Shortly after an attempt at sleeping, a tall, ghoulish man with sunken cheeks howl from the hall. “Lower-r-r-r the price of crude oil-l-l-l,” he says from the door. He wears garish blood coloured cloak and spoke in a cruel manner. “Or els-s-s-e-e…”

“I can’t do that. I wouldn’t know where to start. I don’t control the global price of crude oil,” I say.

“Don’t offer me excuses liar!” The door moves ajar at the sound of his voice. He holds in his left hand the decapitated skulls of my landlord’s by the hair. Blood drips from the throats on to the fake hardwood floor in the hallway.

Confused, I mutter, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“You’ll see nothing!” He leans closer and I see a mass of grubs and maggots where his eyes should be. Chunks of meat begin to drop off his face.

“Good lord,” I think as I slam my bedroom door and lock the aluminum knob with a twist.

The creature is still out there. Banging skulls on the floor, howling through the door, scratching at the walls.

The price of crude is set to crest $70 US a barrel and the only idea I can think of to drive the price down is the complete destruction of everything.


Inside of a restored rail car that travels the continent is a cursed ventriloquist dummy. It is chained up underneath 400 lbs. of steel chain. That is because he set fire to his ventriloquist one day. I can’t remember the rest of the spiel. It wound up in a traveling carnival show. It’s neighbours are the famous Fiji mermaid and a shrunken head. I tried to find a picture of a cursed dummy but couldn’t.

I miss the X-Files.

Sunday Breakfast

Life is filled with decisions. Do you have a can of Clear Creek Ice or a bowl of Capt’n Crunch for breakfast? Both are made from substandard ingredients. Both are terrible for you.

Answer: Have a bowl of Capt’n Crunch with beer in it instead of milk.

Mmm. Breakfast.

Four Quarters of the Way Done

Finished. Thanks to everybody that read the ordeal. Thanks to those who sponsored it. It is my statement to the disposable nature of this medium.

Please read the thing from bottom to top. It will never make much sense, but it makes more sense if you go in chronological order.

I’ve thought that the only important thing to do in order to gain a blog readership is to post often. It doesn’t matter what you write. Just as long as it is new. I think that because it’s the way I read blogs. Not carefully or thoughtfully, just voraciously.

Please read books instead. What a mess.

Peering Off the Edge

After a long and restful sleep I walk all the way to the end of the world. I sit down and kick my legs over the edge of the great expanse and stare into the abyss. I can’t see anything past the edge.

The bone and sinew guitar lies only a few feet away. It won’t be played by me or anybody else now.

A Frisbee soars over head and disappears into the void.

Captain Bad Buckle O’Fee Sets Sail With a Crew

“Greetings Fergis and Wild Turkey. We’ve been waiting,” I say. Laughter from the audience. “Rather than contemplate your next actions, I suggest you listen for a spell.”

I walk over to the two in attempt to speak candidly. “I’ve been very pleased with your performance this evening. The eating contest and the retail smash-up have been hits. You deserve to relax for the last bit of this. Grab some tang and sit down.”

“Glu-lu-lu,” said Wild Turkey. The creature was upset.

“Fine, have it your way,” I turn to the heavens and the clouds part like the red sea. From the skies comes a grand Spanish Galleon with the dreaded Capt. Bad Buckle at the helm. It lands in the field, crushing the two trees and flattening the welcome sign.

“Get on. All of you.” I motion toward the craft with my left hand. One by one the cast of characters pile into the ship clutching their flaws and stories with their recycled prosthetic limbs.

“Where are they going?” Capt. Bad Buckle asks.

“Take them to the edge of the world and then sail into the void,” I say.

I stay behind as the ship drifts off. I curl into the ruined mess of a welcome sign and I fall to sleep.