A (sort of) Daily Comic, Poetry Repository, Story Suppository, Art Fart

Literary Porn Names

H.P. Loveshaft

F. Scott Fitzgerald (the ‘F’ is for ‘Fucking Machine’)

George O-Well

William Fuckin’her


Sir Arthur Moanin’ Doyle

Ezra Pound (unchanged)

Vagina Woolf

Aldous Fuxley

Gagatha Christie

Sort-of Improvised Black Bean Stew Recipe

Put a roma tomato (fourthed), onion (a good amount), and orange/yellow pepper (half) on a baking sheet and drizzle with olive oil. Sprinkle on salt, oregano and thyme and mix it all around, put in a 350-degree oven and bake ‘til you think to stop.

Before you stop, though, get a biggish pot and heat the dang thing up and put two slices of uncured but FATTY-ASS bacon in, sliced and diced into small little fatty-ass postage stamps. Fry all the fat out of them and pour your baked veggies in and stir around, breaking up the veggies into clumps. Cook until the bacon fat looks to be absorbed. Then fill with water until before everything floats. We want little islands of veggie clumps peeking out from the - WAIT BEFORE YOU add the water, add more than half of a tube of GOOD QUALITY CHORIZO. The stuff that, when cooked, turns into crumbly little popcorn-looking meat nuggets, like italian sausage; NOT LIKE RED VOMIT. Anyway, the veggie clumps should poke out from the now red water (red from the chorizo). Put chicken powder stuff in until you think that ought to be enough given how much water you put in. Get it to a boil and then go do something else for a little bit. Come back and add a big can of black beans (drained) the add the rest of another can from the refrigerator from when you had black beans the other day. Total black bean inclusion is MORE THAN ONE BIG CAN. Not too much more, though. Anyway, mix it around and put it at a low boil until, when you stir it, you can see the bottom of the pan for a split second. This may take over an hour. During this time, the crimson-water and brown bean-water should combine into a nice earthy sienna. Eat it unadorned.

Existentialist Philosophers as WWE Wrestlers

KILLkegaard: “He’ll send you Søren out of the ring!”

Heidegger the Gravedigger: “Your Being won’t know what hit it!”

Camus-flage: “When you see him, it’s already too late; there is but one truly serious escape, and that is suicide!”

Sartre-throb: “This pretty-boy attracts all the ladies, but all his opponents are condemned to flee!”

Frederick the Übermensch: “For a complete outline of his wrestling moves, consult his ‘Thus Spake Zarathrustra’!”

The Concise Guide to Buddhism for $6.99

There has been a recent surge of interest in Zen Buddhism, and much misinformation about it to boot. Zen Buddhism is not a philosophy in the Western sense and not a religion in the Abrahamic tradition either. The writings are scarcely intelligible to our Western minds when translated from their original Sanskrit, Chinese and Japanese. Zen originated in cultures so fundamentally different from our own that many a curious soul have wondered if trying to understand Zen is but grasping at straws.

Get ready to get your grasp on! I’ve improved on the literature so much that I can guarantee you complete awakening with my regimented step-by-step guide! You’ll understand everything there is to understand about Zen Buddhism. No meditation required!

1. Force it!

The ultimate goal of Zen is to achieve nirvana. Nirvana is the realization of the oneness of all things and the meaninglessness of the forms and symbols we force on the world. To achieve this awakening, you must take two things you see around you, say a toaster and a dog, and ‘see’ them as one. This means imagining some kind of toaster-dog. If you have trouble imagining that, clench your teeth and strain your muscles and say out loud, over and over, “the toaster is the dog; the dog is the toaster.” This is called a mantra. “The toaster is the dog…” is one of the most common mantras in Zen.

2. Know your koans

Koans are questions asked of students by their masters as a means of releasing the student from a paradoxical grasping of the mind with the mind. The questions may seem non-sensical, but they are intended, rather obliquely, as a tool for satori, or awakening, by showing Zen, rather than saying it.

