Wednesday, December 29, 2010

WAKE UP LZRD HOLLYWOOD

HA HA HA! i clicked to the seventh dimensional fish who'd escaped from my building's elevator shaft. I wheld up the FLYER some thing had slipped under my door crack and waved it around, stirring the tiny air molecules that fed the lava on my floor. I had to strand on a stack of disfigured Barbies to avoid the sulfurous bubbling
THIS HERE says, I said, that if I'm not shropping at LEON'S then I'm paying too much for my antiques and must be CRAZY! I laugged again at the notion. LEON IS THE CRAZY ONE, HE KEEPS HIS LIZARD-ALLIANCE FLAG IN THE CORNER OF HIS STORE'S WINDOW!
I rocked me and armadillo to sleep to visit of our favorite world where the mud bubbles and sound of Mother's bandages always rip, and we dream and sleep and listen.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

second grade

If all this exists only in my mind why has my mind created such offensively puerile torture

Friday, December 10, 2010

The Velociraptor Who Ruined & Then Saved Christmas

Only after the velociraptor had attacked, eviscerated, and finished devouring the plump, greasy naked pink ape who had climbed into its cave did it realize what it had done. The jingling of the sleigh bells perched atop its rocky lair and unmistakable mixture of elaphine stink and jolliness made its nostrils quiver with voracious hunger and sudden guilt.
"OH NO!" it shrieked, red specks of gristle flying from its steel-strong jaw. "I've ruined CHRISTMAS! How will I fix this mess?"
It plopped onto the icy cave floor as well as a velociraptor can plop and buried its head in its razor sharp claw hands. Out of the corner of its emotionless amber eye, in a pool of viscerae, it spotted starlight glinting, ever so slightly, off of what looked to be short fur.
"Is that— could it be—" it squealed hopefully, snortling quickly and leaning forward to peer. Despite the velociraptor's colorblindness and the bloody mess of the puddle, it was sure the fur was pure, jolly red. It lifted it up out of the clumpy bloodied mass. "His hat!"
Fitting the Santa hat over its bony skull, it gnashed victoriously in the air and let out a hideous, cacophonous scream. "THIS CHRISTMAS IS FUCKING CRETACEOUS!"

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Spaghetti is a person! Dough & meat & grease!

I AM SEÑOR ESPAGUETIS!!!
MADE FOR YOUR CONSUMPTION SO PLEASE CONSUME ME!
PLEASE PAY NO ATTENTION TO MY NOODLE ARMS TWITCHING AS I TRAVEL DOWN YOUR THROAT!!!!


Sunday, November 21, 2010

Ima be your one love, your #1 crab

DEAREST JUSTIN!!!!,
I am your number one fan I painted my walls the color of your face skin!!!! Please come visit me I will try not to drown you.
LOVE YOU ALWAYS AND FOREVERE
Krbarbkarkkkk

Friday, November 12, 2010

Excerpt from Le Noir Erotique: Chapter 2

The stringy, twisted mustache of Jean-Paul glistened and gleamed from his sensual efforts. The bristles in his slender nostrils winked in the moonlight as he thrusted, his powerful, sinewy muscles knotting beneath the salmon-colored flesh of his buttocks.
"Arg," argged Jean-Paul.
"Arooo?" Georgette howled questioningly. Jean-Paul's pink-cheeked virility made her eyes roll back in her head a full 360 degrees.
"ARGGGG!" he argged again, sinking his canines into her ample brow and vacuuming up a good amount of her headflesh into his mouth. "Enuh tah. Tih uh feh ot a ur-shihuh urgahzah ih yor oboree feeh lih."
She bucked her hips and squeezed her powerful, tree trunk-like legs around his torso. Her bellow would echo through the piney forest for a very long time, bouncing around in the ears of future sylvan lovers for years to come: "LET LOOSE YOUR PEARLESCENT RIVER, YOU BRAWNY RAPSCALLION!"
-- from my forthcoming erotic novel

Sunday, November 7, 2010

This is for you

Hey you.
I wrote you something. A love letter. I put all of myself into it—all my feelings, my desires and dreams, my love for you. Then I got too embarrassed and erased it and drew you this picture of Taylor Lautner on a riding tractor instead.
I realize this is probably why you don’t love me, but what am I supposed to do? Not draw pictures of Taylor Lautner on a riding tractor? Sorry.
Love,
Me

