The Mezunian

Die Positivität ist das Opium des Volkes, aber der Spott ist das Opium der Verrückten

Boskeopolis Stories: VENGEANCE IS A DISH BEST SERVED WITHOUT FOOD ON IT SO THAT SMOOTH PORCELAIN TEXTURE ISN’T RUINED BY ALL THAT HAIRY CHICKEN AND STUFF YUCK

She’d been thinking ’bout it for a while & decided that the gingerhaired thiefrat that Moneybags obsessed o’er would have to pay. She was thinking ’bout it while walking down Habanero Highway, which always reeked o’ gasoline on the desert afternoons, on a trip toward Verditropolis, which she was now thinking she’d have to postpone […]

Posted in Boskeopolis Stories, Short Stories

Salon claims there is a good Lenin & a capable Democratic Party — but there are no such things

I haven’t been paying much attention to politics for the past… half decade or so. There used to be a joke ’bout comedians intentionally voting for incompetent presidents so they’d have great material, but we have since learned that this is wrong: truly incompetent presidents & the long shadow they cast ’cross politics e’en after […]

Posted in No News Is Good News, Politics

Boskeopolis Stories: IN THE BELLY OF THE ANIMAL WHOSE DEMEANOR I DON’T QUITE ENJOY

“IN THE BELLY OF THE ANIMAL WHOSE DEMEANOR I DON’T QUITE ENJOY”, or “BOSK-FL5761-BELLY”, as it is abbreviated, is the seventh story of Boskeopolis Stories’s sixth season, and the 94th story overall, written by millenial Jupiterian crustacean J. J. W. Mezun. Autumn and Edgar are eaten by the white supremacist whale while searching Orange Ocean […]

Posted in Boskeopolis Stories, Short Stories

咳

They say it's better to stay inside when sick... That's why I'm always inside... カフカフカフ・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Posted in Crazy, Poetry

Boskeopolis Stories: ON THE ORIGIN OF THE GENUS BECAUSE DARWIN AND ENGELS ALREADY TOOK THE TWO AROUND IT WHAT SHELLFISH JERKS

Here I was: I found myself standing before the mouth o’ Osequus Cave, where legends say roams the great prophet, J. J. W. Mezun, who is said to have 1st discovered the obscure tales o’ Autumn Springer, the great thief o’ Boskeopoleon folklore. Tho I knew this was a prophet, like many, perennially drunk on […]

Posted in Boskeopolis Stories, Short Stories