Friday, December 29

Thursday, December 28

Tuesday, December 26

Sunday, December 24

Thursday, December 21

Watch for delays.

Monday, December 18

He ran up and down the beach all day.

Friday, December 8

Mr. Happy Puppet Head bursts through the front door and slams it loudly behind him. He is yelling incoherently. He sounds happy and drunk. It's two in the morning and I'm sitting on the couch watching TV.

"Where were you?" I ask.

"Out," he goes into the kitchen and opens the door, checking for food. He finds the big pot of pasta I had made earlier, and I hear him slurp up the cold noodles in the next room. "Where's the beer?" he asks.

"We're out," I tell him. "Why didn't you call? You said you'd be home at nine. I made the pasta you asked for."

"Sure. Sorry." His mouth is full. "But man, tonight was awesome. I was hanging out with The Big Scary Monster and this dude Roboctopus and his friends Potato and Patti. We went over to this big abandoned warehouse and we started setting boxes on fire. Big ol' cardboard boxes."

"I don't like you hanging out with The Big Scary Monster."

"Yeah, so Potato said we shouldn't, and Patti said she'd tell on us, but we said we knew where they lived. Stupid kids. So we set all these boxes on fire and the cops came and so we ran, but Potato fell and I think they got him. He better not tell or I'm gonna beat him up."

There's a brief silence as we look at each other. He wants me to tell him how funny he is.

"Isn't that funny?" he asks.

Thursday, December 7

"What am I doing with my life?" Lem asks the Ocean Wiggle Monster. "I don't think I'm doing anything with my life at all. Just sitting here all the time."

The Wiggle Monster says "Bloooble blooble blooble!"

"I miss it when I was little and things were easy. I would just sit in this boat and not worry about what else I could be doing, but now I just sit here and worry about it. Maybe I should be designing skyscrapers or learning how to cook really well or exercising a lot more than I do."

"Blooble babble blooble!"

"I guess I'll just eat my sandwich." Lem's sandwich is really illegal narcotics, but no one ever taught him the difference.

Friday, December 1

Tuesday, November 28

"Kill You For Fun: The Movie"

Benny says, "Hey, don't."

The Three Shaddowy Figures with Knives disagree. They cut him into pieces and enjoy themselves througoughly.


Virginia Derryberry reaches for the doorknob. Slowly.

Still reaching. What's on the other side? she thinks.

Virginia opens the door, slowly, and there is nothing on the other side except for a book. She walks towards the book, SCARY MUSIC, slowly, step, step, step. She picks up the book opens it to somewhere in the middle and begins to read.

"...chop you into pieces and feed you to your grandmother. With delicious You-Gravy made from your innards." REALLY SCARY MUSIC.

She drops the book and runs away. We zoom in close to see the cover of the book. it reads "Kill You for Fun by Virginia Derryberry"

Body parts are removed. A puppy is put in a blender. Horror is strewn about haphazardly.

"You're the Killer, Virginia!" yells her boyfriend and confidante, King Thackston. They both stand on the edge of a spectacular cliff. There is a semi-truck on fire not too far away and a huge pile of mutilated bodies stacked high, also on fire.

"But the Killer is three Shaddowy Figures. You saw them yourselves."

"Look." King holds up a mirror for Virginia. She screams.

She IS three Shaddowy Figures.

SCARY MUSIC. Virginia Screams.

Roll credits.

The End?

Monday, November 20

Howie the little girl is playing in the front yard with her pet Old Man Head.

"Where have you been, Head?" asks Howie. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Head doesn't answer.

"Is that smoke over there?" Thick smoke billows up from the woods behind their neighborhood. "Do you know anything about that?"

Head rolls over onto his back.

"Don't ignore me. The last time you got me in a lot of trouble. If you keep setting large fires, I'm gonna have to not let you play outside by yourself anymore."

Head stares at the sky.

"Fine. It's time for Gorilla Party Shake-Down anyways." She hoists her best friend in the whole world under her arm and totes him inside for the best game in the entire world.

(instructions: 1)invite imaginary Gorillas to bedroom party 2)yell at them until they tell you where they hid the bodies and the treasure 3)locate treasure and boides, return them to the proper authorities)

Wednesday, November 15

At Captain Picklewhiskers School for Goons, Creeps, Lowlifes, Monsters, Mutants, Villains, Criminals, Crooks, and the All-Around Bad, Jennifer tells Sarah and Manny a secret.

