I Still Hate That Charlie Bradberry


So, I was sitting in my local Starbucks, sipping on a grande salted caramel mocha with no whipped cream, when Charlie walked in. That Charlie Breadberry, with his fat nose and his minacing gash of a mouth, turned upward in a smile. His cartoonishly large red eyes. Oh how I hate that Charlie Bradberry.

He walks in with this foul grin on his face. He walks up to the barrista and repulsively opens that gash of a mouth: “I’ll take a grande salted caramel mocha. No whipped cream.” He says.

The nerve of that guy. Where does he think he get off even ordering the same thing as I.

He gets his drink and walks toward the door. He stops.

“Jack!” He says. “Fancy seeing you here friend.”

I look up at him standing there. Where does he get off directing that vile stench of words toward me.

He stands there awkwardly for a minute. Avoiding me with those red eyes when I don’t respond. He finally walks out the door.

I couldn’t stand it anymore, that Charlie Bradberry, with his looking and his speaking and his being. So, I followed him out of the Starbucks.

I’m not sure what exactly happened next, due to blacking out in an uncontrolable rage. But when I became aware of everything and the rage was gone I was just standing there.

I stood there, over the body. Holding the blood smattered knife at my side. I’m not sure where it came from, the knife. I stood there starring at the corpse. Chanting. The same word over and over again. A name. Charlie.

That was a weird dream right? Because it was most definitely a dream. Okay, it was not a dream. I killed Charlie Bradberry. Charlie Bradberry is dead.

I called the authorities and they laughed at me when I told them what happened.

“Death isn’t real you idiot.” They howled over the phone.

I pleaded and pleaded for them to come. They finally agreed to.

When the authorities arrived, all three of them, we all stood over the body of that Charlie Bradberry. Looking at it intently. Amazed. Like, what are bodies supposed to do when a person dies? No one has died in like, ever. What are we supposed to do now?

Today’s Quote of the Day is:

“I speak of only the things I see and hear; A vague shadow in the morning light, A terrible, high pitched, soul wrenching scream, A low rumbling growl that makes my skin itch.” – Francis Malay

Thanks for reading.


Fear Nothing.


Nothing is real. Nothing is coming. Fear Nothing. Fear. Nothing.

Today I took my cat, Mr. Cottonfoot, to the vet for… personal reasons. (She doesn’t want me to put what exactly for on the internet. She’s a little shy)

Anyway, we had walked to the vet because Mr. Cottonfoot is deathly afraid of cars. She says they’re death cages, like the one her previous owner, who shall not be named, kept her in. She also says that sooner or later they will definitely kill you.

Silly cat. She still thinks death is real. Death isn’t real you silly, silly cat. DEATH IS NOT REAL.

But oh, Nothing is real. Nothing is very, very real.

We were walking home from the vet when, from an abnormally dark alley way, I heard someone (or something) call.

“Psst.” The ominous thing called.

At first I ignored it, because you’re not supposed to talk to strangers. But, it called again.

“Psst, hey Jack.”

Then I thought: huh, this person or thing or whatever knows my name. So it’s not a stranger to me.

Looking back on it the voice could have been using the name “Jack” as the slang term for “man” and could’ve been calling out to just about anyone.

I walked into that alley way like a fool. Walked right into it with Mr. Cottonfoot like a fool.

When we stepped into the alley way we were transported to the Void and were greeted by Nothing. Being my second time in the Void I kind of knew my way around. If you walked in any direction it would take you nowhere. If you stood still you would go everywhere; Which, coincidentally, in the Void is also nowhere. But enough about the Void and its nonexistent vistas. I need to tell you about Nothing.

Nothing, Nothing was a being of unidentifiable gender. Nothing had no eyes or nose or mouth. Nothing was kind of like a silhouette, but didn’t have any definite shape.

Nothing also gave me a message. I’m not sure how Nothing spoke without a mouth, but Nothing said:

“Here I am, Nothing! Here I am, and I am coming to you all. I will appear in the early morning just as you open your eyes and I will fill all your days with me. I, Nothing, am your new master. You will obey me. When I come to you I will bring with me death. I will bring the death that your ancestors warned you about, and all who disobey I will unleash death upon them. I am Nothing. I am coming. Fear me. Fear. Me.”

Nothing is coming. Fear Nothing. Fear. Nothing.

After Nothing finished saying this I blacked out. When I woke up I was on my bed and Mr. Cottonfoot was sleeping on top of me.

I’m not exactly sure if this was a dream, but just in case it wasn’t:


Today’s Quote of the Day is:

Trees. I like ’em – Simone Wooten

Thanks for reading.

An Obligatory NaNoWriMo Post


Hello Wrimos!

If you’re reading this then you’re probably attempting to write a novel of about fifty-thousand words this month. If you you’re not planning on participating then I urge you to reconsider. Reconsider and write like you’re life depends on it, because it does. NaNoHQ announced on Twitter today that failure to complete writing at least fifty-thousand words this month will definately result in a very painful and immediate death.

It is also speculated that if you didn’t start writing immediately when you woke up this morning, then you may already be dead. The speculation stems from this ominous tweet sent out by Texas native Vera Grey:

Vera Grey


NaNoHQ has also been abducting people and forcing them to write, I don’t know how they are going about selecting people to abduct, but this tweet from April Daniels suggests that they are definately doing it:

April Daniels

“I woke up in a white room with no idea how I’d gotten there. The walls seemed to glow like a blank word prosessor page.”

So everyone, write! WRITE OR ELSE! NaNoHQ may be sicking their, viking helmet adorned, 8-bit creatures to impale you right now.

NaNoWriMo: Write, because your life depends on it.

The Birds





When I spoke with their shrink therapist he said that I was a skitzo, that birds didn’t have feelings, that birds are unable to talk and therefore are unable to receive counseling from him.

Highly insensitive I think we’ve figured out why the birds are committing suicide. If there own shrink therapist won’t even listen to them and take them seriously, then how are they going to get help.

Birds are majestic creatures, beautiful in every way, and if one tells you he is contemplating suicide, you better take him seriously, Dr. Seulman.


I’m sorry, I just get so worked up over those birds. Suicide is a monstrous disease and if not taken seriously will spread vastly through the bird community. THIS MOSTER NEEDS TO BE STOPPED.

Okay, moving on then.

Today’s Quote of the Day is:

“Everything is dead. Everything is dead. Oh my God, everything is dead.” – Charlie Bradberry

I hate that Charlie. He’s such a mood killer. I was having a pretty good day too. Ya know, aside from all the bird suicides.