Any ideas on what I should name this motherfucker? — Titles! Fucking titles! Why does every story need a title? Beethoven didn’t name his symphonies. (Maybe he did, but in 2022 facts are what you say they are.) Any of you dimwits have a title for this story? What’s the story about, you ask? Who cares! Doesn’t matter. The publisher…

He was born with a bad attitude, and a night like tonight made it even worse. You could smell the threat of death coming from him, and you knew it wouldn’t be his. — It was a sweltering August night, draining the very soul of the city away. Even after tucking a fifth of whiskey away, I couldn't sleep. The night was too sticky to sleep, and I was too drunk to get a dame. So I was on the prowl. Yeah, on the…

Day 98 of 💯: To appreciate Art to its fullest, it must be an interactive event. — Exquisite. The feeling of sharpened, cold steel on flesh. Gently slicing the flesh open, exposing her inner beauty to the maddening crowds. The jealous crowds of buffoons and louts, admiring only her outer beauty. Age withers external beauty away, but inner beauty is forever. The veins. The muscles. Even the…

Day 97 of 💯: Even the gods want to taste the warmth of a beautiful woman’s loins. But sometimes their power is no match for a mighty warrior’s skills and passions. — The gods watched Jenna stride naked into the stream, her body bloody from battle, bathing her lithe form in the ice-cold waters, and their loins filled with divine lusts. They watched as she meticulously scrubbed her body clean. As she painstakingly removed the last traces of her battle from her…

Day 96 of 💯: The song of the sirens played in my ears, as we lost all, which is good and fair and just. — The sound of the orchestra wafted through the air, like a memory of saner days long past. I felt the rumblings of the rockets exploding and hear the crunching of hobnailed boots as the delicate melodies of the orchestra weaved from my ears to my brain. Childhood memories of the…

Day 95 of 💯: A cacophony sends me into an unbridled rage. Will this restore my sanity? Remove my writer’s block? — Discordant noise waft through the air, deafening me in the process, as I attempt to complete the last chapter of my new fiction. Throwing open my shades and peering out my window, I see Giuseppe, our local butcher, was not slaughtering the neighbourhood's feral cat population, as I had hoped…

Day 94 of 💯: It's a Rocky sort of Sunday morning. — The only thing worse than a wake-up call blasting into your sleep is heading to the shitter in your hotel room after a night of forgotten fun, and the wake-up call blasting away as you’re trying to take a dump. You know the type of dump I mean — a…

Day 93 of 💯: Some days you’re set to beat the world and some days, it’s better to have never woken up at all. — The morning sun shone directly into my eyes when the cleaning crew unlocked and opened the blinds, forcing me to pull myself out of the pool of puke I had passed out in. Fortunately, it was my own puke… I think. “Tough nite, there, eh, Mister P?” Fucking mouthy cleaners…

The burning fire of truth. — Three fingers of Wild Turkey 101 to start the night off on the right foot. Not to chug back, but to sip. Slowly. Purposefully. Not to mess up your brain, but to put it on straight. To put you into the scene. Make life vivid and sharpen your senses. To…