"Jeremy's going to clean all the bathrooms tonight," she says. "Him and some guys. Don't tell anyone I told you."

"That's nice of him," says Sarah. "The bathrooms are disgusting here."

"Yeah! They're the worst!" Jennifer wiggles her tentacles in excitement. "But don't tell. Jeremy's my friend and I don't want him to get in trouble." She squiggles away.

"I don't understand..." says Manny, adjusting his already straight tie.

"Me niether. This place is crazy. Let's go home."

They try to leave, but they can't figure out how to get over the pit of Razor Spikes blocking their way.

Monday, November 6

“We’re going to renovate the kitchen!” Yells the roach. Her eyes dart around the room, imagining the potentials and possibilities. “It’s going to be so much more than perfect!” She skitters around in a happy circle.

“I like how it is now,” says Mallory, the slug. “I know where everything is.”

“I think the refrigerator should go over in that corner,” says Lemmy, the human boy.

So they all push the large appliance to the specified corner.

“No… that isn’t it at all.” Says roach. “No no no no no no no no.”

“I’m far too delusional to understand what’s going on,” says the Cute with a smile. “I’m completely useless.”

“Let’s put it on top of the stove, then there’ll be more space,” says Roach.

“Room for what? I’m not sure about how much I like open space.”

“I like the on-top-of-the-stove idea,” says Lemmy. “I like that idea lot.”

“My dementia is far too exaggerated for me to be expected to help in any way at all,” explains the Cute. “I simply can’t get over my phobias, inconsistencies, hallucinations, nightmares, or eating disorders.”

“A complicated system of pullies and levers,” explains Roach. “Easy.”

Roach goes into a humorous and super-catchy song and dance number about rigging up all the pullies and levers. You clap along with a big smile on your face, charmed out your pants.

“Wait,” Lemmy points at the refigerator which is now sitting upside-down on top of the stove. “How did that happen? You didn’t actually do anything ‘cept sing.”

“The power of song, I guess.” Roach skitters in a little circle. “I have powerful songs.”

“I don’t like musical numbers,” explains Mallory. “When I get excited, my slime glands act up and I kind of like, squirt a little. Hold on… one’s coming… hold on…”

Everyone waits for a slime squirt, but nothing happens.

“So I, for one, really enjoy an upside-down refrigerator.” Roach climbs up the surface of the appliance and back down, then back up again.

Mallory squirts a small glob of slime into the air. “See? Did you see? That’s what exciting, hand-clapping musical numbers do to me. How am I supposed to feel attractive when I’m sliming all over the place?”

“I want pizza,” says Lemmy. “Let’s make a pizza.”

“No thanks,” Mallory squirts again. “I don’t eat those.”

“I’ll eat thirteen,” says the Cute as she hides behind the stove. “I’ll eat thirteen.”

Lemmy and the Roach make a pizza, but it is upside-down and no matter how many times they flip it over, it remains inverted.

And their juice spills all over the table with no way to stop it from doing so.

Tuesday, September 5

This is a story about a funny owl and

Thursday, August 24

Some Wonderful Things.

1) Page 13 of the Atlanta Creative Loafing has a big picture of Roboctopus on it promoting the Atlanta Underground Film Festival.

2) I just recieved an e-mail from one of my all time favorite cartoonists, Matt Chapman from He saw Roboctopus and said "I really, really dig your style. It's super moody feeling and makes me uneasy in a really good way. Like I know something bad is gonna happen to the cute things. You make me really wanna learn After Effects. If you gimme an address I can send you some of our dvds. Definitely keep me in the loop on future stuff you do."

3)I'm on my way to finally finish recording the dialogue for the next Roboctopus episode. Then we can start animating.

A request.

1)Anyone willing to be my benefactor? I just need my rent and some credit card bills paid. I'm pretty affordable, as artists go.

Sunday, June 25

It seems that my network is inexplicably and irrevocably down. That's why this all looks so stupid. I'll try to get it fixed.

But the ROBOCTOPUS pilot is done. If you want me to send you a dvd, e-mail your street address to MIDNIGHTMAILMAN@GMAIL.COM.

I think you'll like it.

Monday, May 22

Roboctopus says to the Man on Fire, "Hey, look! Yeah, you! I'm going to ask you a favor. See it's the kids' birthday and I wanted to buy them some beer, but I forgot my wallet at home..."

