Unthinkable Cramps | Special Announcements!

This year’s harvesting party was a smashing success! We’d like to thank everyone that came out and showed your support to those kind souls. Unfortunately there was a little mishap (it happens) and someone, I won’t mention any names (Todd), spilled their basket of soul pods. We don’t like to make a big deal about these things (I don’t), but the folks driving down main street have themselves a new obstacle. You may notice a bushel of soul pods blocking traffic so be prepared to take alternate routes. We’re working to address the issue as promptly as possible. Right now as you read this soul pod crosswalks are being installed along main street. Some people(not me) think this is another strange Unthinkable Cramps art installation. But rest assured this a well thought out strategy conceived by whoever was willing to stay up until 3am drinking coffee in the cemetery. We ask for your patience with us and the soul pods while we work to gather them. If you have any questions about what I’m doing with my life or what my purpose is or more importantly about the soul pods, just stand on your roof and yell. I’ll come find ya. Sincerely, Linda from the newly formed Commission for Soul Pod Recovery and Redistribution

* *** *

BEWARE! We’ll let you know why later. – The Awareness Society

* *** *

Everyone please stay away from the abandoned haunted house that’s on fire. We know it’s hard to resist the temptation to try to chip away at the flames to see what they taste like. But just because they appear frozen doesn’t mean they are. I’ll tell you townsfolk what I tell my kids, “Don’t be a big goofball that ends up a melted goofball.” Nothing works right in Unthinkable Cramps. Burning houses are no exception. Time has frozen the flames in motion, but they’re still hot. Just ask Burnt Willie. He can’t respond though because his head is wrapped in three tons of gauze. We understand it has become a gathering spot for local teens and we love that. We’re here to help bring the community together. But we’re going to ask you to please use the plastic bags in the dispenser to catch any stray spirits. Use the plastic bags, tie them in a knot and dispose of them in the appropriate incinerator. Trying to catch them in your mouth or any other orifice is overwhelming Dr. Karate and his humble staff. Please follow these guidelines as we would hate to put out the fire. Let’s not let a few bad knuckleheads ruin it for all the good knuckleheads.  – Unthinkable Cramps Parks & Recreation

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For table of contents or to start from the beginning of Unthinkable Cramps click here, right here and nowhere else.

Unthinkable Cramps | Carlos the Rebel

The sleepy hour of sadness after lunch. An hour that stretches like chewing gum. Mac rests his fingers on his keyboard to make them look busy. He listens in on Carlos and Nova’s conversation. 

Nova: I can’t believe they’re getting rid of you. I’m gonna get them back.

Carlos: It’s fine. The thrill of this place is long gone.

Nova: Well yeah of course. But I mean you’re leaving me here with this new weird guy. And Mac. No offense, Mac. 

Mac: Is it true, Carlos? What they’re saying?

Nova: What are they saying? I want to know.

Mac: You know. That he tried to…escape.

Nova: What?! Without us? Are you outta your mind? There’s no way.

Carlos: It just seemed like you guys really liked it here. It could be worse out there for all we know.

Nova: So you did try to leave. I had no idea you were such a rebel.

Carlos: I wouldn’t say I’m a rebel. I was just tired of being here. I found a staircase, but it kept taking me in circles. 

Mac: There’s no way out of this place. It’s a well known fact. 

Carlos: There’s more to this place than you could imagine. Eventually I found an unlocked door. I would’ve walked right by it if it weren’t for the fog creeping out from under it that caught my attention. 

Nova: They can’t afford to pay us, but they can afford fog. So typical. 

Two beards disguised as lumberjacks appear at Carlos’ desk. They aim their chainsaws at him and suggest, with the revving of the motors, that he go with them. 

Nova: You can’t just come in here with your chainsaws and start bossing people around!

Carlos: It’s okay. I knew the risk when I did what I did. 

Nova: There shouldn’t be a risk for leaving work! That’s the problem! 

Mac: Nova, calm down. You’re gonna cause a scene.

Nova: I’m gonna cause a scene? Are you kidding me right now?

Mac: So embarrassing. 

Carlos stands up. The lumberjacks steer him with their chainsaws. As Carlos comes around his cubicle Nova and Mac do a double take. They don’t ask questions. Their brains can’t make sense out of what their eyes see. Pushing out the top of Carlos’ shoes are branches belonging to a pine tree. His dress pants are torn exposing the bark that grows in patches along his legs. 

