“ALRIGHT. WHO’S THE ASSHOLE WHO FUCKING GAVE ME A FUCKING BUTTERFLY?!” I asked the guys nicely.
Blank stares answered me. And a few thumbs up some asses. In some cases two.
“A butterfly, Pau?” asked Baddie.
“Yes, a butter–fucking–fly. Did I stutter?” The guys shifted uncomfortably, each of them waiting for somebody else to answer.
“Well no Pau,” Coco interjected. “If you stuttered, we would have heard you say ‘Butt—butt-butt-butt-butterfly!’ AMIRITE?!” The severity of my glare told me that he was indeed, “not rite.”
“I’M GOING TO START COUNTING—” I went on.
“And we’re going to start dancing.” continued Bim. Or rather, that’s what he tried to say before I punched him in the neck. In reality, what he said was “And we’re going to start—OW OW OW JESUS PEDRO CHRIST!”
“Now then. I’m going to ask again. Nicely this time. Which one of you sensible idiots gave me this fucking butterfly?” I said, with much restraint.
Continue reading ‘The Case Of The Butterfly Stain: A TMB Mystery’
Contrary to popular opinion, being a cannibal is not all roses and rainbows. In fact, it can be downright lonely. You can only have people over for dinner only once, and you keep running out of friends. When you do get to meet new people, they have this tendency of turning their backs on you once they find out the truth.
But I’m here to tell you that cannibals are people too. We have feelings, thoughts, and ideas too. Don’t you think we get hurt when nobody shows up for our dinner parties? Don’t you think we do not bleed when you fight back as your last vestiges of life slowly fades away? Don’t you think we get tired of the constant ridicule? Enough is enough! We demand respect! We demand acceptance! But most of all, we demand you to keep still!
I know it’s hard to imagine but we can exist in harmony if only you give us a chance. We’re not unreasonable. We’re not zombies, not a lot of us fancy eating your brains because believe it or not, some of us are grossed out by them. See? We’re not that different you and I.
Perhaps it would be easier for both of us if I shared with you some excerpts from my Diary. These entries were written while I was in high school. Read on.
Continue reading ‘It’s Hard Being a Cannibal’
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The wife and I barged into the bookstore and made a beeline toward the reason for our being there. We searched frantically and we searched sexily, but no amount of franticness or sexiness can produce the volume on which hinges the success of our happiness. Books dealing in bizaarre topics like cosmetic dentistry in San Diego, and practicing martial arts while working for the government were present, but not the ones we were looking for.
“WE NEED TO ASK SOMEONE!” my wife exclaimed frantically.
“I KNOW! BUT WHO?!” I replied sexily.
“IF ONLY THERE,” my wife paused to catch her breath. “WAS SOME SORT OF GUARDIAN IN THIS STORE OF BOOKS UPON WHO WE CAN ASK ABOUT OUR DILEMMA!”
“LIKE A BOOKSTORE AGENT. OR STORE MASTER!” I said as I removed my shirt and slammed it on the floor in triumph.
“Uh excuse me?” said a timid voice from somewhere at the end of the aisle.
“Well?” I said impatiently. “Speak up young knave! We have pressing matters that demand our attention!”
Continue reading ‘Foreign Language’
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