Creeping steadily towards us all is the completion of "Roboctopus," Episode One, the animated video show.

Sunday, May 14

(click the picture)

Thursday, May 11

(click picture to watch movie)

"The Pepper Jack King"

The Lumbermen hadn’t heard about the dead children.
A pile of dead children were found out by the Lumbermans'
Mill, and everyone wanted to know if they knew about the
Pepperjack King. “Who’s are the Peperjack King?” asked.
"I think I herad him go that way.” They took the suitcase
out of the bookshelf and opened it up to where it talked
who and where the Pepperjack King might be. They took
out the secret device with a blinking light on the end. It
blinked and beeped a little, also. Behind them was a
towering green.

Monday, May 1


* * *

Bermuda and Steve are a two-headed naked monster. Bermuda is on the right half of the body, and is the “mean one.” Steve is on the left, and is the “nice one.” They will never Win Fabulous Prizes or Get Stabbed in the Chest.

* * *

Bermuda and Steve are slogging down Main Street, waist-deep in flood, with a sandwich board that says, “There Is No Universe.” They are passing out pamphlets. Scared families huddle close on homemade rafts. Things explode nearby, sending ripples through the water. No one is interested in anti-Universe propaganda, no one takes a pamphlet.

“The Universe is a Hoax!” Steve yells and shakes his fist. “No outer space! No Moon, no Mars! No Universe! It’s what They want you to think! It’s all what They want you to think!”

“Hey,” Bermuda calls to a fat woman trying desperately to balance herself on a floating picnic table. “The Universe is a hoax.” Her small white dog yaps at the two-headed monster as he tries to hand her a pamphlet.

“I don’t want one,” says the Lady. “Look, I’m just going to paddle away. Okay?” the fat woman wobbles forwards, almost loses her balance, catches it. She paddles small circles with the tips of her fingers.

“Here, let me give you a push,” offers Bermuda, his mouth smiling like he doesn’t know if he should smile or not. He gives the picnic table a little shove.

“Don’t touch my boat!” shouts the woman. She and her dog slowly float away.

“Hey guys,” says Howie the Little Girl. She is sitting on the trunk of a very large oak tree. She holds her best friend--a shriveled Old Man Head--in her arms. “I want a pamphlet.”

Steve looks up at Howie and sneers. “Nice tree, jerk hole.”

“Hi, Howie,” says Bermuda. “That is a nice tree.”

“Can I have a pamphlet? What’s it about?”

“These cost money to print and we can’t waste them.” Steve hands a pamphlet to a Business Man dog-paddling nearby. The man takes it without looking at what it is, and paddles on. “So get lost, jerk hole. We got stuff to do.”

“We really do have stuff to do. Like, handing out these pamphlets.” Bermuda holds up a handful of pamphlets and wiggles them so she knows which pamphlets he’s talking about. Just then a huge gust of tornado wind blusters by and steals the stapled sheets of informational paper into the sky.

“I can’t believe this!” shouts Steve in Bermuda’s ear. “You lost the pamphlets. This is so like you.”

“It was the wind! I was holding them tight like you say to.”

“You can’t blame the Coming of the Whale Wars every time you feel like messing up.”

“But this really was, and you still have some left…”

“I don’t need to hear it again, Bermuda. There’s only so many times I need to hear it. Geez.” Steve sighs.

Bermuda sags his shoulder, chin dropping to his side of the chest.

“Head says The Midnight Mailman is the Chosen One,” says Howie.

Steve squints up at the pamphlets now only tiny dots in the sky, blending with the dark black clouds of impending prophecy fulfillment. “What? That guy’s a jerk. No way. I’m probably the Chosen One.”

“Yeah!” Bermuda’s head pops back up. “You could totally be the Chosen One.”

Howie shifts her shriveled pet in her lap. “That’s not what Head says. He says it’s The Midnight Mailman who’ll stop the Flood and bring peace to the Whales.”

“Whatever.” Steve turns around to face the other way. He watches as a group of yellow Cutes swim past.

The Cute in front of the group turns around excitedly to the others. “Don’t get lost! Don’t fall behind! Remember, don’t get separated from the rest of us!”

“Well,” Bermuda looks up at Howie and her pet severed head. “Say Hi to your Mom for us.”

“She died,” says Howie. “Plague. But Head says she might come back when this storyline is over.”

