Written by guests and tenants of 569 Humboldt Street, on Sunday, November 30, 2008:
The red-breasted northern windthrush is separated from other ground dwelling bush birds by their distinctive call and solitary lifestyle.
Aboard the Teignmouth Electron, a brave and mighty schooner, Johnny Dirigible rolled his wheelchair to the starboard rail, flipped his cape back behind his shoulder, and imagined himself a fat flightless wood bird.
The length of his mast and billow of his sails impressed the seabirds and the blind, insane crew. The voyage, his voyage, was his call, and a strong one at that.
Johnny Dirigible looked back at the crew...
and throttled his motorcycle.
“From now on, you will know me as Johnny Desirable, and now you will make offerings to my giant sex talisman, Bonkers.”
With that, Bonkers, a beagle unfortunately stricken with dwarfism and goiters, barked the star-spangled banner, perfectly in synch with the 6/8 time beat created by construction workers pounding their chests and guffawing;
the bonobos returned to their treetops and made sweet love as only primates know how. Then suddenly, in mid-orgasm a poor ape fell to his death hitting branches and collecting leaves in his fur before he reached the forest floor.
Suddenly Miles awoke from his dream, crushed and twitching “Twas All A Dream!” Except for the falling part, which was rather unfortunate. Falling out the fifth story meant he was alive enough to know he’d soon be dead.
But what is death but a mile-long orgasm?
And how can that be all bad?
He mused on this wildly and donned his wolf penisbone necklace fetish.
Then he waved his cock over the dying embers of the bonfire and said,
“God, if you’re really up there, ding-a-ling your big blue bell for me!”