Monday, November 1, 2010

"Sex Crazy Cop" by Leoncie - LYRIXXX



my transcription of Leoncie's touching lyrics to "Sex Crazy Cop"
He toldur that he wazint sorrehhh
He waz workin laaate and she shoota da stannn
She toldim I down believya storeh
It's just oneifa u-zoo-al one nye stans
Yuuurla tellin meh lahs, an think dah ahbaleerb yeh
Yor satcha lowr der greep enn hah despise you
Nothin seems to madder to yeeeerw ennie watch cheap seckss
Cheap secksss!
No needa chellis. Thurs no needabe chellis.
She wass onea of dose eesie pushy borhin trambs
Shat tha hellup! Whal you were bissie duinit
I woss worekin hoorrrrd at the disco beeenk
You were justa lousy gup and not some great detettih
You pickle all da sluts from the street and screwdim in sikhrat
If thas not enough, you go pooda spool geh some more
Cheap secksss!
You bangdem inda mornin! Bangdem evry deeh!
Come home in the evenin saynits ok
Weetcheeng his doktore told you that it's safe! Fuh yuh famuhly!
You were justa lousy gup and not some great detettih
You pickle all da sluts from the street and screwdimin sikhrat
If thass not enough, go guerda der spoo gessome more
Cheap secksss!
You bangdem inda mornin! Bangdem evry deeh!
Come home in the evenin saynits ok
Weetcheeng his doktore told you that it's safe! Fuh yuh famuhly!
Ohhh! Cheap secksss!

Sunday, October 31, 2010

BigHorribleMonster4W

hi ladies :) :) ;) my name is chad. i have been looking for that special someone to share my life with and im sick of the barscene lol! i love hiphop n skateboarding even though im not very good at it it's my life and i don't know what id do without it! im just a normal guy looking to not crunch your bones inside my dank lair lol. hit me up on FB or email me here, lol u no what to do! :) ;) >:() :,O X,,( :d !!!

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Excerpt from Le Noir Erotique

Jean-Paul’s manly need rippled through his body as he stretched out upon the French Riviera beach. His tawny skin kissed the pale blue sky as he ravished his young companion with his steel gray eyes. "Georgette," he mewled from his curled and scaly pink mouth. "It is your body I have dreamt of for lo these many years!" "AH JEAN-PAULLLLLL" squealed Georgette, clasping her slender hands daintily over her gently heaving ivory bosoms. "I have waited for you for so long to say those very words to me!" He roughly grabbed her shelf of back fat and pulled her close. "Ah Georgette," he cooed into her mustache. "Our sensual vacation of clammy bodily delights awaits us." -- from my forthcoming erotic novel

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Manny the Manatee: The Blog Post: The Movie

Listen the fuck up, Disney. You're terrible. You're struggling. You need a movie with a--are you listening?--MANATEE IN IT. They're no diggity SO HOT right now. 87 out of 92 stupid kids agree, manatees are the new vampires. "Oh no!" you pussies are thinking. "Now we have to write some movie about manatees! What the hell are manatees?" ERRRNNNNNHHHH (STEPPING ON BREAKS NOISE)!! HOLD IT, you Disney corporate fatcat wall streets! I ALREADY wrote this goddamn movie FOR you!!! It's about a Manatee named MANNY and he has a girl friend and a bad hammerhead Shark nemesis and why the fuck not a slow loris friend, because kids are too stupid to know what slow lorises is. It can talk with a Jamaican accent or some shit. Now, a bunch of cartoon industry dumbfucks, including yourselves, are thinking 3-D and CGI are the new way to go. WRONG!!! Just LOOK at the Accessories folder in your Start launch and see for yourselves -- it's MS PAINT. Kids these days don't learn jackshit about art ANYWHERE. Schools don't have money for art classes, and when kids DO get markers and glue, they spend all their time huffing or smoking it while sexting their teachers. The first experience this new generation of children get with art is awkwardly drawing Spongebob giving it to that fucking squirrel using the spray tool on the universal art-making program, MS PAINT. Not sold yet? Well, fuck you too. And read this excerpt from my script I typed on WORD, a professional word processing program:
MANNY I am save the ocean? But I am scarewd! TITTERELLA I belief in you I think the water neds you ot MANNY STOP TALKING I NEED TO THINIK OK JAMBI THE SLOW LORIS Ya mon like lit da mon dink he ned to sef os fram da shork do MANNY Jambi i Can always count of you for sense. JAMBI THE SLOW LORIS (gets hits in the nuts with a starfish) Oyyyy monnn, my notttts!! (author's note: catchphrase JACKPOT)
I will share the rest of this script and drawings with you, Disney or whoever else has money, for the low low price of 250 grand and a lifetime supply of weed. Drop ya info below if you know what's good for ya!