“Yeah, maybe,” snorts Steve. “Like some head could ever even tell what’s going to happen in the next story. Maybe They’ll kill you off. Maybe you’ll never come back. Maybe it’s all just a Fake story with no Happy Endings to propagate Perverted Myths of Parents and the Post Office and how great it all is, aren’t we so happy just to be here?” Steve throws his handful of pamphlets, which catch in the steadily increasing winds.

“I’m sure your Mom will come back,” says Bermuda. “Sometimes we disappear for a long time before we show up again. Sometimes a really, really long time.”

Howie looks at the two-headed monster as she holds her best friend in the whole world tighter to her chest. “I know. Us, too.”

The water level rises. Countless masses of Locusts swarm through the air. People swim and float around in hopeless circles, crying, yelling, dying of Plague. The air, slippery with hot, grows hotter and hotter still. The rumbling of the civilized world lazered into nothing by cold-hearted vampires is a constant.

And it has only just begun.

Tuesday, April 25


I’m holding Mr. Happy Puppet Head, standing in our backyard.

I talk to the dead woman with huge prehensile vines growing out of her stomach. She tells me telepathically, “Now you just need to go to the farmer’s market and pick up some Kiwi Extract. Mix it up in a smoothie or something. Fix him right up.”

In the background some tornadoes ride by. The Vampire Lasers explode houses as they pass.

“It’s the Plague. There’s nothing we can do except wait. And hope.” I hold my unconscious, drooling friend tightly in my arms.

“Now listen to me. I had this friend that came down with this bad Plague and she got the Kiwi Extract and it cured her right up.”

“Cool. I’ll go to the store later.” I watch as one of the tornadoes comes really close to my house, but veers quickly away to blow up something else.

“Sure is wet out here today. Buggy, too” She swats at some Locusts with her vines.

“I’m pretty sure it’s the Prophecy,” I say.

“Which one? Eternal Night of the Giants? Magic Violin? Flame Granny?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s the Whale Wars Prophecy.”

She pauses and thinks. Looks around. “Oh, yeah. I can see that.”

A cloud of Locusts buzz past. More housees in the distance are blown up. The earth shakes. Mr. Happy Puppet Head erupts in coughs. He flops out of my hands and splashes into the knee-high water flooding the backyard.

He groans. “Oh, damn…” He coughs a little more, floating on his back. “I feel bad…” He stands up slowly. “What is going on? Do I have the Plague?” He vomits a family of frogs. “Tornado-riding vampires shooting lasers from their eyes… shit. Flood. Locusts...”

He looks thoughtfully around with sick, lidded eyes. “Second Coming of Ninja Senator?”

“Whale Wars,” the Dead Vine Woman says.

“Oh, yeah… I can see that.”

“Oh, you know what you guys should do?” She waves her tentacles around excitedly.

I look at her for a moment before realizing I need to guess what we need to do. “I don’t know… get some sleep?”

“No! You should get all your clothes together, like stuff you don’t want anymore, and sew it all together into a giant Hot Air Balloon!”

“I don’t really know how to sew,” I tell her. “And I don’t really have any clothes I don’t want anymore.”

“I can sew,” Mr. Happy Puppet Head whispers.

“Then you guys can just float over the world as it floods itself into destruction, wafting on a cool breeze, snacking on cookies and fruits.”

I try to find a way to politely decline when Mr. Happy Puppet Head says, “That sounds like a really good idea…”

He begins vomiting violently.

Sunday, April 23


Me and Mr. Happy Puppet Head are standing on the stage of our studio doing a show. The risers in front of the stage are full with small children. Some of them are asleep, the rest are fidgeting in their seat as a burly stage manager points silent fingers at them.

“And if you buy in bulk,” I explain. “Canned food can end up being much cheaper than buying fresh, or even frozen sometimes. This one is spinach.” I point to the chalkboard where I drew a can of spinach.

Mr. Happy Puppet Head sneezes loudly.

“Children, can we say ‘Sneeze, Sneeze, break your knees’ to Mr. Happy Puppet Head?” I ask the children. They all repeat the Sneeze Blessing back in bored monotone. A few of them sneeze loudly in the middle of it. A few of the kids immediately start repeating it to their fellow audience members.

“Okay, now when I go to the store, I usually buy some spinach, corn, tuna fish, maybe some beets, not the pickled kind…”

Mr. Happy Puppet Head sneezes again, this time louder and with more force, and sort of knocks himself back a good bit. More sneezes from the audience.

Everyone automatically chants, “Sneeze, sneeze, break your knees.”

