend Jack.”

“And what do you want of him?

> “Please tell me what you want of Jack”

“Well, I want him to come back here with me so we can talk about something important.”

“Is there anything important?”

“Yes, I need him to help me get rid of my husband.”

“Your husband?

> “Is your husband the killer?”

“No, not at all, he’s just a neighbor who has been harassing me lately.”

“Oh, well I’ll be glad to help you, but I must warn you, if you kill him, I will never forgive you.”

“Why should I trust you?”

> Flash her my badge

“Look, I’ve got nothing against you, but I’ve heard bad things about you from some people. Please, please, let me go home with you, I promise I won’t hurt you.

> “Alright you can come along, but I’m warning you, things could get rough. “

She smiles and nods. She takes one look at you and knows she wants to go home with you. She runs inside the house and locks herself in the bathroom. The door opens up and you run outside.

“Come on let’s go!” you shout.

> Follow the sound of the gunshot.

You follow the noise of the gunshot. It sounds like it came from the direction of the cabin. You follow the sound of the gunshot and soon arrive at the cabin. There is no sign of anyone inside.

You walk into the cabin and find the woman sitting on the floor crying.

> “Why are you crying?”

“Because I love you, but I’m afraid that you might hate me after what happened.”

“Will you ever forgive me?”

“Of course I will, but I still feel guilty about what happened.

> “What happened?”

> Carry the woman out of the cabin

You put the woman down and take her hand.

“I’m sorry for what happened, I wish I had done more to stop you from killing him.”

“Thank you, I don’t know why I didn’t see it then, but now I do.

> Cook some pasta

“Can I have some water?”

“Sure, just sit over there by the fire.”

You head over to the stove and start cooking some pasta.

“So how did your day go?”

“It went fine, thanks for asking.

> Serve her a bowl of pasta

The woman looks at the bowl of pasta in front of her and starts eating.

“Thanks, I really appreciate this.”

“Don’t mention it, I was just happy to eat something nice for once.”

> Tell her my long and boring backstory

“Okay, so where were you born?”

“I was born in a small town called New Friesland. My family owned a general store there until they moved to a new location when I was young.”

“Where does your father work?

> “My father works as the top Chicago crime boss, Whitey Bulger, and I’m a detective. Thanksgivings are awkward. “

“That’s not very interesting, can we talk about something else?”

“Well yes, but I’m having trouble concentrating.”

“Alright, well I guess I should get back to my story.”

> “Fair enough. Why did you murder your husband?”

“He was an asshole. He cheated on me with another woman and he wouldn’t let me see my daughter. That’s all I want to say on the subject.”

“How old are you?”


“Do you have any siblings?”

> Search outside for footprints

“There aren’t any outside.”

“Why not?”

“They’re probably playing hide and seek or something.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, because if they are, I won’t be able to find them again.”


> Sniff the dirt

“Hmm, smells like someone’s been here before.”

“What do you mean?”

“I smell their scent.”


“Yeah, I’ve smelled it before.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe I am one of those people?”

> Taste the moss

“This is weird, I think I’m tasting something poisonous.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it, you’ll get used to it.”

“But…but I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast!

> Fart loudly and wave my hand in front of my noae


“Hahaha, yeah right.”

“Oh come on, you know what I mean.”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

“Fine, I’m sorry.

Generated via AI Dungeon.

Chris the Wizard

I’ve been writing(ish?) fiction via the fantastic, which is a machine learning algorithm trained on text adventure games.

You are Chris, a wizard living in the kingdom of Larion. You have a staff and a spellbook. You finish your long journey and finally arrive at the ruin you’ve been looking for. You look around and see that it’s not much different than when you left it, but then you remember what happened to the place.

The last time you were here, you found a small room with an old man who was talking to himself.

> Go find the room with the old man

You walk through the ruins, until you reach the door. It is locked, so you try another door on the other side of the building. This one leads into a large garden. The plants seem healthy, as if they haven’t had any trouble in years.

> “I am here to trouble you, plants”

You say this as a friendly greeting, which makes the plants smile. They all begin to follow you, and soon you are surrounded by them.

They start to talk about their lives, how they came to be here, and how they would like to stay.

> Cast a magic flower spell on the plants

You quickly cast a spell on the plants, making them all grow very fast. They all run away from you, and even though you can sense them, you don’t want to chase after them.

It takes awhile, but eventually you catch up to them.

> Guide the plants to the old man talking to himself

You lead the plants to the old man, who looks surprised to see you. He tells you he doesn’t know where you are going, but he will help you. He explains that he has lived here for many years, and knows every corner of the house.

> “I have sought you for many years, but I only just remembered you existed, old man. Tell me where to find the treasure of this house”

You ask the old man where the treasure is, and he says that it is hidden under the floorboards of the basement. He shows you how to get there, and points out some of the secret passages.