Sunday, October 3, 2010

For every occasion

Here are some cards I have been working on! If you would like to give these to a loved one, coworker, friend, acquaintance, secret arch-nemesis (you know who you are, you loud-mouthed bitch), stalkee, or your favorite zookeeper, please feel free to print them out and make into IRL cards! Just credit "© K.L. Ingram, Marquess of Love, 2010" on the back in Sharpie or nail polish or whatever scratchy tool is available to you (tip: fingernails work in a pinch). If you want to commission original work from me, leave a comment with your name, address, alternate address, email, height, date of birth, short description of your ass, favorite type of apple, and phone number.

Samples from my portfolio (My Documents folder, which I renamed "BADASSSSS"). Click to enlarge if you can't read it—I don't want you to blame your eye cancer on me!:

From the "Hey, it's you, or whatever. Guess I should get you a card or something" line

From the "We're family but we hate each other and have terrible taste in TV" line

From the "Why is everyone I hate more successful than I'll ever be?" line

From the "Generic card occasion" line

From the "Ugh. Sisters." line


Sunday, September 19, 2010

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Zeke, the lonely space cowboy

Perched on a slowly revolving ring of Saturn, Zeke the lonely space cowboy chewed his fatback and corn pone sandwich solemnly. “What do you think is out there?” he said to his trusty bay Willie, who whuffled into her helmet. He narrowed his eyes at the planets and stars that shone and winked in the inky vacuum. “Probably a lot of stuff I could fuck,” he said, and he put down his sandwich with the brilliance of this revelation. “Willie, we got ourselves a new adventure!”

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

PART 2 of the 2010 Alien Cro22-Blog2perience Xtravagan2a: The Bloggening

Picture by Bryan F.
Made spacier by me

This short story tale is the collaboration between me and Bryan, a very talented and spicy young man who will one day clean the president's teeth with a hot glue spider, or something. Part 1 was our individual stories (HERE'S RAYBAN'S!!!) which showcased our own perverse and various talents, and today you see what happens when we share a Google Doc and write together (SPOILER ALERT: it's MAGICK!).