“I also try to buy a lot beans. Beans are a great source of protein and are essential ingredients in most of our favorite Mexican dishes. Hey, you to be all right?” Mr. Happy Puppet Head’s sneezes have turned into a chocking cough. He spits up a little and nods his head at me. The kids in the audience are all sneezing and coughing and spitting up.

“Um… tuna isn’t a vegetable, but it comes… in a can…” I try to concentrate, but it’s difficult when several children are now vomiting and crying and having epileptic fits and there are all these big black bugs buzzing around. “What is going on? Mr. Happy Puppet Head?”

There is now a large pool of standing water covering the studio floor, and I hear a loud noise outside. Like a huge train coming closer and closer.

I swat one of the bugs against my chest and I get green goo all over my hand.

The roar outside is getting closer and louder and the bugs are buzzing, seeming larger, the kids are crying and moaning, flailing around in the water, unconscious. Louder and louder it comes. A train growling like a lion that’s surfing on the biggest wave ever. Louder, louder.
Crescendo. The back wall of the studio disappears in a cloud of dust and the wind rushes in.

I turn to see our small suburban town as it is ripped apart by a herd of tornadoes. Riding atop them are clawed Vampires shooting lazers from their eyes. The lasers make buildings explode.

I stare at the carnage, my eyes wide under the goggles. Realization dawns and I say dramatically under my breath, “It begins.”

The body of a small boy floats face down in the near two-feet of water, bloated, green, and covered in boils.

Friday, April 21


“There’s a Clown in the basement,” says Child, cute as a button.

“There’s no Clown in the basement,” says Father.

“Never Clowns in the basement,” says Mother.

“There is! Just look.”

“Fine, we’ll look,” say Parents in unison.

In the basement there is no single Clown, there is an entire troupe of Clowns, dancing and laughing.

They are juggling big clunky things.

“Why are there Clowns in the basement?” asks Father.

“I told you,” says Child.

“What are they juggling?” asks Mother. They squint in the darkness.

It takes a moment before they realize that the Clowns are juggling arms and legs. Mother and father look down to find that their arms and legs are missing.

And Child is dead. Dead by Clowns.

“Give us back our arms and Child’s Life!” yells Father.

“And our legs, but especially our Child’s Life!” yells Mother.

The Clowns disappear. They are Magic Clowns. They leave the arms and legs, but take the Life.

Father and Mother try very hard to put their limbs back on, but re-attaching limbs when one has no limbs is incredibly difficult. They learn a poignant lesson about something Deep and Abstract.

The End.


Father and Mother have their arms and legs crudely sewn on. It is a Mystery as to exactly how it was done.

They walk into the office of the Magic Clowns. One of them is on the phone.

“Excuse us,” says Father.

“Excuse us,” says Mother in her serious voice. “Now.”

The Clown On The Phone throws the phone out the window and floats in the air. “Please state your business,” Clown says in a Scary Voice.

“We’ve come for our Child’s Life,” say the Parents in unison.

“Down the hall, second-to-last door on the left.”

Behind the door the Parents find box after box of stolen Children’s Lives. It takes hours to sort through all of them, but eventually they find theirs and the Family is reunited.

They go on a picnic and learn something Charming and Interesting.

The End.


Clunky and Unnecessary.

The End.


“Hey Basement Clown Friends, try to keep it quiet tonight,” says Sexy Teenage Boy in Fashionable Clothing. “I’m having a girl over.”

The Clowns laugh hysterically as they Vomit Blood. (cue LAUGH TRACK, MILD)

“Seriously guys. Let’s be serious for just a second, okay?” The Clowns transform into a Sobbing Little Girl with a Razor Blade. She begins screaming and slashing at her face. Sexy Teenage Boy puts his hands on his hips and cocks his head to one side.

The Sobbing Girl stops screaming and slashing and looks up at Sexy Teenage Boy. She smiles and turns back into the Basement Clowns. They shrug their shoulders and smile as if to say “Well, you can’t blame us for trying.” Nothing is learned.



Wednesday, April 19

The cutes are having a Holiday Weekend Afternoon Party.

Mr. Happy Puppet Head and I stand in the midst of about fifty cutes or so, milling about chatting to each other. I drink Lemonade from a tiny clear plastic cup.

“I don’t know anyone here,” says Mr. Happy Puppet Head.

“Me neither.”

“Where’d you get the Lemonade?”