Nova: I’m gonna save you, Carlos! I’m gonna make those bastards pay!

Mac: What do you think they’re going to do to him? 

Nova: We need to find that door. Figure out what happened to him in there. 

A woman from the I.T. department wearing a bomb suit slides under Carlos’ desk. She deactivates his hologram and breathes a sigh of relief. 

A moment later Geronimo sits in Carlos’ seat. The chain still rattles around his neck. He places a photo of his dead cat on the desk. 

Geronimo: Hey, guys! Looks like you got a new neighbor! It’s me! We’re gonna have so much fun. 

Geronimo fidgets about. 

Geronimo: I feel like there’s something sticky on me.

He stands up and inspects his seat.

Geronimo: That’s so weird. There’s tree sap all over my chair. Is this — are you guys hazing me? I love it. I always wanted to be in a gang. 

*** ** *** **

For table of contents or to start from the beginning of Unthinkable Cramps click here, right here and nowhere else.

Unthinkable Cramps | Murky & Sanchez On It’s Poddy Time

It’s hard to tell if the truck stop is in the swamp or the swamp is in the truck stop. Either way Detective Murky stands at the bathroom urinal trying to teach himself to whistle while he pees. He’s not good at it. No one ever taught him to whistle. Or to flush. He kicks open the stall door. The home of It’s Poddy Time. Velvet Einstein greets Murky and gestures for him to take a seat next to Sanchez. Murky shakes the blood off his body like a dog. Velvet and Sanchez duck. 

Sanchez: Sit down, ya animal. 

Murky sits on the floor next to Sanchez. 

Velvet: Thank you for joining me on It’s Poddy Time. Let’s get right into it. 

Sanchez checks their phone. 

Velvet: What can you tell us about townsfolk in Unthinkable Cramps communicating with their appliances? Is Russia involved? Are we on the brink of another Cold War?

Sanchez: We suspect when the visitors arrived they managed to somehow put —

Sanchez’s phone vibrates until they look at it. An unwelcomed number. Sanchez ignores it.

Sanchez: Sorry. They managed to put their consciousness into these toasters and stuff.

Murky: Toasters and stuff. 

Velvet: Are you certain it’s their consciousness?

Sanchez: No. But we’re looking to get to the bottom of it.

Murky: We’re looking to retire as many as possible. 

Velvet: It doesn’t quite seem like you two are on the same page.

Murky: Of course we aren’t. Pages are small. It would be impossible for us to fit. 

Sanchez’s pants vibrate again. The whole stall shakes in anticipation. Another call sent to voicemail. No message left. Typical of a ghost. 

Velvet: Did you need to take that?

Sanchez: It’s just my biological father calling after thirty six years. 

Murky: It’s almost like he doesn’t care about you. 

Velvet: Almost? I’d say not speaking to someone for that long indicates you don’t care.

Murky: But he did call. 

Velvet: Why don’t you answer it, Sanchez?

Sanchez: I have nothing to say.

Velvet: Maybe he’s dying and wants to give you money?

Sanchez: Why does everyone keep saying that? This guy does not want to give me money.

Velvet: Has a life in detective work left you with this pessimism? 

Murky: Hey! I don’t appreciate you proposing such deep questions to my partner. 

Sanchez: It’s fine, Murky. My pessimism comes from my failed writing career. 

Velvet: Did you know about this, Detective Murky?

Murky: Of course I knew.

Sanchez: No one knew. I never told anyone. I was too ashamed. But now I’ve come to terms with burying my dreams. 

Murky: If any kids are listening: Don’t have dreams. 

Velvet: What if I told you, Sanchez, that your dad was here and wants to talk to you?

Velvet reaches in her bag and pulls out an electric can opener. Murky kicks it out of her hands and unloads six bullets in it before it lands in the toilet. 

Velvet: Whoa! Easy. It was just a joke.

Murky: You thought we would…make laugh sounds?

Velvet: I was trying to lighten the mood.

Sanchez: By bringing up my biological father in the form of a can opener?

Velvet: I apologize. But if he was here now, what would you say? Imagine he’s sitting here with us right now. Imagine his face if you can. How does it make you feel? What would you say to him after all these years?

Sanchez opens their mouth and vomits into the toilet. 

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For table of contents or to start from the beginning of Unthinkable Cramps click here, right here and nowhere else.