The answers, though obscure and many, are all found in my comprehensive pamphlet ‘Where You Koan? The Questions and Answers to Zen Riddles for $3.99’. I’m selling them out of my house and I have a website, but it’s not quite finished, but my phone number is on there so call me and I’ll give you my address and you can mail me the money (cash only).

3. Meditate

I know I said “no meditation required” earlier but that was me being Zen. Get it? Of course not. Anyway, meditation is for the Zen master what a trowel is for the gardener. They are a tool used to carve out a space in which we let things grow.

You’ll start by sitting on your butt with legs crossed Indian style (henceforward called ‘Zen style’). Take your left thumb, with palm facing away from the front toward the back of your right palm with your right hand parallel to your left forearm. Have your fingers from one hand touch the corresponding fingers from the other until you run out of fingers (your right pinky should be left over). Place your free pinky under your bottom lip and plow gently on it. Now straighten up your back and concentrate on any looming potential crises that could pop up at any moment until these thoughts disappear like a ripple on the surface of a calm lake at daybreak. Your mind is now ready for nirvana.

4. Nirvana

Nirvana is tricky. It’s a combination of steps 1, 2, and 3. Sit Zen style with hands arranged in the position detailed above. While repeating a mantra, this time the answer to the last koan in ‘Where You Koan?…’, which is, I think, “The white crane stands still in the something something, cherry blossoms something something, moon… something,” you must let go of the ego, imagine your mind as a mirror reflecting the image of its surroundings for only the moment it’s seen, then realize there is no mirror, for that is an abstraction of the ego and BAM, you should have it. You ought to be dripping with nirvana. Get the joke from step 3?

5. Bodhisattva

Now that You’ve awakened, have experienced the final satori, seen that all is one, have ripped Yourself from samsara, the vicious cycle of birth and death, You are, alas, not done. There is yet another level of nirvana achievable only by the Bodhisattva, the being who, by denying himself (or herself!) the highest level of nirvana, will liberate all other beings from samsara, the world of forms. Only then, when all people have awakened, will the Bodhisattva ascend to the highest spiritual plane (but You know there are no spiritual planes because they are abstractions of the ego, which is itself an abstraction [duh!]). Your destiny lies now in the liberation of all beings.

As You now know, no being is fully awakened without ‘The Concise Guide to Zen Buddhism’. I will need your credit card number (a meaningless abstraction of our culture’s sick infatuation with material wealth) and You will sell the guide. You get a cut of each sale and a MYSTERY BONUS for each awakened soul. But watch out! Every awakened soul is another potential Bodhisattva, so get out there and sell, sell, sell! But I need your credit card number!

English Towns I’ve Visited Lately

Mallard’s Rest


New Hammondschool-upon-Ivan’s-Even-Needles-Keatles

Dykescratch-beyond-Wilfredstown Commons


Norwelsh straddled-between-Updownton-and-Pigslaughter

Increasetown (pronounced ‘Inkstain’)

Inkstain (pronounced ‘Increasetown’)



East Lunch



West Bucket


St. Matthew-in-the-Glen

South Rape

Brian Klein

Brian Klein

A Short Poem About A Turtle Before I Go To Work

Blue turtle: O Blue turtle!

Exhalted, shelled and slow!

How I love thee!

Accept these hallowed lines

I hath writ for thee

in this enraptured state

thou hast caused.

If any a creature be

whom I desire to lift me

and carry me to safety

from some calamity,

be it fire, man-made or otherwise,

it is you, O amphibious one,

who I would so choose to do

that thing I said.

If any a creature would grow

opposable thumbs where Nature

is not want to put,

it would be thee, O turtle,

who I would want to draw me

naked, amidst my many

velvet throw pillows.

No such creature as thee,

O turtle, has been touched

by such divine Providence,

your little squeeky noises

when I feed you lettuce

is a more sacred afflatus

than that of the many-winged

arch-angle Gabriel, your

shell: brighter with the rays of the sun

than that most revered angel’s trumpet,

his trumpet’s blast,

the harbinger of holy fire

and the final eternal judgement,

cannot compare to the little squeeky

noises that I mentioned earlier about the lettuce.