PART 2 OF 2 SEPARATE STORIES
UNTITLED ALIEN PROSTITUTE TALE: IN WHICH THE GOSLINGS ASK FOR PIZZA

by B. Erik Fernandez & K.L. Ingram

Maleien was sitting in his pimp chair when his ho Ganxaxa sashayed through his door.
"BITCH," he boomed. "Where my money. If you don’t got my money I’m gon cut you!"
She quivered in her pearls. "Naw, naw, Maleien, you got me wrong! You know I'm good for it! I just got so many goslings at home, sometimes it's hard to keep up with everything!"
"I don't CARE if you good for it, I want the money now! You bring me 25,000 floopdedoops by TOMORROW or I'ma salt you and turn you into jerky, naw what I mean?"
"I will, I will! You'll see! I'll turn extra tricks, open a jerky shop, or something!" she cried, running out of the door.
She ran, viscous black fluid leaking out of her eyes, into the elevator up to her apartment where her goslings were waiting.
"BABIES!" she said, her voice shaking through the tears.
"MAMA WHAT’S WRONG" said all the goslings in unison. (Goslings are a hive mind until they reach level 24 drekels.)
"I got bad news for you. Mama's not going to be around much for awhile."
Her goslings sat staring at her.
“PIZZA, CHARLIE!” shouted the goslings in unison, which sort of creeped Ganxaxa out. Who was Charlie?
“PIZZA, CHARLIE!” they shouted again. Ganxaxa glanced around nervously.
But before Ganxaxa could figure it out, everything exploded. Stuff was still there when she opened her eyes but it was slightly different. It was strange--she couldn't quite explain it. Everything felt a little more green and her name was probably Charlie now.
"Am I Charlie?" asked Charlie.
The goslings' thoraxes were expanding and contracting at a nauseating speed.
"PIZZA, CHARLIE" they shouted again.
The goslings' strange dance was speeding up. She vomited up a thick roll of pizza dough. She could hear their exoskeletons crunching with each contraction. Charlie vomited again in fear.
This time it was a thick, red tomato based sauce pouring out of her face.
The goslings began to drone and buzz in unison, shaking her stomach like the great belly of a farnok being tickled by a raguna feather. At once the goslings became a fiery red, similar to lava, or maybe magma, and melded together like when you're heating up chocolate chips and then they melt into a puddle, but this puddle was solid and big as a Korlernt. She vomited one last time for what seemed forever. Mountains and mountains of mozzarella cheese and assorted fixins came rocketing out of her facehole straight into the puddle.
A giant hole opened in the puddle and it ingested everything Ganxaxa had puked up. Or was it Charlie now? She wasn't sure. All she was sure of was that she was scared and shivering and owed her pimp some cash.
So Charlie hotfooted it down to the nearest jerky store and robbed it at gunpoint. She returned the money to Maleien. They were wed the next day and had a very unhappy life together.

Monday, August 30, 2010

PART 1 of the 2010 Alien Cross-Blogsperience Xtravaganza

Picture by Bryan F.

On Sunday, August 29, 2010, two "great" minds joined brain forces for what I like to call a "cross-blogsperience." The above picture was done by B.E. Fernando, and we collaborated on a single story based on it (PART 2 TOMORROW BET U CAN'T WAIT!).
We also each wrote our own stories to go with the picture. For his story, go to his blog, which you should be reading anyway, jerk. Here is mine today:

PART 1 OF 2 SEPARATE STORIES
Alien couples have sad lives too
by K.L. Ingram

"What're you all dressed up for," he asked, barely looking away from the space TV.
His wife stood in the doorway to their bedroom, her slimy hands resting impatiently on her top two hips.
"When was the last time we went out?"
"What? Space’s Greatest Boner Videos is on, hon, would you keep it down.”
"I WILL NOT! WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME—get some of your hands out of your pants when I'm talking to you! When was the last time we went out, I said. Put down the goddamn remote and look at me."
He placed the remote on the arm of his Space-E-Boy and flicked his empty, pure black gaze to his wife's jagged figure. Both were suddenly and mutually overwhelmed by the nothing they felt with their eyes fixed on one another.
Neither of them was the same. They were bitter, angry, listless. Even in her finest red dress she was not the vibrant young carnivorous monster that he had devoured naked pink space apes with in the Battle of X-19-7-4098. And he knew he wasn't the same either; he no longer had the intense, ever-burning desire to fertilize her ova that he had as a younger alien, and where his hard lactic acid-filled sacs once made him an imposing, hale creature, they now hung limp with adipose tissue, his taut green flesh sallow and wilted.
They both thought often, as they did in that instant, of the occasion in which they copulated for 82 straight Andromedean days. Their excited, passionate, love-filled clicks and ululations had rung out emptily in the intimate airless void around them as their bony, grinding bodies wetly and hideously became one. Now their time together was filled with sullen silence, avoided touches, and nonenergetic feasting upon the ordered-out bones of their enemies (the preparation and consumption of which was once a joyous and often romantic event).
That brief moment of sad realization of the yawning, farcical futility of their life passed when he cleared his throats, a shrieking grinding of his esophageal bones that shattered the silence.
“Let’s go to Chile’s,” he said.
She knew it was the best they would both get, so she nodded and fetched her space purse.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