Unthinkable Cramps | Decaying George -n- Doors

George is dying. Of this he is convinced. Some force spurs him off the couch in search of his toolbox. He doesn’t know yet what the purpose of this action is. A part of him thinks he’s broke. If he just has the right tool, then he can fix himself. 

But George was never good at finding things in the house. Diane was always moving things. Even if that wasn’t true George blamed her for it anyway. She’s not home to ask where the toolbox is. So George opens a closet that contains everything they’ll Never need. 

As he rummages through the relics he’s aware of the stoppage of time. All the old items bombarding his brain punish him with nostalgia. He travels back in his memories away from a body that’s dying. Just a past that doesn’t exist. An illusion he’s more than happy to entertain. A yearning for better times that can never be fulfilled, leaving him with a loneliness that wraps around his soul like a vine. He realizes he’ll miss this about being human. 

He forgets all about this the second he scrapes his hand on a metal object. He pulls the object out. His toolbox. It holds the key. He dumps the contents on the floor. Another urge overtakes George. He grabs a screwdriver and begins unscrewing the closet door. 

After removing the closet door, George eyes up the rest of the doors around him like a man possessed. 

The bathroom door comes down. His bedroom door comes down. Even the kitchen cabinets and the oven door don’t make it out alive. When George finishes removing the basement door he marches through the house making sure there’s no door left standing. Except there is. He stands in front of it, examining it. He can’t for the life of him recall what the door leads to. There’s something familiar about it. But he’s certain he’s never seen it before. He wonders who put it there. There’s hesitation about removing it. His curiosity overcomes him and he grabs the knob. It doesn’t turn. It’s locked. 

George goes to his toolbox and returns to the locked door with a tiny screwdriver. He slides it in the keyhole and unlocks the door. 

He opens the door to a room his eyes don’t remember. It’s dark. There’s smells his nose can’t decipher. His eyes begin to adjust to the darkness. Posters of bands he’s never heard of. LED lights of every color of the spectrum. Empty water bottles. Clothes. Lots of clothes. A TV paused on a youtube video. 

Voice: “OH. MY. GOD. Can’t you knock?”

George: “…”

Voice: “Hello?”

George: “You look just like — Lady Griddlebone is that you?”

Lady Griddlebone: “Uh…yeah, dad. It’s me. Are you like high or something? Because kinda weird…”

George: “You look so different. It’s been years. When did you return?”

Lady Griddlebone: “Yeaaaah.”

George: “We spent years searching for you when you ran away. I…don’t understand. Where did you go?”

Lady Griddlebone: “I’ve just been in my room.”

George doesn’t know how to make his brain comprehend this information. His body demands action. He unscrews her door. 

“Can you close my door?”

“I need to take it. Sorry.” 

George spots her closet door and removes that too. 

“Seriously? What did I do? Why are you taking my doors away? None of my friends’ parents take their doors!”

“I just thought you should know…I’m dying. Maybe six months to live. So if you want to talk about—“

“Okay. I’m gonna watch my show now.” 

She unpauses her show and laughter erupts from deep in her belly. George hears and feels this across several lifetimes.

Diane enters the house where the front door used to be. She sees the pile of doors in the living room. She removes her tinfoil hat and hangs it on the hat rack. 

George sees the look of frustration growing on her face. 

“Why do we have so many doors in this house, Diane? Did you know about this? They’re everywhere.”

“Yes. They came with the house, George.”


“Why are they not where they were this morning when I left? 

“How would I know? My guess is I don’t want my soul trapped by anything if it tries to escape my body. Did you know Lady Griddlebone was in her bedroom this whole time?”

“Are you kidding me? The one spot we never looked.”

“I know. I was so happy to finally —“

“Lady Griddlebone! Come do these dishes!” 

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For table of contents or to start from the beginning of Unthinkable Cramps click here, right here and nowhere else.

Unthinkable Cramps | Sasha & Yoyo*One-Armed Lady Bandit

Star vomit wakes Sasha from a deep sleep. She pulls the dreams from her tangled hair. It’s the same one over and over. It’s been like this for a while now. The same dreams every sleep. 

Sasha catches a rare glimpse of Yoyo’s face at rest. A featureless, melting countenance sleeping against a tree trunk. Her face glitches and blurs. Sasha grabs her mask and hides under it. Her golden pupils meet Yoyo’s eyes as they return to the world. 

Yoyo runs her hand through Sasha’s hair, examining it. 