Rod Sterling in Triptych


Rod Sterling waits in line at the grocery store. There is one person ahead of him. He puts his items on the conveyer belt when there’s room. It’s his turn now. The clerk smiles and says ‘hello’. Rod nods and grimaces as he puffs his cigarette.

"Credit or debit?" the clerk asks as Rod swipes his card.

"Imagine, if you will, a small town, full of ordinary people no different from you or me-"

"-Your total is $56.77-"

"-living their lives without reflection or notice of the inscrutable forces at work among them. The town is a layer cake of deception, the people: its frosting-"

"-Sir, credit or debit-"

"-and the baker is a madman who bakes in an oven of insanity-"


"-and mixes his batter with the eggs he collects from his hen house of madness-"

"-Credit or debit-"

"-occupied by hens of antipathy-"

"-I’m going to have to-"

"-whom the baker feeds with seeds of-"

"-I’m going to have to ask you to leave."

*    *    *


Rod Sterling waits in line at the post office. It’s not his turn. He says:

"I’d like to mail this package."

"Alright," says the mail lady. "Can-"

"A package, the contents of which would drive a man to the brink of insanity. It has no sender; no recipient. Yet it must be sent. For to not send it would be foolish, for if it were opened, the toll to our mortal world would be incalculable-"

"-Can I please-"

"-because it is not meant for our world: It is the ambrosia of the Greek gods, a libation of inextinguishable divine fire brighter than the flames of Hades and hotter than the fury of Ares-"

"-Please step out of line, sir."

*    *    *


Rod Sterling sits at home watching football. His home team misses a field goal in the last seconds that would have won the game. He looks into his glass of scotch.

"Sport. A simple diversion or the embodiment of Man’s highest ideals? I submit that it is neither, that the answer lies in madness. Imagine a man pushed to his very limits, at the proverbial one-yard line, inches from the end zone, moments from victory, only to find he cannot go further. Not a fault of training or of mental acumen but of flesh. He has reached the peak of human achievement but is not allowed beyond. The trophy is not awarded to him. It is not awarded to anyone because it is a trophy of madness. And the grass: a field of madness. The game is over. The referee blows his whistle of madness. Into the showers and deep into the recesses of the mind as our hero, our Prometheus, washes away humiliation with the shampoo of madness."

Rod’s wife comes in from the kitchen.

"Who likes porkchops?"

Rod Sterling points to himself.

"I like porkchops."


1.  I’m in my apartment

waiting for the water

in my tomato sauce

to boil away.

I slept more than I meant to.

I’ve been on the computer,

Glance after glance after glance.

You said I’d be miserable here.

No one my age.

I said I needed the river.

I was proud of my bookcases

and all the books I filled them with.

But on my deathbed,

I will not have regretted

not reading enough.

2. Meow meow meow

meow  meow

American Exceptionalism

meow meow meow

meow meow


meow meow

meow meow meow


Air conditioning

meow meow

Who needs friends?

meow meow


3. The sausages get lumpy when cooked.

I get cagey by myself.

The day becomes more beautiful.

and I less willing to indulge.

4. I turned-

pasta-pot lid in hand,

bumped into the fridge,

dropped the lid,

turned the other way

hit the sink,

took a step back,

slid in flour,

knocked over the trash.

The hot lid landed

on my foot.

I wonder 

what’s happening

on the other side

of the Earth.

5. I’m stealing the internet

from someone I don’t know.

Every rustling, knocking,

opening, closes, tire on gravel

is them, coming to tell me:

"Stop stealing my internet!

I’ll call the cops!”

In silence I am infallible.

6. When I told her my life

was spurred on by novelty,

she looked skeptical,

said she was skeptical,

But she didn’t understand,

told her she doesn’t understand.

Now I’m wondering

how many times I’ve eaten

this meal.

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