Writer, Original Geek, Legendary Cab Driver and King of This Sandbox. Also, liar, damned liar and complainer about the news. Influences include Babylon Bee and Charlie Hebdo
I see you, true believer. You’re not just watching the news—you’re worshipping by glowlight. Your home shrine flickers in protest: TV screen bright, candles lit, praying that Voldemort will finally fix your rent. You whisper curses to Orange Foolius like he’s the final boss in a video game you neverContinue Reading
Inger finds refuge at Buckskin Mountain as KPUFR broadcasts subversive news from feline uprisings to emotional glitches in the Citadel. Amid Bluefish dinners and tonal recalibrations, resistance simmers, satire sings, and the gravel still looks like buckskin—even if no one sees it.Continue Reading
The Hive didn’t catch the murder first. Mrs. Callow did—with garden lights, an analog heart, and habits too stubborn to forget. Jace’s blood had already dried across the truck’s dash, and Inger hadn’t heard a thing. By the time Morrow rang her bell, the street had pressure-washed its guilt and gone quiet again. Mikiko made coffee. Morrow asked questions. Inger reached for her binkie in Buckskin and tried to remember why grief felt heavier when silence followed it.Continue Reading
Damian, soaked and haunted, collapses into the 黒豹 submarine’s mess deck as Mikako, a 2125 robot styled like an alley café girl, watches with cold curiosity. With police drones fading and the AI’s cryptic warnings blaring, is this salvation or a trap? Dive into this wild escape where loyalty and chaos collide—read on!Continue Reading
Damian Holt roars down I-70 East in a biohazard-tagged Escalade, AR lenses glowing with obsession. Paradise Valley fades, Manchester’s decayed streets loom, and a deadly dash awaits at 1107 East 16th Street. Inger’s rejection fuels his grip on a 1975 pocket knife, bloodlust simmering beneath the surface.Continue Reading
The Woke True Folk toss me mock-worthy grenades, but Trump’s outdone them with the Trump Military Parade 2025—a Soviet-style circus for his 79th and the Army’s 250th. Tanks roll, helicopters buzz, and Doc Holiday the dog struts while Cheetoh Satan brags it’s “better than ever.” I laugh at the dictator vibes, but the real joke? A $25 million ego trip that even Mao would envy. Dive into the full takedown at worldofwebb.net—subscribe for more satire that bites!Continue Reading
Malcontents demand burkas and Trump’s death, pushing legalism that fuels rebellion. From Rome to Berkeley, history shows control fails. Grace, not laws, offers peace.Continue Reading
Dope Fan cribs, totally chill, hide gnarly vibes. Damian squats in Inger’s pad, rigs Charlie’s gear, streams easy—40 hours of MMORPG grind, yo. Black Hand Coffee fuels his chill with Bunny Ayu, but Tala’s comin’ Continue Reading
Real writer? Oh, please. I’ve spilled more ink in 370 posts than most ‘major house’ darlings do in a lifetime. Writing’s not about some fancy imprint or a bookstore shelf—it’s about the grind, the words, the stories that hit harder than a troll’s ego. You think a logo from Penguin or a display at Books-A-Million makes a writer? Nah, it’s the fire in the keys, the late nights, the raw truth bleeding onto the page. Keep your gatekeeping, troll—I’m out here building worlds, one post at a time.Continue Reading
And then the wall between tangible truth and fantasy blurs. Characters I write about pierce the veil and traverse the haze. There is more to the amputated finger found in an abandoned Escalade.Continue Reading