A little army of cobwebbed beachcombers in the bar. Levi counted them; there were seventeen. They were leering off into the bar's long mirror, their cheeks swallowed up by LSD and mescaline and morning glory seeds. Their hair strung, wet-looking, gray and twisted to just above their shoulders. Their pastel Hawaiian shirts and water-stained buckskin jackets clung to their skinny arms. Read More »

Deep in the illustrious catacombs of Morehead Hall, in a large auditorium filled with ready-to-learn students, Professor Lou Eighnal stands in front of his class, a week before finals. On the chalkboard, a message reads "The History of Sodomy." Read More »

So the doctor says he's sterile. Who fucking cares? Besides, even before he found out that he was shooting blanks, Gooden thought babies were pretty much worthless.  There's really no point in worrying about conceiving one of them. What's he supposed to do? Read More »

In the fields of Grandmother's dead dandelions, moon spread across the earth like a hand over a wet basketball, Boy-Shaman decides to call for the rain.  He drags along a bright orange dolly with a sheet of warped, unpainted plywood laid across the top-a makeshift boxcar he built after dinner-up a hill. Read More »

I'm alone and ready and then...my good old body finally shakes up to itself.  Then, I'm inside of her. Just like that...inside. Deep and immoral and inside...I been alone for a long time, though...and I love this girl...I guess...by proxy. We here alone. Read More »

While you were away, your wife screwed your best friend. Purple satin-slick screwing, wounded kiss screwing, hair-pull screwing that she's never allowed you the honor of. It was sexy and gruesome; I assure you, they loved the juice. Read More »

Well kids, if you're wondering what I've been up to, here's it. It's kinda long, but I'm really proud of it.

Lemme know what ya think. Read More »

Alright kids. This is the first movie I've made in about a year. I had a lot of free time. Either way, sound is crucial for this...unless you really like shapes...so please, turn up your speakers or plug in your earphones. This has been recorded at a very...unfortunate...volume.

Also, it's very, very dry humor. If you don't like that, then you won't like this. Uh-huh. Read More »

There are two things you're doing right now, reader. Aside from stroking your clit...Either, one, you have read the title and asked aloud: Who the FUCK is Leeroy Jenkins and why should I give a FLYING SHIT ABOUT HIM?

(Careful now, your mother is in the next room!)  Read More »

If you're reading this, you're probably not a lesbian. Actually, nix that. If you're reading this, you're probably a lesbian. Because after I'm done writing this, I'm posting links to it all over your dykeish websites (watch out ellen.com!). Read More »

This is my dog.

His name is Robert Plant.

...

Believe me?

...

If you don't comment, I'll take his rock-muzzle off..... Read More »

I'm going to go out on a limb and figure most of you don't know ZZ Top, given the fact that most of you rather click AC/DC Ringtone Ads than comment on my blog (fuck you, seriously). Read More »

This is the first in a long, long series of articles explaining the true meaning behind awesome rock anthems' lyrics, inspirations and otherwise. Read More »

This story was edited. Now it's much better. You'll see it up on Tuesday in the columns section.

YEAH! 

In the last hour, I was given the challenge by a writing buddy of mine to write three stories. Each was supposed to be 200 words, 400 words and 600 words exactly. They are actually 250 words, 400 words and 650 words exactly (less the title, of fucking course). If you don't like that, you can lick my literary nuts. Read More »

These are my favorite quotes...someday I hope to be just as literary, snotty and bitchy as they are remembered...combined.

Here we go... Read More »

At our shared mirror, my roommate lathered his face with a bar of white, overly-fragrant soap in the purplish dark of early morning. I saw the gunk sliming through his hands and then falling into our sink. I closed my eyes then looked to him again. He was sharpening our public straight-blade on a leather strop, then running it over his neck. Read More »

A man is a god in ruins.
-Emerson

They watched her dance, a thin chain of silver around her stomach shining against the firelight. She was blonde, fourteen; her skin, they only knew to describe as the color of wet pencil shavings. Her name, as they had always known, was North. The Birthright Child. The Living Womb and Savior. North. Read More »

Still a little coked-up, Ray Mercer sits on the edge of a little, stone bench, staring through the tall windows of Charles Family Tuxedo Rental. He’s holding a flimsy deck of cards in his right hand, shuffling, cutting aptly. As Mercer’s hand flips through the cards, he speculates if he can scrape together enough money to rent a suit for his sister’s wedding. Read More »

On the Genius of Professor Nicholas Gaudio
A Brief Autobiographical Fiction

At Yamsleigh College in North Connecticut there resides deep in the illustrious catacombs of academia, a man named Professor Nicholas Gaudio. Read More »

So, I'm pretty sure my apartment's got a new tenant...a mouse. Now, if you don't know me well (and you don't), you also don't know that I fucking hate mice. I'm not afraid of much...snakes, heights, that shit...but mice scare the shit out of me. Bubonic plague carrying little vermin...ah...they're so goddamned quick. Read More »

Welcome to PIC 2.0. I'm your temporary host, Nick Gaudio, devilish erudite and designated asshole around these parts. Before we start with the introduction of the staff, the bloggers (who don't get the prestigious title of staff, because they're fucking bloggers), and most importantly me, I'd like to let you know a few things about the site. Read More »