“Over there.” I nod my head towards a purple mop bucket filled with sparkling yellow. I take a sip from my tiny clear plastic cup. “They used real Lemons. Not a mix.”

“I like the mix.”

“I like Real Lemonade. It makes me think they care.” I take another sip and finish off my cup. I disappear and reappear next to the bucket. I can do that now.* I fill my cup, drink it down in one swig, fill my cup, swig it. I ready myself to begin the process again when a giant Dinosaur ambles up. He is big and round with a line of black spikes running down his spine. “Hey, you know that guy?” I ask Mr. Happy Puppet Head.

“Yeah, that’s… I met him once.”

“Vic Sebastian?” **

“Did you just make that name up?”


The Dinosaur plunks himself in the middle of the party, sprawling onto his stomach. “What’s up, guys?” He reaches his long neck out and snaps up a couple Cute’s into his toothy, serrated mouth.

“What’s going on?” I ask. I empty my cup, fill it again, disappear and reappear to stand next to Mr. Happy Puppet Head. “I’m the Midnight Mailman.”

“Cool.” The Dinosaur chomps up some more Cutes and chews loudly. Bits of Bloody Fur and Skull drip from his face. “Looks like a cool party.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get that raise.” Says a small Cute standing nearby. “I just don’t think I’ll ever get that raise.”

“I don’t know.” Says the other cute. “I bet you could get that raise. You could get that raise tomorrow.”

“I know, I know. I just have such a hard time with Confrontation.”

The Dinosaur turns to his right and bites the head off one, chews thoughtfully before quickly snapping up the rest of the body. “Man, I am hungry!” The other Cute blinks its long lashes at him. “This stuff is so good.”

“We ate before we got here.” I tell him.

“Yeah, never eat before a party. Is that Lemonade any good?” He rolls Cute around in his mouth, savoring it.

‘It’s Real Lemons. Not the mix.” I tell him.

“I like the mix just fine.” His eyes grow large as he surveys the rest of the Cutes, about twenty in all. “Oh man…” He takes a deep breath and plunges into a feeding frenzy. He chomps Cute after Cute, snarling and globbering this way and that. Mr. Happy Puppet Head and I watch in awe. I’m usually a little sensitive about a lot of Blood Spray at a Fun Party, but the gluttony is too impressive to look away.

After only a few minutes, there is only one Cute left. The Dinosaur sprawls out even bigger and rounder than before, his whole head covered in Cute gore. “Aaahhhhhh…”

“So what are we doing?” Mr. Happy Puppet Head asks me.

“We’re at a party.” I say.

“You want the last Cute?” My friend licks his furry black mustache away from his furry red lips.

“No thanks.” I blip over to the punch bucket and fill up my cup. There is still plenty of Lemonade, and Lemonade is plenty for me. “I’m gonna go.”

“Really?” Mr. .Happy Puppet Head asks as he takes a bite out of the Cute. “We just got here.” The lone Cute runs around in a tiny circle, whimpering and bleeding on the bloody grass.

“Hey, I got to get out of here.” The Dinosaur moans. He tries to stand up, but just rocks back and forth, grunting a little. “I think I need a roll home.”

Mr. Happy Puppet Head and I agree to help. I lean up against his big stomach and push with every ounce of my strength. He doesn’t budge. He’s really heavy. Mr. Happy Puppet Head watches intently and says, “Maybe you should push more on that side.”

“Why don’t you help me push?”

“I don’t have hands.”

“I’ve seen you push stuff before.” ***

The Dinosaur has fallen asleep and is snoring wetly.

“I supervise the push. I’m good at it. I’m a leader.”

Whatever.” I just keep pushing. I can’t move him even a little. After a while I get frustrated and Blip home. I get a glass of juice out of the fridge**** and go work in the backyard digging my deep, deep hole off to the side.

I’m building an underground Club House. *****


* It takes years of wishing for it in Food Court Wishing Fountains.
** It’s a good name.
*** He once pushed all of my belongings into a pile in the front yard and torched it for my birthday.
**** Not as good as the Lemonade.
*****Yes, you are invited. Sometimes the best clubhouses are the ones you build after going to a party where meaningful things happen with meaningful people. It isn’t all about drinking the free Lemonade and eating all the hosts of an Afternoon Party, It’s about digging deep holes in the backyard and thinking about clever things to say when your friends come over to crouch in the dirt with you.

Sunday, April 16

Sometimes it's hard to start again.