The ghost of Johnny Cash visits me at a Taco Bell

A couple of summers ago I was working a Taco Bell drive-thru on an especially sweltering evening—one of those Southeast Texas nights where the air is so stiflingly hot and soaked through with humidity that you have to hold your breath when you first walk outside. No one had come for hours and I was about to pull my till around 2 am when I encountered the ghost of Johnny Cash.
"You don't happen to have chicken dumplings, do you?” came crackling over my speaker. I had not heard the ding of the drive-thru sensor and was caught with a mouthful of illicit cinnamon twists dipped in nacho cheese. I inhaled suddenly from the surprise, and jagged shards of half-chewed crunchy cinnamon treats flew into my throat. I had to swallow half a bucket-sized cup of Sierra Mist Mojito Splash to stop the violent coughing.
"Hello—I'm sorry sir, what was that?" I croaked after a minute, drooling opaque, cheez-colored slobber onto the mic.
I heard a faint chuckle and the softest purr of an engine as the customer pulled up to my window.
You may call me crazy—and hey, I've been diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia as much as the next gal. You may also call me high—and sure, I had ingested enough THC and ketamine that night to make a polar bear hallucinate for three days. But I tell you this, with every truth-filled fiber of my being, that below me that night in a gleaming black towncar at that Taco Bell off the 290/Beltway interchange was, very unmistakably, the ghost of Johnny Cash.
"Hello, hon," said the ghost of Johnny Cash. "I said, you don't have chicken dumplings, do you?"
I shook my head, wiping the drool off my face with the back of my hand. "No, no sir. We have... we just have tacos."
He nodded and asked me to read him the entire menu. I did so, and when I finished he asked me to do it again. He ordered nachos supreme and two chicken chalupas and carefully counted out the $4.35 in dimes and pennies.
"Sir, sir, don’t worry about it," I protested when he pulled out his heavenly change purse.
But he just smiled that crinkled Johnny Cash smile and said, in that beautiful rich rough baritone, "Don't worry about it, sweetheart. I'm Johnny Cash."
I pressed the packets of Fire Sauce firmly into his hand, which felt neither cool nor warm to the touch, and silently, with the smile still on his face, he drove off into the hot pitch black night.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Angry bald man in a wig store

"What the fuck is this shit? Am I NOTHING to you people?" 

Monday, August 23, 2010

COSTNER: A Savagely Erotic Journey into the Heart of the American Dream

The Bodyguard: Raise your voice, Whitney. Sing the song that runs in all of our hearts. When Costner very literally swept you off your feet, he swept us all off our proverbial feet forever.
Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves: There were also breasts (?) and a waterfall in this
Field of Dreams: We laughed, we cried, we pondered our own daddy issues, wwe choked on hot dogs. This movie has everything, including a crowbar and a rousing scene where all of us good Americans stood on our chairs with Costner's wife who sort of looked like Holly Hunter and shouted together, raising our voices as one, NO WE WILL NOT BAN OUR BOOKS! WE ARE AMERICANS! WE ARE AMERICA!
And we are. Together. Because of you, Mr. Costner. I thank you. More than words can ever say.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Art Garfunkel's hotel stay

"This is a really good show, considering it is made for children," thought Art Garfunkel. hoped his wife wouldn't notice the part of the bedspread that he had gotten wet even though he had put a towel down.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

COMING TO THEATERZ NEAR YOU

POLTERHEIST
Screenplay by K.L. Ingram & B.E. Ferdinand D.D.S.

PLOT SUMMARY
It was an ordinary brisk fall day in Horror Falls, Maryland. Little did paranormal specialist Sam Cranston (Keanu Reeves) know that that day, America would depend on him to thwart one thief’s nefarious plot to steal the nation’s most precious historical artifacts, its largest reserve of gold ingots, and the White House.

But there’s just one problem—this thief, Aloysius Nutgomery (voiced by Mark Wahlberg), is pretty unconventional. So unconventional that he’s actually an invisible spirit from the underworld, bent on revenge against the country that betrayed him. But what about Sam’s pending wedding to beautiful Maria (Beyonce), the exotic stripper with a heart of gold and a doctorate in cryptozoology, and his angst-filled but good-hearted daughter (Demi Lovato) getting kicked out of private school and fired from her dog-walking job on the day before her homecoming date with the hottest guys in school (the Jonas brothers)?