Yoyo: That dream again?

Sasha: Yeah. I think she was painting this time.

Yoyo: Ya think? That’s all she did this time. Five hours of watching her trying to paint trees. 

Sasha: There was something sort of peaceful about it. It seemed calming. Maybe I could be a painter.

Yoyo: It looked awful. Don’t waste your time on that. In case you forgot we unleashed a bunch of mutant creatures on Unthinkable Cramps.

Sasha: Can’t we just alert the neighborhood watches and the dog catcher?

Yoyo: We have to keep moving. Stay on our toes. There’s the old mining spot we can search for dynamite to break into that vault.

Sasha: You wanna go back to the Shapeshifting Factory? I just want to go home. I’m tired. There’s a weird lady haunting our dreams. And I’m missing an arm.

Yoyo: You’re really going to complain at a time like this? We’re about to be so rich and you’re what…worried about an arm? 

Sasha: Crazy. I know.

Yoyo: You need to just accept what is. Okay? And move on. You’re the One-Armed Lady Bandit now. 

Sasha: I don’t know if that’s who I want to be. I don’t know if any of this was who I wanted —

Yoyo: Identity is a fluid thing. Ever changing. Never fixed. Just an illusion to ground you into your humanness. So why not choose an awesome one. And a one-armed andit is a pretty awesome one. 

Yoyo picks up her rifle and mounts the poisonous horse. 

Sasha: Maybe I want to choose to be a painter. 

Yoyo extends her hand, offering it to Sasha. Sasha grabs it and Yoyo pulls her onto the horse. 

As the sun begins to rise they arrive on horseback at an abandoned mining facility. Tumbleweeds and snowflakes greet them at the border. Yoyo spots a large rectangular machine in the distance. 

Yoyo: I know what will cheer you up. 

Yoyo steers the horse over to the machine. An oversized vending machine. Filled not with chips and candy. But with…

Sasha: Spare parts? A vending machine of spare parts?

Sasha reads the sign posted on the machine. But Yoyo is quick to correct her.

Yoyo: A vending machine of spare parts. Human edition. You missed the parenthesis. 

They hop off the horse and gaze into the machine. Sasha’s stare bounces back and forth between her reflection and the various human parts to choose from. Clavicles. Rusted spines. Refurbished knuckles. All were at one time or another the best option for workers mutilated in mining explosions and other accidents. 

Sasha slides a dollar bill into the slot. It takes it. Then spits it back out. She tries to straighten it out with one hand, but fails. Yoyo reaches into her pocket and pulls out a crisp dollar bill. Sasha raises an eyebrow. The machine accepts her perfect currency. 

Yoyo: Big decision. Make it a good one. Remember it’s only an identity. 

Sasha pushes the button and her new arm unravels from the machine’s coils. 

She fixes her new arm in place. It’s longer than her own arm. The skin tone is darker. Even multi-colored. It appears older. Weathered from the storms of life that show in the wrinkles. Tattoos. Primitive. From a prison. Or a navy ship. Of Japanese dragons. Anchors. Pin up girls. The most beautiful arm she could ever imagine. 

No longer the One-Armed Lady Bandit.

Yoyo: You look like a Pukemonster.

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For table of contents or to start from the beginning of Unthinkable Cramps click here, right here and nowhere else.

