WASTED DANDY IN THE TIKI PARLOUR

a tortured hound

an eye in flames

the bucking wind

the illest game

a lame pink Jag

the dancer's sterling silver teeth

the mark of a fake pagan

a crippled laser

TRUTH OR HAIR: THE LOSER'S GUIDE TO BACKSTABBIN'S

hanging with the black
babes in lucifer's tent:

anything can be
a surf board

he says.

Hey

I'm from the state
ICP made famous

I know everything
is possible.

FROM THE ARCHIVES: PARTY BOY'S DEPOSITION

We always got real drugged out in Ted's basement -- one trip rolling into the next until we were living a sticky & slow wood paneled alternate universe. Ted's mother, once a skinny teenager pregnant with the baby of a touring Sam Kinison, didn't know what to think of Ted. At age 11, he poured beer onto the ground & sniffed at it for hours. At 13, he set shit on fire behind the shed to prepare "in case we go to war." At 15, he started wetting down the front of his hair into a greasy swirl with the condensation from a chilled wine cooler.

Often, we found ourselves rolling on the shag of the basement carpet, my fingers wrapped tight around his 17-year-old neck, his hands wrestling & slapping against my arms. He didn't make a sound as I kneed him in the nuts, slapped his face hard on the right & went upstairs.

It was wrong for a mother be excited by her own son & his best friend wrestling. She was watching Days of Our Lives when I walked in.

I ♥ LA

“I used to think the Imperial Valley was hot, flat and boring,” he explained. “But I crossed over here, stayed in a hotel and realized the place was full of secrets. You’d see a building that looked run-down and boarded up, but inside it was a place of coolness, darkness, life. That seemed like such a great metaphor for this place.”

UNTITLED

UNTITLED
by B. Thomas Hunter

Ronnie had just dropped acid for the last time. Tomorrow he would take a job at the bank and his life would officially be over. Sitting in the back seat of his car in the Major Magic's parking lot, he
contemplated his existence and what he had accomplished in his 28 years on the planet. This thought was brief as soon as his blue jeans, once tight and form fitting, turned into a soaring eagle and left his body.

His jeans grew and grew until they covered him in a shadow filled with the screech of goblins and beasts man had yet to discover. Soon they melted away into a sea of rainbows.

Ronnie began to fly. Once heavy with his strapping 145 pound body, his legs were now free. Free to fly into the heavens, where he would play chess with Zeus. His arms soon turned into flippers, as was to be expected, and the air turned into water.

Ronnie awoke from his trip, dripping in sweat, covered in his own urine, ready to take a nap. Tomorrow he would take a job at the bank.

EDWARD & ALEX

EDWARD & ALEX

by B. Thomas Hunter

Van Halen came through this Dust Bowl town like the cyclone that destroyed half of Houston. I never saw such a sight. Spandex and young girls for as far as the eye could see. The reverberation from their amplifiers destroyed the top soil and damaged most of the downtown. Of course we'll rebuild, but the question is: After all we've seen, why would we want to?