Myrna’s home remedies had horrifying side-effects.
Harold ached where the cord was cinched tight around his testicles. Blood flowed in, but not out. He squatted on his haunches, and then rose, trying to relieve the discomfort.
He heard a bicycle approaching through the tunnel and peered around the edge.
Thank god! A boy, alone. Maybe 12?
Ignominious deaths dogged seven sad generations.
For the buzzards, a legendary feast.
All bottles emptied, the party sputtered.
We were like bonobos on Viagara.
The scrawny chick kissed rather enthusiastically.