> Go to the basement, taking the plants and the old man with me like the magic piper I am

You follow the old man, who leads you down several dark corridors. Eventually you come across a large room filled with bookshelves. There is also a table with three chairs, and a bookcase behind it. The old man sits in the chair closest to the bookcase, reading a book.

> Write a book about how the old man is actually a weasel in a trench coat.

You write a book about how the old man is really a weasel in a trench coat. You explain that he is trying to hide something, and that you need to find him before he does.

> “This is getting pretty existential, old man. “

You stop writing and turn to the old man. He seems disappointed, but continues to read his book.

> What book is he reading?

You look at the old man, and realize that he is reading a book called “The Art of Seduction”. You pick it up and flip through it.

> Are there nudity pictures?

You turn the page and find a picture of a naked woman. She appears to be wearing a dress, but she’s not quite right. Her breasts aren’t big enough, her legs aren’t long enough, and her face isn’t completely covered.

> Weird

You turn the page again, and find another picture of a nude woman. This one is much better. It’s a full frontal shot of a beautiful young woman. Her eyes are closed, her mouth is slightly agape, and her body is perfectly proportioned.

> Jesus alright I’m sorry I took us down this path

You turn the page again, and find yet another picture of a nude woman. This time, she’s lying on a bed, and her legs are spread wide apart. She’s fully dressed, but her legs are still exposed.

> Okay. I look under the floor boards

You search under the floor boards for anything that might help you find the treasure. You find nothing, so you continue your search.

> I search by casting a spell of finding on the floor boarda

You cast a fireball at the floorboard. Nothing happens. You try it again, and again, and again. Still nothing. You start to get worried, so you cast a lightning bolt at the floorboard. Again, nothing happens. You cast a fire ball at the floorboard.

> Fireball! Fireball! Fireball! Lightning bolt? Fireball!

You throw a fireball at the floorboard. The blast of heat from the fireball melts the wooden floorboards beneath you. You fall into the pit, and roll around until you hit the ground hard. You groan in pain, but manage to stay conscious.

> Look around the pit

You look around the pit, and see nothing out of place. You don’t know what happened to the rest of the treasure, but you’re sure that you can recover it later.

> Where is the old man?

You look behind you, and see the old man standing nearby. He looks like he’s been crying, and his hands are shaking.

> “Aw old man, did my fireball scare you?”

“Aw old man, did my fireball scare you?”

> “It’s okay old man”

“It’s okay old man”

> Comfort the old man

You hug the old man tightly, and tell him that everything will be all right. You then tell him that you’ll take care of him when you get back home. The old man seems relieved, and thanks you.

> “No problem, daddio “

You smile, and nod at the old man. He smiles back, and tells you that he’ll be waiting for you when you get back home. He walks off towards the house with his head down.

You walk back to the house, and open the door.

> Put the house on my head

You put your hand over your head, and push the door open. You walk inside, and find yourself in a large living room. There’s a TV mounted above the fireplace, which is playing a game show. On one side of the room, there’s a kitchen area, with several appliances.

> Answer the game show question correctly

You sit down in an armchair, and press the button to turn on the television. You pick up the remote, and press the play button.

Generated via AI Dungeon.

Understanding your cat, astrologically

This is a piece I wrote for McSweeny’s that I didn’t think would get published, but wanted to go through the process regardless. As suspected, it was not published. Here it is, in all it’s rejected glory.

Cats have lived with humans for thousands of years, but their behavior can still be baffling. The best method for understanding cat personalities is the same as it is for humans: figuring out which lifeless rocks were in the sky when they were born.


Your Aries cat is energetic and headstrong, which is why he ruined your couch. Drawn to competition, he excels at interpersonal struggles, like stealing the neighbor cat’s food. He can appear selfish, but only because he has tunnel vision for his task at hand. That’s why he seems so disinterested in you when he’s staring at dust.


Your Tarus cat is peaceful and non-combative, and other cats will beat the ever living Christ out of him. Trusty and reliable, he will always pee on the exact same spot on the carpet. Naturally seeking luxury, your cat would never make it on the street. In fact, all street Tarus cats are dead.


Feeling a deep need to be with others, your Gemini cat will make a habit of barging in whenever you take a crap. A philosopher at heart, you will often see your cat gazing out the window, pondering life’s great questions. Questions such as, “Will I get to kill that bird?”


Much like Vin Diesel, your Cancer cat is obsessed with family. Except only metaphorically; cats are really territorial. Have you ever seen two cats getting to know each other? It’s brutal. But somewhere in her heart, she thinks of them as family, even as she’s ripping off an ear.