Overheard in Woods

Plenty of possibilities here for all of you to discuss what we should kill.
We shouldn’t do the killing thing. Let’s do the loving thing, man.
You’re high. You would say that.
Yeah I totally would. I did. I said it. What’d I say again?
They can’t all stay. There’s simply too many. I ran through all the possible scenarios and what I say is true.
Let’s just say what you say you is true —
I just did.
And that being said we could design a play to decide what to do. Yeah. A play. Love plays. Oliver. That was dope.
Does anyone have any ideas that aren’t stupid?
I do.
Ugh. What is it?
We could design a play to decide what —
No! Why on earth? Why would we — we’re not putting on a play.
Why not? You’re missing out. Have you ever been in a play?
Of course you don’t understand no.
It’s like finding you’re purpose. You’re part of a team like the Apollo crew. Or like the Rocky crew.
We don’t need a team to kill. We just have to decide somehow what to kill here.
So I got an idea for that.
If you say a play…
Check this out. Even better. A ritual.
I don’t wanna perform any sort of–
Hear this brain in action.
Do you hear it?
Hear what?
My brain. Listen closely.
I’m gonna smash your brain. Tell me what that sounds like. Get over here.
Okay. No. Don’t do that! I got it. I had to wait for the brain goblins to process the thoughts into words that I can use.
A ritual will help us to make the correct decision because we’ll be choosing based off of the universe’s guidance, man.
The universe is going to guide us?
Yeah. I guess. I mean it made sense in my brain before I said it. I trust it though. I believe in…me.
I suppose if we let the universe decide for us that would remove any guilt we have for feeling responsible.
Dude, I haven’t been responsible for anything in like a long time.
A quick ritual it is then. Nothing fancy. Some words. Some actions. Some death.
As part of the ritual though. So it’s like unavoidable.
I’ll play the role of the father figure. You can play —
I wanted to play the father figure.
But you’re a girl. Don’t you wanna be the virgin or —
Not a virgin.
Yeah. Okay.
I’m the father figure. You can be the holy ghost who doesn’t do shit but is praised anyway.
Then why don’t you be the holy ghost?
I want power. I wanna destroy shit.
What kind of ritual do you think we’re doing?
A murder ritual right? Let’s do it!
This is more of a sacrifice chosen by the universe. We’re doing it this way to avoid responsibility. Remember?
Whatever, dude. I’m high, but like I’m not high.
That only makes sense to you because you’re high.
We should do a scene where I drool.
Okay. So I’m the holy ghost apparently. That makes you the father. I have a feeling I’m gonna regret this.
Oh yeah. Me too.
I’ll start I guess by annoucing myself. That seems reasonable.
Hurry up.
I am the holy ghost. The universe will guide the hands of the father to assist in your sacrifice to me in exchange for good fortune.
Good fortune? That’s kinda vague. Fortunes are always crappy. What about jet skis or something?
Forget this. This isn’t working.
No. We just need robes and beards and stuff.
This is silly. We’re just fooling around now.
Put on this blanket and act bearded. I’ll wear this tarp.
Huh. I feel esoteric. Maybe there’s something to this.
Change your hair. Let’s shave the middle part.
What? Why the middle?
I don’t want to. But if we want to let God in we have to shave the middle.
That makes sense actually.
Yeah. That looks sweet. Look at me.
We’re gonna do this.
Someone ate the children! My soul is ruined. Why have I come to this road in my life? How do I bring jet skis into my life to make up for the sadness of my eaten children!
Yes! So glad someone finally asked for my assistance. Spin four times in tune with the planet. One for each season.
Oh my. Whose voice is that I hear?
It is I the holy ghost.
I can hardly believe it. Show yourself to me this instant!
Behold! It is I in the flesh. See me with your mortal eyes.
This is — it must be — a trick of the light.
It is no trick. I am here now to guide —
Blasphemy! That’s not even a real robe you’re wearing. What is that a blanket?
A blanket? What this was —
How dare you come into my house

Unthinkable Cramps | Ria.Jerry the Monk

It’s dark outside. The sky remains a dark blue. Ria runs through the woods trying to find the trail she lost. She picks it up and sees a familiar face sitting in the middle of the path. She recognizes the top of his bald head even in the dark. He still has 73 candles sticking out of it from his birthday celebration a week ago. 

Ria: Hey, Jerry. You handsome piece of shit. What are you doing?

Jerry the Monk: I’m using mind control.

As Ria approaches she notices Jerry’s focus is on a piece of cake sitting on the floor. She reaches into her pocket. Grabs a handful of something and shoves them in her mouth. 

Ria: Mind control? On a slice of cake?

Jerry the Monk: No. On myself. I’m trying not to eat it. 

Ria: Just eat the cake, Jerry. 

Jerry the Monk: I don’t know how to tell you this, Ria. But I’m fat.

Ria: No. No. You just have a working monk’s body. 

Jerry the Monk: That’s nice of you to say. This cake is the most tempting thing I’ve faced in years. 

Ria looks at the cake. Ants remove crumbs and march back to their colony. She pops another handful of something in her mouth and chews.

Ria: Jerry, that thing is covered in ants. 

Jerry the Monk: My mind control techniques failed to work on them. Please don’t think I didn’t try. They were too powerful. The ants. Not my mind control. 

Ria: It’s like what are they making ants out of nowadays? Ya know?

Jerry presses his finger into an ant. Its eyes fall from its head. Guts paint the cake. Tiny ant blood soaks into the dirt. Murder. 

