LEAKED SHORT STORY BY WALTER MACKEY - I WAS BORN INSIDE OF A TOASTER

  It was a really cold morning. It was sometime around November. Or maybe it was in
January—nobody really remembers the specific date or time. A person woke up and the
person felt very hungry. A person decided to go into the washroom and wash their face and
hands. Another person came into the washroom and decided to wash their face and hands.
Both of the people looked in the mirror at their reflections and frowned. One person frowned
more than the other person. One person went to the bathtub and turned on the water.
Another person left the bathroom. The person filled up the bathtub and got inside the
bathtub. The person washed their body parts. The person scrubbed there, under there, over
there, and inside there. The other person was busy in their bedroom trying to find an outfit to
wear. The other person showered before they went to bed and decided that it would be
foolish to wash their body parts again. The person got out of the bathtub and dried off their
body parts. The person put on a pair of underwear. The person put on a housecoat. The
person met the other person in the hall to the kitchen. The people said something to one
another. The person went into the kitchen and took a raisin bagel out of the freezer. The
person said something to the other person. The other person did not hear the person. The
person spoke a little louder. The other person said something and the person put two bagels
in the toaster. The person watched the raisin bagels turn brown. The person took the raisin
bagels out of the toaster. The person put butter and cinnamon on the raisin bagels. The
person gave the other person a raisin bagel with butter and cinnamon on top. The people ate
the bagels. The people did not say anything. The person took off the housecoat. The person
put on a dress. The person grabbed a purse and left the house. The other person grabbed a
briefcase and left the house.


  I stayed behind. I am a raisin that fell out of a bagel. Nobody knows that I am here
and nobody will remember the exact time that I was born. I will die over a period of time. I
will die by being burned to death. Other bagels and pieces of toast will visit me from time to
time but I will be in the bottom of the toaster forever. I will scream. I will be burnt to a crisp. I
will turn to ash. I will cry

LEAKED SHAUN GANNON - CONTINENTAL DRIFT

As you drag your luggage through the open door to find some other place in Rialto for the night, find a place where our voices can’t make each others’ neck hairs rise and our eyes won’t roll on reflex, I think of how the rock plates deep beneath our feet grind and punch one another, and how we only know of their existence by their constant conflict and separation.

NOAH CICERO - 3x POEMS THIS IS GOOD GUYS

Dubstep

There was a new hire at work today

Tom asked him if liked dubstep

he was like yeah

I told Tom I liked dubstep

he wrote some names

of dubstep songs he enjoyed

on a piece of paper

I went home and youtubed them

Joe Montana

a 35 year old dishwasher

said to a 31 year old cook

when I was little

I covered my walls

with posters of Joe Montana

I said when I grow up

I will be like that man

the 31 year old cook said

I did the same with Axl Rose

One Lonely Bird

it was winter

I was walking

from my car to the

front door of my house

heard one bird

caw

caw

WOW WE LEAKED AN UNPUBLISHED BLOG POST FROM BEACH SLOTH - MIGHTY MORPHIN POWER RANGERS

                William S. Burroughs went through life being celebrated and reviled often in the same sentence. Countless people considered him one of the most important writers of the 20^th century. Transgressive writing maintains a writer’s interest for only so long. After a while the most daring thing you can do is not describe doing heroin but selling out to the Fox Kids channel.

                Decades in the avant-garde writing circles taught William nothing about selling out. He was sick of living in some boring-ass part of Kansas. Fishing might be fun he reckoned. Living in Los Angeles getting fucked up and writing the most offensively stupid show ever sounded better. Taking his things, he hit the big, sprawling depraved decadent destroyed douchebag capital of the world. William was sure they’d love his pitch.

                Creative types sat eagerly awaiting William’s presentation. William nervously paced outside. Never had he needed to describe his art to anyone. Sitting there he’d crank it out the way he wanted. Suddenly he re-thought his idea about selling out this hard. Did he even have the potential to earn money off of his material? All these questions popped into his head like so many euphemisms for dildos. Perhaps another YUPPIE band would use a dildo’s name in vain like they did in the 70s.