The ur-cat, Leos do what cats do, but more. Lay around? Check. Eat? Check. Hunt your shins? Check and check. In addition, Leos are very courageous, and will barely run away from the vacuum.


Don’t let the surface fool you - it may look like your Virgo cat is doing nothing, but rest assured, inside, her mind is alive with calculations and predictions. Yes, to you it looks like she has been asleep for upwards of three days, but inside, she just did your taxes. Trust me.


Your cat craves balance above all else; can’t have too much or too little, everything has to be just right. Dry or wet? Felt or feather toy? Petting or no? Whatever it is, you better get it God damn right.


Scorpio cats are not aggressive on their own, but are quick to violence if provoked. Like, if you look at them too long.


The symbol of Sagittarius is the centaur - half human, half horse - but that’s for humans. The cat version is half cat, half shetland pony. The cat half is terrified of the pony half.


Driven by ambition, your Capricorn cat will stop at nothing to achieve things no cat has ever accomplished before. That’s why she keeps fighting the dog. One of these days, she’s going to win, so separating them is against the stars.


Generous and dedicated, Aquarius cats are the philanthropists of the feline world. This means they’ll think twice before stealing the neighbor cat’s food. They’ll still do it, but they’ll think about it first.


The symbol of Pisces is a fish, and all Pisces cats won’t eat fish out of self respect, even though they love it. The only way to get your Pisces cat to eat fish is if she’s hungry.

Twelve Angry Rejections

“Just frame it like, ‘Let’s see how much I can fail.’”

I was sitting at a window table in a lower east side dive with a small group of writers I had just met, questioning the ambition of my New Year’s resolution.

The bar was packed with an earnest, ex-party-hardy Saturday night crowd, chatting in large, homogeneous groups or milling around the pool table. Wrapped in an almost defensive southwestern theme—cowboy boots hanging from the ceiling, pop country on the jukebox whenever the internet radio algorithm felt inclined—the place seemed like it was straining to make sure you knew how relaxed it was.

The four of us were chatting about movies and music, I having been inserted into their group by the social machinations of a mutual friend, who wasn’t present. Mercifully, we all hit it off.

As the topics slowly turned more personal, and we started trading life stories, I began to unsubtly probe about writing. I had a creative writing degree, and while I loved my job writing code, I often dreamed about writing prose. Or, more accurately, I dreamed about getting my prose published. And these people, well, they were professional writers.

Yet would pursuing writing more seriously actually be worth while? Would it be the creatively satisfying experience I hoped, or the soul crushing wasteland I feared? Or perhaps somewhere in between? I needed to be convinced.

I asked, “What’s that freelance writing hustle like?”

The reply, “It sucks.”

So does paying rent, I thought, and I still managed to do that every few months. I was convinced: writing sounded fun.

Garth Brook’s bubble-gum twang swayed in the background. I felt inspired, ready to take on this new challenge. In that moment I decided my New Year’s resolution had not been ambitious enough, and I would change it to, “Get Writing Published,” instead of, “Get A Yogurt.”

I told the group as much, that I was going to make 2019 the year I got my writing formally published. I just needed one thing ironed out.

“How do you handle rejection?”

I wasn’t good with rejection, if anyone is. It was one of the top reasons I hadn’t submitted my writing more.

“Make a masochistic game out of it,” a writer said. “Just frame it like, ‘Let’s see how much I can fail.’ Most people set a goal like getting rejected 100 times.”

Re-framing the problem, and collecting something? That appealed to the part of me that loved creative solutions and the part of me that used to collect pistachio shells. It was the perfect solution.

So that is exactly what I’m going to do: get 100 writing submissions rejected in 2019.

Except 100 seems like a lot, so I’m cutting that in half. Come to think of it, 50 also seems like a lot, so I’m cutting that in half. And to be honest, I never liked the number 25, it seems like it would own a diamond-encrusted iPhone. Since we’re close, why not have one rejection per month?

My final statement: This time next year I hope to have 12 articles formally rejected by reputable publications.

I plan to post a round-up with short descriptions of all the ill-fated articles.

Until then, I’m going to grab a yogurt.

The Pulp Tales of Gwendolyn Gween, P.I.

It’s like if Humphrey Bogart and Tina Fey had a baby.
—Stephen Spielberg

Gwen Gween looking worried
Gwen Gween, junior detective

Folks, it is my distinct pleasure, honor, and plonor1 to announce the release of The Pulp Tales of Gwendolyn Gween, P.I., a scripted serial comedy podcast I wrote and created with my partner Daniel Contreras. In fact, not only is the show released, all six episodes in this season are out right now, so you can binge the whole thing.

However convincing the above has been in getting you to blindly subscribe to something on the internet, you may still have some questions.

What Is This Crap?

