bin LADens' FATE WILL BE DECIDED IN YR NAME bin LADen's FATE WILL BE DECIDED IN YR NAME ARE YOU READY FOR HIS WRATH??? FOR HIS SPIRIT TO inspire THE YOUNG ALL OVER THE WORLD INTO BEING rightous, SENSeLESS bombs? somebodies GONNA DECIDE THE poor soldier's FATE HE WORKED FOR YOU ONCE before we didn't need him for a few years we were sure he would lose our religious brainwashing the fervor of war we stirred up in him to fight the soviets and settle back into his famil...

I was so drunk when I wrote it that it was supposed to be a grocery list... i took it to the store and tried to buy shit on the poem and i got demanding with the clerks when I couldn't find an eagle oh, it was a mess with batons and screaming I barely made bail in time for a court appearance over something else I am totally innocent of ... some vegetable molestation th ing... hell, any radish in roger's park chicago gets shoved up a but in a grocery store and put bac...

military intelligence the soldiers were told to march silently through the carnage concentrate on the fighting heroes kept their stride right over the edge of the earth falling soundlessly down into meat morphined out and pretty sure they were going to live after this bullett, too... there is still time pull some of them back from their veteren hospital slums give them parades again let them travel gather their songs before they go silently into that good nigh...

when the divorce comes all the small shit he thought he was getting away with flies back in his face like flecks of feces from the proverbial fan

"Streaks of moonlight come down from holes in the ceiling of the barn; clouds of dust rise from his steps. He has been tracking the beast for weeks... In unfamiliar country, he had found himself trapped without shelter as the sunset, rode for miles before finding the dilapidated barn. The forest outside is dense with black trees; winter bare of leaves, the branches are outlined by a dusting of brilliant white snow. He is keeping watch on the road . . . waiting for the...

Fritz's once proudly flowing long hair had slowly retreated back away from his face, begun to dissapear in mass from the top, and went all over pigeon grey peppered with barely noticiable flecks of white. From the scraps of hair on the back of his neck, he grew a long, thin pony tail, that certain people, who had doubted his sanity since his drug binges in the sixties and seventies and right up into his weed filled old age, became convinced was an actual rat tail. Polite one and all, though....

I received a question asking what I meant by the metaphor of mouse entrails? And mouse fucking. Now, handeling both of these unweildy topics in one entry would be more than one man could be expected to attempt, so I shall focus on Mouse Entrails, and leave mouse fucking to the experts. I know that a lot of people will wonder why some boof like me thinks I can add anything to the great mouse entrails debate... and sure, I have the same thought.... but what am I if I don't at least try t...

What the hell is going on with my stories? Why have they become more and more comedic and absurd, after years of writing closer to the day to day and trying to develop something of an American Realist* approach? I hope that I am moving toward something interesting. We'll see. Today I am going to explain the geneses of my sub-text, and provide a road map for the next few stories I write, at least... To follow what I am going to write about requires me to make sure you know a few literar...

The weight of Shanky's memories grew slowly over the years, imperceptibly becoming a fantastic boulder that made him slump his shoulders and walk half bent over. Inside the cold, unyielding granite were traces of all the lovers and pets and parents and friends who'd passed away; their obituaries a ticket into the virtual world where they played through endless loops of behavior salvaged from the bits and pieces of moments remembered. He feels for a moment the loss of the first woman wh...

I have a creative common use license, which can be viewed at http://theelvesattic.ebloggy.com which contains all of the prose here and a lot more. My work can easily be used by others, as long as they do four small things 1) mention my name 2) link to my site at http://theelvesattic.ebloggy.com 3) MAKE NO MONEY off of me. Not one dime -- without paying me. 4) NO CHANGES can be made to my work, with the exception of minor spelling and grammatical editing.

Below is my official biography and a review from Jason Pettus, who now has a site that is now rated 37,000 on the entire fucking net!!!! This is on his his new blog, on SECOND LIFE, where he explores issues in the virtual world. If you have not read his work, please go there -- his books are miraculously written -- his Naughty Stories will give you a willy or a wetty, as well as something to think about afterwards in the brief glow after you masterbate (I assume my readers have no sex life...

Chet Miller valued a few things about himself. One was the thought that he could have been much more than a car salesman if he had pursued what he saw as his talent -- comedy. Started when he received big laughs in a junior high production, and he still cracked his customers up. For the last twelve years, his talents were on display at the annual customer appreciation dinner, where he did a few jokes and introduced the winners of the various sales contests. Confident this year, his 49th, ...