Thursday, February 9

Ellen Santa-Rafael Domingo has eleven arms, one for each of her children.

In her first arm, Leena's arm, she carries Lemon Pie.

"Momma, gimmie my Lemon Pie," says Leena all the damn time.

In her second arm, Charlie's arm, she carries a fistfull of Bendy Straws.

"Momma, gimmie one of them Bendy Straws." Charlie loves his Bendy Straws.

In her third arm, Linday's arm, she carries a Birth Certificate.

"Hey Momma. When was I born?" asks Linday. "In which Hospital and what's your Maiden Name?"

EllenSanta-Rafael Domingo never answers Linday becuase she's too busy holdingthe Two Angry Tiny Dogs in her fourth arm, Deana-Smitty's arm.

"Get him, you Tiny Dog!" scrieches Deana-Smitty. "You fight that Angry Tiny Dog, you Angry Tiny Dog!"

In her fifth arm, Sams' arm, she carries a New Set of Luggage.

"Momma?" asks Sam. "This Set of Lggage isn't so New anymore, is it?"

"I can't afford New Luggage every time you ask me that," replies Ellen Santa-Rafael Domingo. "Now hand me the Bug Repellent."

In her sixth arm, Nancy's arm, she carries Bug Repellent.

"Momma! They're on me! They're on all over me!" Nancy scratches furiously at her face skin.

Her seventh arm has been missing ever since Lenny-David-Spencer ran off for Marriage.

"Hand me that Power Bill, Wife," Lenny-David-Spencer says from his new recliner."I like to pay the Power Bill at least two weeks before it's due."

In her eighth arm, Mr. Bum Homeless Man From Street's arm, she carries a pack of Stale Cigarettes.

"Ah... thanks, Momma. I owe you one."

Her ninth arm and her tenth arm stroke each other nervously, wringing each other's hands and picking at fingernails.

Little Sarah and Little Jill have yet to recover from the Science Fair accident.

Her eleventh arm is the small nub of protruding bone and flesh you can just start to see under her left shoulderblade. It is only a few weeks old and has many months left to go.

It's a little tender now, and whenever she has a spare moment, Ellen Santa-Rafael Domingo pokes at the little pre-arm. This poking would turn into a habbit if she had more time, but she doesn't.

"Looks like rain, Momma," says Mr. Bum Homeless Man From Streets. He takes a drag from his Cigarette.

"It rains sometimes," says Ellen Santa-Rafael Domingo. "But that's what makes the flowers grow."

As if in response, Little Jill's left arm jerks a lttle. "Hey! Did you see that?"points Leena, her mouth full of delicious Pie. Everyone crowds around to see. Ellen Santa-Rafael Domingo and Leena and Charlie and Linday and Deana-Smitty and Sam and Nancy and Mr. Bum Homeless Man From Streets and Little Sarah who lies quietly next to Little Jill and the not-quite-an-arm-yet all wait for another small sign of life from the poor girl who so rarely proves that she's still alive.

But she doesn't do it again.

It begins to rain. Not one arm among the lot holds an umbrella.

Monday, January 30

"This is how you do it," he says. "Grab it's head with this arm, and just... jam it down it's throat."

"I think he'll bite me if I do that," she says.

"No way." He mimes the action of grabbing the little thing's head and sticking his arm down it's throat. "Just in and out, grab grab grab, and then we're Home Free."

"If this woman puts her arm into my mouth," says the little creature, eyeing the two people calmly. "I will bite it off. I will. I'll just bite it off and that's it."

"Wait, so it ate three of your babies?" asks the man.

"No, just the two. The other's over there in her playpen." She points into her front yard behind her to a small playpen with a young child playing with some colorful toys. "Just my boys. My boys are in there."

The little creature stands silently as it watches the two tall people talking. It makes a funny little face and spits out a baby's shoe. It is a blue shoe with a baseball on it.

"I bought that last week for him, and now it's all spitty." She picks up the shoe and tries to wipe off the spit, but it's sticky and slimy and she drops it back on the ground. "Now he's gonna have to walk around with just the one shoe."

The man suddenly grabs the little thing and wraps one arm tightly around it's head. "Don't worry, ma'am. I'll get your babies." The creature doesn't struggle or move or anything. With his other arm, the man forces his hand down the creature's throat. He wiggles it around, searching. After a long moment, he pulls out a small, spit-covered baby. It is a beatiful boy with curly blonde hair and a big happy smile. The woman takes her child and sets it on her hip.