Jerry the Monk: Looks like the same stuff they’ve always been made out of.

Ria: Whoa, Jer. Should you be doing harm? That’s not very Buddhist of you.

Ria laughs, reaches in her pocket and tosses something in her mouth. Jerry laughs like a monk.

Jerry the Monk: I know it’s none of my business, but are you eating drugs?

Ria: That’s a real bullshit question, Jerry. Do I look like a damn junkie to you? Just kidding. I do have junkie eyes. But no these aren’t drugs. They’re just magnets.

Jerry the Monk: They’re not sweet like cake are they?

Ria: Depends on your tastebuds. I read in Electromagnetic Telecommunications Weekly that by consuming mass quantities of magnets you can penetrate forcefields.

Jerry the Monk: That doesn’t cause terrible indigestion?

Ria: Nope. So far so —

Ria buckles over in pain and collapses next to Jerry. Jerry grabs her and lifts her head.

Jerry the Monk: Ria, are you okay?

Ria leans on Jerry’s shoulder and burps in his ear. Magnetic waves buried deep in Ria’s stomach travel through Jerry’s ear canal and into his brain. 

Jerry slaps the sides of his head in shock. The skin on his forehead opens up to reveal a third eye. The eye grows wide and searches its new world. Its focus lasers in on the ant corpse. An escalator protrudes from the eye, extending to the ant. A construction crew with halos descend on the escalator. Blood returns from the soil. Guts are scraped from the cake. Eyes are reinstalled. An ant is reconstructed. 

The construction crew surround the ant shell and perform a ritual. 



Strange brews. 



Ria: Hey, Jer.

Jerry the Monk: Yeah.

Ria: I think you’re trying too hard.

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For table of contents or to start from the beginning of Unthinkable Cramps click here, right here and nowhere else.

Unthinkable Cramps | Special Announcements!

Demon and apparition pickup! Don’t miss out. This Saturday only. And another Saturday a few months from now. But that’s it. Except for another Saturday at a randomly selected time to be announced randomly to allow you plenty of time to prepare. So make sure any unwanted demons, ghosts, poltergeists, angels or other spirits are placed at the curb no earlier than 7am Saturday and no later than 7:05am Saturday. Spirits spanning more than six dimensions will be ridiculed and left behind. Poltergeists must be bundled securely with a 3,000 year old hex. Any spirits affecting electronic devices or appliances must be interrogated by Detectives Murky and Sanchez before discarding. 

– – — — – –

We don’t like to point fingers, except for our own. But we think you did this. And, uh, yeah. That’s cool, man. We think it’s rad and all that you swapped one of our washing machines with something that just spits out money all day, but it like doesn’t wash anything. I guess we’re giving out money or something. We never went to business school. I mean I didn’t, but I think Lester rode some pretty gnarly waves near one once. If anyone knows anyone that wants to get this money off our hands and give us our washing machine back because we didn’t—I don’t think—okay we might’ve done this ourselves it turns out. There’s like a chance, a small chance we were a little high and had an idea. Sometimes these things happen when you open a laundromat/weed dispensary. If I remember correctly Lester said something about wanting a Twix bar. And then I wanted one. And we both wanted one. And then we got one and then we wanted all of the Twix bars. And Lester said something about how we need a lot of money to buy all the Twix in the world. So I probably said something cool about a machine that spits out money. But I don’t know if all that happened then or just now in my mind. Anyway, come get this money machine and also all these Twix bars. If you don’t see us, just look up because we’re probably really high. Sincerely, your dudes at Suds and Buds.

– – — — – –

It’s here! The Sour Lady of Thunder Festival all week long at St. Lucipher’s Church grounds. Come for the one-armed archery tournament and stay until the paramedics arrive. Plenty of food and fun for everyone so long as you supply it. A special beer garden for adults to grow their own beer or (if you’re a child who sneaks in) to grow your own beard. Whatever you do make sure you stay for the fireworks of this year’s battle of cats versus dogs. You won’t want to miss this epic showdown as the two compete for complete control of the afterworld. Cat men and dog ladies come out and show your support! Just know you’re doomed no matter what happens. They’ve lost their minds. Most of them are carrying switchblades. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, but they’re even slicking back their fur. These are dark times. And they’re about to get even darker. Live music! Did we tell you about the live music?

*** ** *** **

For table of contents or to start from the beginning of Unthinkable Cramps click here, right here and nowhere else.