Invincible

Vainly, her vulva strained to become prehensile. With her digits and her digestive tract things of the past, her vaginal aperture was the only anatomical feature that could hope to get a grip on the handle and shut off the valve before all the veal broth leaked away again. Yes, they would probably replace it with venison consommé, which might well be more flavorful—but existence is fraught with uncertainties. She suddenly remembered that she had once seen a man visibly twitch his large, convoluted, rather hairy ears. If he can do it, I can do it better, she thought.

From Guest Contributor F.J. Bergmann

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Bobby carted the bin out by the hose and sighed.

This would take a while.

He started loading water guns, blasters, soakers, super soakers, water cannons, squirt guns, water pistols, pump-action blasters, pressurized water guns, and dual water blasters. Then he filled water balloons. What good soldier would go into battle without grenades?

He plugged every aperture, dumped his arsenal in the boat, surveyed the other canoes. Bobby hopped in, skimmed his hand across a super soaker. He imagined the jetting stream–-its range, accuracy. He envisioned drenched shirts and squealing.

No one would find this enjoyable, he cackled, no one.From Guest Contributor Joseph S. Pete

Joseph is an Iraq War veteran, an award-winning journalist, an Indiana University graduate, a book reviewer, and a frequent guest on his local NPR affiliate. He was named the poet laureate of Chicago BaconFest 2016, a feat that Geoffrey Chaucer chump never accomplished. His work has appeared in Chicago Literati, Dogzplot, shufPoetry, The Roaring Muse, Fictitious, The Blue Collar Review, The Five-Two, Lumpen, McSweeney's Internet Tendency, Pour Vida, Pulp Modern, Zero Dark Thirty and elsewhere. He once Googled the Iowa Writers' Workshop. True story, believe it or not.