Supporting cast includes John Malkovich as Pentworth Q. Moneydollars, Al Pacino as Dr. Wilfred Cranston, Katy Perry as President Tina, Dolly Parton as herself, and Queen Latifah as the voice of Eloisa, the Sassy Poltergeist. Available in 3D and IMAX.

EXCERPT

SAM CRANSTON
Madam President, I have something very important to tell you.

PRESIDENT TINA
I am listening now.

SAM CRANSTON
A poltergeist is going to steal the White House.

PRESIDENT TINA
What.

SAM CRANSTON
Yuh.

PRESIDENT TINA
Whoa. Are you sure.

SAM CRANSTON
Uh, I have been researching the paranormal for like years. So I am so sure. This morning I stopped the poltergeist from stealing the Fox Diamond and Lincoln’s first tricycle, and then before lunch I stopped him from taking the gold ingots from the Treasury building.

PRESIDENT TINA
[Drops presidential robes seductively]
I bet you are so tired. Big boy.

SAM CRANSTON
Ms. President please. We have work to do. And I am going to marry a very lovely lady. [checks watch] …in TWO HOURS? OH NO!!!

PRESIDENT TINA
[Puts robes back on] We better get to work then. We have a White House to save and the love of your life for you to wed.

SAM CRANSTON

Yuh.

[End scene]

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Monday, July 26, 2010

Lizardface, Queen of Toilet Paper


ALL YOUR TOILET PAPER HAS BEEN INSPECTED BY ME PERSONALLY

says the sign outside of the palace. It is true, every roll of toilet paper is personally scrutinized, handled, tested, and licked by Lizardface herself. Every last piece of flimsy tissue you've squeezed between cheeks and into crevices and used to blow your nose and wipe up snot and blood and tears and pee and spills has had the rough tongue of Queen Lizardface lovingly run across it to make sure it is good enough for you. Just for you, personally.
"But how can it be for me when she does it to all toilet paper?" you wonder.
Can you accept that this act of total kindness is for your sake? It is the only thing in this whole world that is done for you. Wholly for you. Not for any kind of reciprocation, even emotional; in fact, your ingratitude is entirely assumed and expected, and yet Lizardface painstakingly examines and licks for you.
Just please, do me a favor and think of Lizardface's pure kindness the next time you use toilet paper. But that little flicker of cynicism and doubt in your heart—that tug that says no one, no one no matter how kind can truly give something totally to another—will make your next wipe a little scratchier, I bet. And I'm not going to say you don't deserve it.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Private EYE

The last thing Rick Russet expected to see walk through the door into his crummy office that day was a gorgeous potato. But there she stood in his office, her full lips pouting in anticipation, her stylish hat pulled low just above her beautiful eyes.
"Mr. Russet," Lola Hashbrowns repeated in her low husky voice that was as silky warm as a slow wash in a sensual kitchen sink. "I need to know if you'll let me hire you."
The tendrils of smoke from Rick's slow-burning cigarette licked his office's nicotine-stained ceiling. He frowned, pretending to be considering what she'd offered him, when really he would do literally anything to see her thick-skinned curves and luscious new potatoes again and again.
"A peel job, eh?" he asked from the corner of his mouth, hoping Lola couldn't hear his heart thudding or see his cigarette quiver ever so slightly like a shoestring fry being dipped into hot oil.
"Just this one time," she said almost in a whisper. Her eyes seemed to be reaching out to him, pleading. Rick nodded slowly.
Lola's lips turned up at the corners—almost more of a smirk, Rick thought—and she turned and walked out of his office. Rick watched her sensuous body bob down the hallway, his eyes tracing her delicious brown shape, and wondered why his stomach suddenly felt like a bunch of month-old tater tots moldering in the sun.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

The Beast builds Belle a bookcase

"Why does a bookcase have the name of a man?" wondered the Beast

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

WHO RUNS THE INTERNET?: an exposé

• 404 Error messages: 404 is bear code for "bear"
• Type in "facebear.com" or "bearbook.com" and you will be redirected to Facebook - a front for bear networking
• When "something is technically wrong!" on Twitter, it's because honey has dripped into the gears that make the internet run and gummed them up
• I'm a bear
• You're a bear
• Bears run the internet!

