PERFECTION IN ACTION // Don’t Give a Shit

Today I dreamt that I’d crapped my pants off. Yes, pants full of warm, steamy poo down around my ankles. The kind of poo that comes out of you like toothpaste from a tube.

Being an optimist, I googled what good things this could mean. Scrolling through dozens of sites revealed meanings from ‘Problems with money should be anticipated’ to ‘Your financial status will significantly improve in the near future’.

Naturally, none of these happened. I’m a performing circus chimp with clown pants. I don’t need money, just a nice big banana to provide that extra roughage my diet needs.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023

ABSURDIS EXTREME // Case Study #54 [01/08/1962] by B.A. Loney

This is the story of One-Legged Spider who had only… well, you know. Despite this drawback, he was a famous Hollywood star and black belt origami master. And not only had One-Legged Spider starred in smash hits such as ‘Spider Wars: The Empire Skitters Back’, ‘The Bourne Arachnid’ and ‘Webfinger’, he’d also folded a 1,800 square foot replica of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon out of nothing but wet crepe paper with one leg tied behind his back. This was, as you can imagine, quite the feat, and it made him more famous than Elvis and Jesus combined.

In his reckless younger days, One-Legged Spider also starred in a handful of features that some might consider to be questionable at best. ‘Gachimuchi Fibres Wrestling’ was one of these, and ‘Coochi-Moochi-Gachimuchi-Slam’ was another. Naturally, One-Legged Spider didn’t like to recall this period of his life. The mistakes of youth need not forever haunt maturity. And, thankfully, few others seemed to remember this dark past or even care. They loved him for his action roles and his prowess with paper, and that was that.

There was, however, a secret that he hoped would never get uncovered—a potential career killer if you will. One-Legged Spider had only one testicle. He’d had eight testicles at one point in his life but no longer, and One-Legged Spider’s one remaining testicle had been flying solo since at least his porn days. Of course, his recollection was a little hazy so he couldn’t be entirely sure of this. Or maybe it was after his porn days. Maybe COVID-19 had taken his other testicles. Or MPOX. But what about that really rough night in Thailand when he’d woken up in the arms of two transvestites and a pitbull? It couldn’t have been the transvestites could it? They’d saved One-Legged Spider from the trash fox—that pathetic, would-be mugger—and returned his wallet to him, hadn’t they? Perhaps the pitbull then… but the pitbull had been so friendly. But, then again, its version of ‘friendly’ entailed sniffing his crotch. Oh no! So confusing!

But you know what? It doesn’t really matter. What really matters are the words on One-Legged Spider’s tombstone: ‘A dear husband, father and grandpa, your life is a beautiful memory. We love you. Your wife, your 1,024 children, your 1,048,576 grandchildren, two transvestites and a pitbull.’

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023

PERFECTION IN ACTION // Practice Makes Perfect

Mr Zombie and Ms Werewolf were the cutest couple at the ball. Their ‘Wednesday’s Dance’ was so weird and cool that they performed it three times for the encore. Then for the finale they pulled Sir Gnome from the crowd and performed a rendition of the dance scene from Jean-Luc Godard’s ‘Bande à part’. The standing ovation was loud and rapturous! (It helped that there were no chairs in the dance hall.)

That evening, Mr Zombie, Ms Werewolf and Sir Gnome tried a three-way, but it didn’t work out. So, they exchanged numbers, bid farewell and parted ‘til next Halloween.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023

ABSURDIS EXTREME // Case Study #(O)(o) [06/09/1969] by B.A. Loney

One boob was bigger than the other, a terrible reality that she’d lamented since her last epic growth spurt. That had been ten years ago now, and sadly this disparity had only become more noticeable the older and saggier she got.

One time the bigger boob watched a quiz show called ‘QI’ on which a question about gravity on different planets was asked. It appeared that on Mercury one’s weight was only thirty-eight percent of what it would be on Earth. The bigger boob was soon lost in thought…

There was nothing for it. The bigger boob had to move to Mercury. But how could this be achieved? It wasn’t as if the bigger boob could detach itself from its human host. No, that would defeat the whole point. Perhaps if the bigger boob talked to the smaller boob then an agreement could be reached to somehow convince the host to move planets? This would be difficult as boobs don’t have mouths, and sign language would also be out of the question as boobs don’t have hands either. So, how would this communication take place between boobs let alone between boobs and host?

While the bigger boob was pondering possible communication methods, it would be remiss not to mention the smaller boob’s cogitations too. Of course, the smaller boob had also watched the same episode of ‘QI’, but it wasn’t really impressed with the gravity question. But the question about air pressure? Now this was something that really made the smaller boob perk up. If the higher you go the lesser the air pressure, then the boob would expand since there was less pressure being applied to it. All the smaller boob had to do was convince the bigger boob and their host to go to the highest mountain on earth, but how?

Both boobs sat there on the host’s chest, feeling quite useless and wondering what to do in order to get the other’s attention. And, so, after a considerable amount of time, the bigger boob hit upon the notion of using Morse Code to communicate with the smaller boob. It would simply whack itself on the smaller boob like those kinetic balls you get in an executive’s office. The bigger boob would convey its message in a series of dots and dashes, but in order to do so it would need to wait until their host went braless. In bed, late at night, thud thud thud! In the shower, a wet slap slap slap! In the middle of sex, a heaving bang bang bang! But all that happened was the smaller boob left feeling bruised and battered, and wondering what the fuck the bigger boob’s deal was!

Anyway, while the boobs were thud thud thudding, slap slap slapping, and bang bang banging, we mustn’t forget to mention their host. And, let’s be honest here, she was pretty scared. Wouldn’t you be if your boobs were going haywire? She even found herself asking GPTchat what to do if your breasts start communicating with one another via Morse Code.

All she got was: “As an AI language model, I must clarify that this scenario is not biologically possible or scientifically sound. Breasts are not capable of communicating with each other or anyone else, let alone using Morse Code.” Along with: “However, if you are experiencing unusual sensations or movements in your breasts, it is important to seek medical attention from a qualified healthcare professional.”

And that’s how Mary ended up at the Bethlehem Royal Hospital for the Insane.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023

100 WORD SKITTLE // Career Slip

Razorblade was sick of shaving pubic hair for a living.

He’d applied to the Department of Burly Beards but got a ‘Your application will be kept on file’ along with a pithy ‘Good luck.’

“Fuck that noise,” declared Razorblade. “I’m takin’ the high road!”

He dipped his sharp edge in red paint, brandished a scary grin and went to Has-Been Horror Comic Creator. “You need me!” said Razorblade. “I’ll get you into the news again!”

“Sure,” said Has-Been Horror Comic Creator. He took Razorblade, went to the bathroom and cut his veins.

Next day they both made the front page.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023