They're Cheap

After Victor finished laying into his subordinates, he always took a long sip from his diet coke. The sucking sound he made with the straw drove everyone crazy. He found great pleasure in their discomfort.

"Well? Do any of you jizzbags have any ideas how to turn around this colossus clusterfuck?"

"We could shave costs if we automated some of the more dangerous tasks. Insurance is up 13% over last year."

"We're insuring those motherfuckers? Get rid of that. It's cheaper to pay off families after an accident."

Victor used air quotes when he used the word accident. Everyone laughed.

Magic Of Hell

Closed time curved loop reality travel is what Mandela-effected people are experiencing.

Say WHAT? Imagine if you will a group of people with the ability to steal ideas, people, souls, and move them from one reality to the next.

Then realize the multiverse is nothing more than mirror realities played over and over again like a film with many endings.

Those moving through time are seeing the world as a past life. Where words like Dilemna are now spelt like Dilemma. While mirror mirror on the wall is talking about a Kozyrev magic mirror that transported souls from one realm.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

At The Bar

Drunk Joe asked the man next to him at the bar “Do you believe in flying saucers? I think they are a crock.”

“No it’s absurd. They have it all wrong. Our ships are triangular.”

”Huh?”

“Aliens aren’t little green men. We come in many colors. You get light and dark ones here.”

“Where do you get these ideas?”

“I’m a triangle pilot. They are half as wide as they are long. Don’t believe me? We look mostly like humans, but” it pulls up its pants and takes off its shoes “see – four legs.”

Joe goes home and quits drinking.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

What In Hell Is A Soul?

The super highway of data flowing back to the Dyson Sphere brought several questions to mind. Are all the math numbers being crunched supposedly from bitcoin to dogecoin just souls caught in the Mandela effect? Seemed illogical. And yet?

The more one reviews the simulator of life. The more questions one has to think about. Does thinking make anything right? No.And often times thoughts bring about new ideas. The question is any of this real?

Then the realization even if this was not real. Here I am today. And here you are too? Which begs the question in hell.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Plastic Jesus In An Upright Tub

Me and Dale chuck rocks at it. Before school, while we wait for the bus on Highway 62 and after school or on Sundays. It's not all we do. We sit and talk about which girl at school we'd most like to bang. I'm more of an ass man. Dale really likes big boobs and has lots of ideas about what to do with them. Dale has a .22 rifle he shoots stuff with. I tried to get him to shoot Plastic Jesus but he said the bullet might ricochet and kill us. That would be a miracle, I said.

From Guest Contributor John Riley

John is the founder and publisher of Morgan Reynolds, an educational publishing company. He has written over forty books of nonfiction for secondary level students. His fiction and poetry have been published in Smokelong Quarterly, Connotation Press, St. Anne's Review, The Dead Mule, and other many other journals both online and in print.

A Rational Rebuttal To The Philosophy Of Futility

Eric got up from his table, leaving his philosophy books sprawled across the surface. Cramming for the test at this juncture was a futile gesture. He was certain Paul Nystrom would agree, but it wouldn't help him ace this test.

He'd heard of one student from several years back who aced his finals with a single sentence. "What's the point?" He'd gotten the only A in his class.

He also knew of at least two students who tried the same trick last year, and they'd both failed.

Philosophy professors love all ideas, except the one that questions their own validity.

Reasons To Write

Miguel was seated in front of the word processor, tears running from his eyes. The keys were making their poetic sound. Rhythmically putting letters into words, words into thoughts and ideas that moved things deep within his heart.

“You’re crying again,” Jenny said. “Why do you keep writing?”

“I don’t know,” Miguel replied. “I thought about not writing...”

“You really should.”

“I just think about how dark and painful my life was. Not having any way to get healthier with schizophrenia.” Sitting in the dark Miguel stared into the light. “I can’t leave anyone to fight this on their own.”

From Guest Contributor Steve Colori

Parking Lot Poet

I sit and think.

Of what, I'm not sure. As this mind has tendencies to wander. Wanting perfection, but tending to squander.As the ideas flow as dam water, next thing you know you're down the river. I gasp, adrenaline flows to capture the shore. Just to be able to hold to one original idea.

I sit and think.

In ways of harnessing this cursed gift, since frustration foreclosures many of them before they leave the pen. In a sense I'm the hopeless poet I so ironically created. The oxymoron of a poet's life sitting in a empty parking lot.

From Guest Contributor UInk Poetry