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Tristan the Golden Whale Genie





I can grant your every wish, little boy



But I won’t

Monday, June 28, 2010

My bestselling children's series

Excerpt from a novel by K.L. Ing, The Mostly True Adventures of Corky Calabash and Her Best Friend Louie (Who Is Also Her Dog!) #12: The Thrilling Tale of The Muffin Pirates (Who Became Friends With Yours Truly) (Corky Calabash!!!!)

“Golly gosho, Louie!” exclaimed Corky as she shined her flashlight into the now-empty culvert. Her missing front tooth made all her Ss whistle. “You think there are pirates down there?” Pirates… pirates… pirates… echoed back at her from inside the tunnel.

Louie seemed to nod and shake his floppy mutt ears in reply.

“Pirates in Middleton, gosh!” she whispered to herself. She swung the flashlight and was shocked at what she saw in the beam of the flashlight.

On the concrete wall of the culvert scrolled in very old-timey script was a warning. “BE WARNED,” read Corky carefully, remembering what Tina the Tutor taught her about words ending in –ed. “…ALL YE… WHO ENTER… OUR PIRATE LAIR!”

Corky and Louie gasped in fright. Louie whimpered and tucked his curly tail between his legs.

“Gee gosho golly gumps, Louie!” snapped Corky. “Stop being such a scardycat! We need to save those stolen apple bran muffins from those pirates!” Her words were fearless but her voice shook a tiny bit. She swallowed hard and her gulp! echoed in the tunnel. “…Even if we is a-scared!”

Friday, June 25, 2010

Roland, the Melancholy Starbucks Patron

"Oh, life!" yawned Roland from his seat in the second booth near the window at the 17th Street Starbucks. He scratched his flanks with a sleepy smack of his cafeteria-pink lips. Glumly he flicked the Reduced Fat Very Berry Coffee Cake crumbs from the collar of a wrinkled pale blue linen shirt.
"I am like a Dürer print. These crumbs are like my sadness," he jotted in his Moleskine, jabbing the umlauts with special fervor. Roland nodded with satisfaction. He leaned back in the booth at a careful 30 degree angle and watched a daddy longlegs crawl into a corner.
"Oh, to see the natural world from this sprawling steaming concrete jail!" he wrote furiously, flinging azure ink all over his crumby cotton shirt. Roland frowned and scratched out steaming and wrote hellish. He nodded again.
"Oh, words!" Roland started all of his sentences with Oh. He frowned deep in thought for two hours then got a refill on his extra hot venti hazelnut cappuccino, and he sighed very deeply when the barista asked him soy or regular milk.
"Oh, this world," he frowned with a sad chuckle. "This. World."

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Big Manly Darryl

MY NAME! he bellowed every morning IS BIG MANLY DARRYL, AND I LOVE THE SMELL OF MY OWN TESTICLES! He kicked his cabin door open with his manly muddy boots and stomped to his outhouse.
But, he whimpered quietly to himself in the buzzing still stench as he crouched over the stinkhole, I do so long for the touch of a woman.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Let your mouth gape open and suck in some of this new air!

Like Charles Foster Kane, I write my mission statement for you, the reader, and publish it on the first page (as long as you don't tear it out and ask to keep it to rub it in my face later when I become a pathetic, lonely, megalomaniacal egotist who totally lacks the ability to connect with other humans in any meaningful way) (just kidding, that describes me exactly how I am already!):

I pledge to make this blog full of


and sometimes to get a little serious to provoke some personal


and, ultimately, great


!!!

So I'll see you around, you fabulous person. Have I told you lately how much I enjoy your company, no matter what everyone else says about you when you're not around? It's true! Your braying, snort-filled laugh is like music to my ears, and your ridiculous sense of style has its own fun quirkiness that just screams I BUY MY CLOTHES OFF THE INTERNET WITHOUT TRYING THEM ON, I DRESS IN THE DARK, I LACK FUNDAMENTAL UNDERSTANDING OF STYLE AND COLOR, I NEVER LOOK IN MIRRORS, AND I DON'T GIVE A CARE WHO KNOWS IT! Love you!!!!!
Signed,
K. Lee Ingram
June 16, 2010