                People stared at him, this gaunt old man in front of a room of eager, hopeful twenty and thirty something losers. William knew the type. They looked like Tea Heads, the kind who’d sell you up the river to the cops because they were weak. Coughing onto one of the corporate types without covering his mouth he began:

                “The Might Morphine Power Rangers are a group of superheroes living in Wholesome, America. Gaining their powers through the ingestion of vast quantities of morphine they manage to fight off vivid hallucinations from their nightmares from destroying their families. When they aren’t fighting they earn money by beating up drunks on subways and buses late at night. Morphine is their entire life; it perpetuates their fighting and not feeling any pain from the consequences of their actions. By doing Morphine they live in a constant sustained lower part of a downward spiral. No ups or downs exist in this bleak environment.”

                Upon completion of his pitch, William sat down to rapturous applause. Never one for smiling a slight smirk emerged on his face. Finally he’d sold the suckers a taste of their own medicine. The Trojan horse had arrived in Los Angeles. Inside their disgusting city he’d burn it to the ground, no questions asked.

                A few revisions came up. Slowly these revisions became full-on rewrites. William expected some changes but nothing to the extent they purposed. Gradually a certain pit grew in his stomach which he jumped into headfirst.

                First, they wanted the heroes to be full heroes, not the anti-heroes William suggested. ‘Morphine’ got shortened down to ‘Morphin’ to indicate the Rangers had normal lives outside of being super heroes. Morphing into superheroes appealed to family viewers more than watching freaked out drug addicts fight off hallucinations. No longer were these teenagers saddled with a debilitating drug habit. Instead, they fought in the name of love. Tangible, non-imaginary foes became the villains as the executives stripped away more of Burroughs’ flight of fancy.  Parts of his offensive ideas made it into the show particularly the utter lack of a coherent plot or purpose.

                Dejected would describe Burroughs’ mood upon hearing these changes. Happy would describe him after he received his first paycheck. Reviews of the show met his expectations so he decided to stay with it. Among the his favorite reviews were “Pointlessly violent and offensively stupid”, “Offensively violent and pointlessly stupid”, “this is a hallmark in children’s television programming”, “I’m more disturbing by the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers than I am by Naked Lunch”, “Wait, how old is Burroughs, doesn’t he do a ton of heroin, how did he survive this long?”, “this challenges what the word ‘entertainment’ means”, and “I guess this is why Burroughs joined ‘the church of the subgenius’”.

                Living in Los Angeles brought its own joy. Finally Burroughs was surrounded by people he hated. Being around people who adored getting spat upon made his life complete. Ending it watching his acclaimed program while out of his mind: Priceless.

LEAK! JACKSON NIEUWLAND - THE RICHEST MAN IN THE WORLD

The richest man in the world was not a nice man.

You do not become the richest man in the world by being nice.

There was one nice man who worked for the richest man in the world.

The nice man loved everyone unconditionally and was loved in return by everyone.

The richest man in the world hated him for the love he received.

So the richest man in the world decided to have the nice man killed.

He ordered another of his employees to assassinate the nice man.

The richest man in the world was glad when the nice man had been taken care of, after all it was his company's policy to take care of all it's employees.

But the pleasure soon faded and the richest man in the world realised that he couldn’t trust the killer to keep the secret.

So the richest man in the world hired a second killer to get rid of the first.

The richest man in the world was happy when the first killer had been taken care of by the second, he was following policy.

But then he realised that he couldn’t trust the second killer to keep the secret.

So he hired a third killer.

And a fourth.

And a fifth.

And with each killing the secret grew.

And eventually there were only three people left in the world: the richest man in the world, the seven billionth killer, and woman who was about to become killer number seven billion and one.

The richest man in the world planned to have the woman take care of the seven billionth killer and then to take care of her himself.

She would have to settle for him if he was the only man left on earth.

He would not only be the richest man in the world, he would also be the happiest man in the world on account of being the only man in the world.

Things didn’t go according to the richest man in the world’s plan.

He called the woman into his office, gave her the instructions, gave her the gun.

She emptied the clip into the face of the richest man in the world.

Her and her husband, the seven billionth killer, lived happily ever after