All Stories, Fantasy, General Fiction

Fear and Loathing Amongst the Ducks of the Serengeti (or,  Coup D’etat Foie Gras) (In memory of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson) by Leila Allison

Last night I dreamt of the happy-clappy pixie-land extolled by the counterculture of yore. That hippie Eden where daisies shot from rifles because everyone there was so high on lysergic acid that they no longer experienced reality. It was a place populated by paisley-eyed toad kissers who honestly believed that they were the first generation of paisley-eyed toad kissers who knew that the world sucked and that they alone could kiss toads into The Gurus of Change. Viva Revolucion! Alas, psychedelic drugs and fairy tale-belief systems are the stuff of idealistic chimeras. It all eventually wears off and leaves you cold and cynical. By and by you come to the hideous conclusions that the Good Guys never stay good after they win the Revolution, and that every toad you kiss has a way of changing into Richard Nixon.

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All Stories, Fantasy

Labradoodle, Lippybyte, Tabby and Shogg: A Feeble Fable of the Fantasmagorical by Leila Allison

But First Another Erudite Introduction by That Noted Supernaturalist Miss Stoker-Belle

Ha! I’ve at last wrested control of the bold font header from Ms. Allison. In the past she has used the header as a platform to throw shade my way, which I’ve been forced to refute in the first hundred words or so in previous displays of my genius. In yet another stroke of brilliance on my part, I recently introduced both the disinfecting and misremembering properties of anise del toro to Ms. Allison. She’s been gazing out her office window for a number of hours now. The Great Authoress is temporarily beyond the grasp of reality, and incapable of doing more than creating mist on the small mirror I occasionally place under her nose, let alone able to sling further shade on the intricacies of my personality.  Rest assured, she’s fine. “Comfortably numb,” as the song goes. Really. Thus I have never been better.

Right?

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All Stories, General Fiction

Olivia and the Oraclespector: A Feeble Fable of the Fantasmagorical by Leila Allison

But First, More Prefatory Gibberish by Miss Stoker-Belle

As any intelligent person can see, I do not control what is said about me in the bold-face heading. In a rare moment of forgetfulness, I had overlooked demanding approval of the heading’s content upon graciously consenting to present the Feeble Fable introductions. This tiny oversight forces me to spend the first paragraph or two of my introductions refuting the bold-faced insults laid on me by my employer, the semi-sentient, Ms. Allison.

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All Stories, Fantasy

Witness Mark by Emily A Garfield

A witness mark is a groove, a dent, left by people gone before. Sometimes they’re deep, gouged, gone over so many times by people, living and reliving moments on moments. Sometimes they’re just a scratch, easily sanded away.

It was Catia’s first time waking up in a coffin. It would not be her last.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Her Father’s Ghost by Harrison Kim

Kathy’s Dad passed away in his own house, his last rattling breaths aided by the morphine his daughter poured down his ancient mouth.  He lived alone in the old place for decades.  Germs terrified him.  He secured the windows with plastic.  The air inside turned stale and rancid.  He roamed the neighborhood at night, searching for cans and bottles.  He filled the house with old lawnmowers, pieces of scrap metal, newspapers piled to the ceiling.  Kathy inherited this rotting, junk filled dwelling.  Over the next year, she and her husband Neil renovated.  All the plumbing and electric wiring renewed, a new shingle roof, restored walls and floors.  The father’s piles of tools and newspapers, old tiles and bottles all recycled, usurped by Kathy’s stuffed toys and hangers full of vintage and antique clothing, her hundreds of art books and coffee table volumes about Hollywood stars, her garbage bags and boxes packed with blankets.

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All Stories, Fantasy

The Authoress and the Candlehufft: A Feeble Fable of the Fantasmagorical By Renfield Stoker-Belle (Leila Allison)

Spread the word!

Nick Carroway is no longer so great and Ishamel is sunk. Forget the guys who claim to tell a truthful tale yet never mention that they do not exist anywhere but in books. For I,  Renfield Stoker-Belle, am a made up person who knows she is a Fictional Character (FC)–and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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All Stories, Fantasy, General Fiction

The Quillemender and the Authoress: A Feeble Fable of the Fantasmagorical by Leila Allison  

Ha! Versatur Circa Quid! Has any fable (feeble or otherwise) been told in the first person? Methinks not. For those of you unlucky enough to be unacquainted with my humble works of genius, behold the vainglorious splendor of, I, Judge Jasper P. Montague, contentedly, fruitfully, and most certainly deceased. The unwashed refer to me as a common household poltergeist, but, in fact, I am a Quillemender.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Renfield Awesomenicitizes the Ghost of the TomTom Ghost: A Feeble Fable by Leila Allison

 Prefatory Remarks by Ms. Allison’s Employer 

After almost three years in the making, Leila Allison Studios has informed me that something called Renfield Awesomenicitizes the Ghost of the TomTom Ghost: A Feeble Fable has opened its pitiless eyes and is currently slouching off to anywhere but Bethlehem to get itself born. Although this… whatever it is… exists in print only, Ms. Allison insists on bringing her productions forward as though they were motion pictures, complete with a cast, crew and an expense voucher that I am hesitant to look at. 

According to an urban legend whose popularity exponentially expands with that of the increasing population of congenital idiots, it takes three years for swallowed chewing gum to pass. Ms. Allison feels that the audience should view Renfield Awesomenicitizes the Ghost of the TomTom Ghost: A Feeble Fable with the soul of that urban legend in mind. For reasons unchallenged by critical thinking, Ms. Allison is certain that any audience able to identify with a wad of Juicy Fruit, grimly determined to survive a perilous journey through untold miles of intestines only to wind up someplace a little less than heaven, is probably the sort of audience who will embrace Renfield Awesomenicitizes the Ghost of the TomTom Ghost: A Feeble Fable for whatever the hell it might be. 

Her (here I make like Pilate and wash my hands of the affair) little whatever it might be “stars” four members of the Union of Pen-names, Imaginary Friends and Fictional Characters, to which Writer-Producer-Director Ms. Allison reluctantly belongs. The players include Renfield Stoker-Belle typecast as Renfield Stoker-Belle; a “literary turkey” named Krook briefly essays the role of the TomTom Ghost until he’s suddenly (and inexplicably) replaced by Miss Izzy (Queen of Shoeboxes), who chews the scenery (as well as a bit of Mr. Krook) as the Ghost of the TomTom Ghost. There’s also an old car named Lucille involved. She has no lines but I’m told that she drives the action. Ms. Allison so wanted a celebrity fictional car for the role, but union rules forced her to settle for one of her own construction. My guess is that Titty-Titty Gang Bang and Herpes the Love Bug  were both unavailable. 

Anyway, I figure that I should step in and issue this fair warning:  Something in Leila Allison Studios has opened its pitiless eyes and has slouched off, possibly, in your direction. 

Your Obedient Servant,

Ms. Allison’s Employer 

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