"If you do that again with your arm," says the creature. "I will bite it off. I will. I wish you would not put your arm in my mouth again. I really wish you would not. And if you do, I will bite it off. I will."

"What about the baby?" demands the man. "We'll need to get that baby out of you."

"You now have two babies. How many babies do you really need?"

"All my babies," responds the woman, jiggling her slimy son on her broad hip. "They're mine and I need all of them, thank you very much."

The man nods his head and rams his arm down the thing's mouth. This time there is some struggle as the creature squints its eyes up tight and thrashes its arms about. The man clenches his jaw and searches for that baby.

"Do you find it?" asks the woman.

"You sure it's in here?"

"I think I know where my baby's at, thank you very much."

"There's just slime... oh, wait..." He struggles some more, and the little creature manages to slip out of his grip. The man pulls and pulls, and the little thing digs its heels into the sidewalk and pulls and pulls. Both sides are straining hard.

A pickup truck pulls up to watch.

"What's going on here?" asks the old woman in the driver's seat. "What's with all the pulling and that small monster, bugger thing?"

"Oh, it ate some my kids," explains the woman.

"Oh..." The old woman turns off the engine to her truck and leans comfortably on the steering wheel to watch what happens next.

The man puts one of his feet on the thing's face and pushes, and his arm slides a little bit out of the large mouth it is penetrating.

"Nice day, though," says the Old Lady.

"Oh, yeah... real nice." replies the woman.

The man puts his other foot on the thing's face and pulls as hard as he can. He strains and all the veins in his neck and face and arms bulge out like he's going to explode.

With a loud POP the man pulls a very small baby out of the creature's large mouth. It is also covered in slime, and less smiley about everything, but seems to be just fine otherwise.

"Hey, look at that." The woman takes her third baby and sets it on the other hip. "Thanks much."

"Oh, no problem. None." The man tries to wipe his slimy hands off on the grass, but little bits of grass and leaves adhere to his slimy skin. "Now you go on and get. Get out of here and don't eat folk's babies, okay?"

"I will eat any baby I choose. Any. I have already eaten twenty and you can't stop that from having happened. You can not, can you, Mr. Grab Arm?" And the little creature runs off and disappears into a hedge.

"Sometimes I'd like to run off and disappear into a hedge like that," says the Old Woman. "But I've got some canned goods to buy. Corn and the lot." She starts her truck up and drives off, disappearing into the horizon.

The woman then disappears into the small puddle of sticky spit at her feet, and the man disappears into a haze of late night television and rigid self-appraisal.

Tuesday, January 24

New banner, eh?

And is there anyone out there who'd like to help us make a New and Improved web site design?

Thursday, January 5

Oh, shit...


The door's locked.

She speaks.
Just open it. They lock from the inside.

He replies.
I know... but it won't open.

She changes into someone else entirely.
Hey, you got my money or what?

He jiggles the handle hard, not liking the looks of the man his wife has just turned into.

The scary man/wife grabs him by the collar.
I will smash your face right now. Watch.
He pulls his fist back ready to smash his face when he changes into someone else. This time a funny comedian. She wears a polka dotted blouse and is holding an empty cardboard box. She looks at the man expectantly.

The man jiggles the handle like he is confused.
Um... why are you turning into different people?

I don't think you're following me here, mister. Get it? Empty cardboard box? See?
She points into the empty cardboard box.

Oh. Yeah, I get it.
He spins so his feet are in the air and he begins kicking at the window trying to escape. The window doesn't let him escape.

Okay, I got one. There's a man doing pushups when this other guy comes up and says, Hey mister, she's already gone.
The comedian turns into a Princess from the Rennaisance.

She is the most beautiful thing the man has ever seen, so he stops kicking at the driver's side window and stares open-mouthed at the Princess from the Rennaisance his wife has turned into.

As a reply, the Princess hands the man a bag of crunchy, crunchy crackers and bursts into flames.

The man tries to kiss her burning face, and his face burns too. Everyone has a burning face in the locked car.

A police officer knocks on the glass and asks if everything is okay in the burning, locked car.

The man whose face is on fire and whose wife-turned-Rennaisance-Princess-on-fire is on fire speaks.
Yes. Very okay.

The Princess then turns back into his wife who isn't on fire at all.
Hey, where'd you get those crunchy, crunchy crackers?