Dick Dirk looking drunk and happy
Dick Dirk, Gwen's alcoholism-loving boss

Rude, but I’ll allow it.

The Pulp Tales of Gwendolyn Gween, P.I. is a scripted comedy podcast. That means it’s not people talking about their re-watch of some 90’s sitcom, or discussions about something educational. While those are all awesome shows, The Pulp Tales of Gwendolyn Gween, P.I. is carefully written, and performed by talented actors, like a TV show, but for your ears.

Vicky Vance looking like she's contemplating something hard
Vicky Vance, Gwen's rich main bitch

The show is a pastiche of film noir set in New York City, and follows a junior detective, Gwen Gween, as she cracks cases and searches for her lost parents amidst a world gone mad. If that doesn’t sound exciting, then check your adrenal glands. If that doesn’t sound funny, then just listen for a few minutes and we’ll hopefully prove your doubting ass wrong.

Uncle Ooley looking tired and confused
Ooley, Gwen's deeply strange uncle

This is a serialized show, so you need to listen to each episode in succession to understand the plot. That may sound like a lot more work, but you already do it for every HBO show and it really just means there’s jokes that reference other jokes.

Why Should I Care?

Because if you’re reading this, chances are, this show is for you.

A inky-stylized New York City skyline

If you like dark stories about a dark town told with a dark sense of humor and farts, you should subscribe. If you like word play, gun play, horse play, and ass play, you should subscribe. If you like finding out about something cool before everyone else does and then being really pompous about it when all your friends start talking about it two years later, you should subscribe. If you’ve read this far in this article, come on, you should subscribe.

Where Can I Get It?

So glad you asked!

Hector Savala looking handsome
Hector Savala, dumb-dumb man-fatale with a secret

You can find The Pulp Tales of Gwendolyn Gween, P.I. on iTunes/Apple Podcasts, Stitcher, or where ever you listen to podcasts, and you can find all the links and more information at our website.

Also, you can follow us on Instagram, YouTube, Facebook, and Twitter, where we post a lot more pictures and videos about the show.

Finally, keep tabs on, our production company website, for more sweet stuff in the very near future.

Wrap It Up

I’m really proud of this show, and I think you’re really going to like it. If you do enjoy it, tell a friend. If you don’t, keep your yap shut.

Stay badass, and thanks!


  1. A combination of pleather and Gondor ↩︎

Who's on JavaScript?

If you like JavaScript this binding, and the comedy classic Who’s on First?, then is this the mashup for you!


Two programmers, Phil and Mary, sit at their desks, typing. After a moment, Phil turns to Mary, and shows her a piece of code, which looks like this:

 1function showInfo() {
 2  return + ' is ' + this.age + ' years old, and has fought ' + this.fights + ' bears.';
 5var person = {
 6  name: 'Sally',
 7  age: 43,
 8  fights: 16,
 9  showInfo: showInfo


Hey Mary, you're the JavaScript expert, could you help me learn a few things?


Sure, what do you want to know?

Phil points to line 1.


What's this here?

Mary points to line 5.



Phil points again to line 1.


No, I want to know what this is.

Mary points again to line 5.


I know. It's that.



(points to line 5)

isn't this!

(points to line 1)


Yes it is.

Phil points to both line 1 and line 5.


These are two separate things!


Well, sure.

Phil points to line 1.


Right, then what's this?

Mary points to line 5.




Okay, fine!

Phil points to line 5.


What's this here?




What? Where?


Nowhere, it hasn't been called.


Then how the hell is that

(points to line 5)



Oh, that's not window, that's an object.

Phil points to line 5.


But you just said this is window!


Yeah, that's true.

Phil points to line 5.


Then this is window!


No, I told you, that is an object.




Look, it's all quite simple.

She points to line 5.


That is an object.

She points to line 5.


And this is window.


They're the same thing!


Only according to typeof.



Slow fade out as they continue to argue.

This is a little comic idea I came up with months ago for a Star Craft 2 cartoon contest Blizzard was running.

If you don’t know what Star Craft is, then you won’t get the joke…and even if you do know Star Craft, there’s a fair chance you won’t get the joke either. Needless to say the cartoon did not win, but it was a lot of fun to make. Pierre did the art, by the way (I can’t paint like that).

Various 'critters' from Star Craft stampeding in terror. One of them has exploded behind the group. Above them, the stylized Star Craft mouse cursor hovers. The caption reads: 'The deadly Mouse hunts stampeding Critters with a series of rapid-fire clicks...'

So I’ve been having random ideas for comic strips, mostly one-panel affairs, but some multi-panel concepts as well. Here’s my first attempt.

A drawing of a bald, sickly man with bloodshot eyes holding a coffee. He says, 'Dear God, I'm so tired, I could almost sleep!'. The caption reads, 'An insomniac after a long day.'