The jars on the shelf; he noted how light some of them had become as he took them down. He scraped around the edges of these vessels, amassing what residues he could to bolster his dwindling supply.
On the table: flesh, bone and sinew, composed by the hand of either God or some predecessor into an ideal shape. Masterful. Beautiful. But with its reality existing only in form, useless and cold; no better on his table than a statue in a museum. Perhaps worse.
Whether there had once been any spark to move these organic gears, he did not know. Yet as time passed, the question mattered increasingly less to him. All he knew is that others before h
Barry almost forgot to breathe when he caught the first signs of fall creeping upon him: the Mountain Dews were changing.
He swore to himself he would notice as soon as it happened, but nature always seems to creep up on humanity. It was as if one day he looked up to see the bright, Windex and antifreeze-like hues of the summer and then suddenly boom, those day-glo orange and inky black flavors were taking over the cases.
It spread to the snack cakes next, the white of the Hostess Snoball almost seeming to blow away like dandelion fluff to be replaced by more orange and little imprints of bats. But what really drove it home were the Oreos.
The Terror Supression Plan by triptychr, literature
Literature
The Terror Supression Plan
WEST LAFAYETTE, Ind. As the United States continues trying to stem the torrent of bloodshed in disputed areas around the world, some experts argue that a renovation of tactics is in order.
Let's face it: Not killing others and/or yourself is no longer seen as the intrinsic reward it used to be, said Dr. Norman Wheelock, Dean of Sociology at Purdue University and founder of Professors Against Terrorist Insurgencies, Crime and Killing (PATICaK). We must offer a more appealing alternative to these extremists, and what better thing to use than our commercialism, of which we have great excess?
It is under such reas
Being a longterm single, my lack of luck in love has been a sore spot in my life. Loneliness, envy and despair have struck me on occasion, often serving as a brick wall to my humor production.
Recently, however, I've come to realize just how detrimental an effect this periodic wallowing has had in my life and those of my friends. Something had to change; I needed a new perspective. So I've fought back the best way I know how: turning my humor production onto the very thing that has caused me grief.
And you know what? It works! I haven't been this happy or excited to write something in a while. So what this is not is a cry for help or a