Spineless by Justin Grimbol

Pussy Bear and Cathy sat on the couch and drank their coffee. Pussy Bear hated visiting Cathy. The first floor of her house was a massive salt water pool. Her fur smelled awful when it was wet. But Cathy’s husband was a jelly fish and she had to respect that.

Cathy loved to complain about her marriage. Apparently it was very boring.  “I don’t know what I was thinking marrying this nerd,” she said.

“You loved him,” Pussy Bear said.

“I guess.”

 “And you have that weird fetish for getting stung,” Pussy Bear reminded her.

“That’s true.”

Cathy’s husband swam up to Pussy bear and started stinging the hell out of her feet. The last time Pussy Bear visited the jelly fish stung her so bad that she lost her temper and ended up stomping on the thing and killing it. Luckily, Cathy was in the bathroom at the time. She didn’t see her stomp her husband to death. Pussy Bear then went to the beach and fish up another jelly fish and put it in Cathy’s house before she noticed her husband was gone. This had actually happened on a few occasions. She thought it was strange that Cathy couldn’t tell that the jelly fish that was floating around her living room was wasn’t her husband.

“I can’t stand the way he stings me,” Cathy said. “I’m constantly going to the beach to be with other jelly fish. I’m such a whore.”

Pussy bear assured her that she was just going through a phase. Cathy wept. She threw herself into Pussy Bears big hairy arms. The two women embraced. The jelly fish continued to sting Pussy Bear’s feet. She couldn’t tell if the creature was flirting with her, attacking her or begging for help.


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Justin Grimbol went to Green Mountain College for thirty years. He majored in Partying and Dry Humping. He is the author of DRINKING UNTIL MORNING and THE CRUD MASTERS. 

Copyright Justin Grimbol 
Artwork by Leonora Carrington 

BABY POWDERED HILLS by Justin Grimbol

The old man sat in his wheel chair looking over the snowy fields. He was covered in blankets, but he was still cold. His body trembled. 

 There was a baby out there. It was dark but the moon was full. It lit up the fields like a parking lot. There was a baby out there. He had seen it crawl out of the darkness and he had been watching it slowly make its way to his house.

At first he wanted to get out there himself and help it. But then he came to his senses. What was he going to do once he got out there? Nothing. He was too old. They would both end up freezing to death. So he sat there and watched and tortured himself with guilt and a whiny sense of uselessness.

A couple more hours passed. The baby was still out there and it was still alive, still crawling, making its way through the deep snow. Where did it come from? The old man wondered. It was a strong little bastard. That was obvious. God only knew how far it had traveled.

He felt silly just sitting there, waiting for the baby to come to him like that. What if the baby had no interest in him? What if it just walked by? The idea depressed him.

He felt tired. Eventually he dozed off. His head fell back and he began to snore and his breath turned to steam in the cold air. He didn’t wake until the baby was at his feet.

“What the hell do you want?” the old man asked him.

“I’ve been crawling around for days,” the baby told him. “You got any food in there?”

The old man looked at him suspiciously. The baby was being pushy. He didn’t like that.

“Come on, I got money,” the baby told him. “I got like two grand in my diaper. You got any whisky in that big old house? You got any pussy? I bet you got a ton of pussy in there. Farmer pussy. I bet you got like a whole heard of tough ass farm chicks in there.”

The old man didn’t say anything, but the disdain he felt was obvious.

“Forget you,” the baby said.

The old man watched as he crawled away. God damn, he thought. What the hell’s wrong with kids these days?

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Justin Grimbol went to Green Mountain College for thirty years. He majored in Partying and Dry Humping. He is the author of DRINKING UNTIL MORNING and THE CRUD MASTERS. 

Copyright Justin Grimbol

Facebook Eternal by Justin Grimbol

 Ned logged on to facebook to stalk his dead wife. He clicked on her profile pics and found a shot of her sitting on Benjamin Franklin’s lap. She was drunk and wearing the tiniest skirt he had ever seen. He looked at more pics. Heaven looked rowdy. He had hoped that Heaven would be a like one long yoga class. Instead it seemed like a massive keg party.

There was one pic where she was doing a keg stand, with Chris Farley holding her upside down. Her shirt hung over her face. Her big titties dangled. There was another pic of the two kissing. Chris Farley was his favorite actor. Now whenever he watched one of his movies he would think of him boinking his dead, drunk wife. He was devastated. 

That’s it, he decided. I can’t take it anymore.

He deleted his dead wife from his friends list.

For a moment he felt better. A weight had been lifted. Then he decided maybe a little too much weight had been lifted. He wanted it back.

 He tried to re-friend her. But it wasn’t that simple. She had to accept the friend request.

He waited and hoped for her to accept the request.  “Come on, come on!” he mumbled to himself. An hour passed. She hadn’t accepted his request.

     It was late, but he was too anxious to sleep. “WHATS WRONG WITH YOU?” he yelled at his computer screen. “JUST ACCEPT MY FRIEND REQUEST! HOW CAN YOU BE SO CRUEL? YOU BITCH!”

He folded down his lap top and took a deep breath. “OK Ned, get a hold of yourself,” he said.

He waddled to the kitchen and made himself a massive ice-cream Sunday and turned on his favorite Rocky movie, the one where he fights off the zombie apocalypse. The movie calmed him down a little. He used to love comedies, but his wife had been hooking up with all his favorite dead comedians and now he found he couldn’t watch anything but horror movies.

The volume was too loud. It woke his daughter. She stumbled to the living room and snuggled up with him on the couch.

“Honey, it’s four in the morning,” Ned said. “It’s way passed your bed time.”

“I just want to watch a little bit of the movie,” she said.

“OK, just a little bit.”

She sat next to him and watched the movie.

 When she fell back to sleep he carried her into her bed and tucked her in.

He loved her hair. It was red and long like her mothers.

Poo Party by Justin Grimbol

     “Why can’t I stop shitting?” he yelled.

Heavy tears rolled down his cheeks. He had been in the bathroom, sitting on this heartless toilet, for over an hour. He had flushed six times. The smell was monstrous. He couldn’t stop.

“Why did this happen now?”

His roommates were throwing a party and it was getting wild. He could hear them dancing and laughing. Tits were being pulled out, he was sure of it. People were getting naked, he could tell by the way they were cheering.

“Oh God have mercy on me!” he called out to the heavens.

God did not respond.

He kept pooping. It was as if his ass was the sky and the toilet was the ocean and this was the perfect storm.

 Soon the hooting and hollering turned into moaning. He could hear flesh smacking against flesh. He could hear sucking sounds. His cock got hard. As he cried and squeezed out long turds, he jerked his dong. He was desperate to be included in the party in some way.

The sex sounds became more intense. Eventually the moaning turned into screams. He could hear flesh tearing and bones breaking. He was just about to come when he saw a puddle of blood seep under the door. His boner became limp. His eyes widened.

Finally, the shitting had stopped. But he no longer wanted to leave the bathroom. He no longer wanted to join the party. He wanted to hide.

“Help!” he heard someone knocking on the door. “She’s killing everyone!”

He ran to the shower and shut the curtains.

He sat there, trembling.

Even after the screaming stopped and things became quiet and the sun had risen, he refused the leave the bathroom.

“Dear God, help me,” he begged as he lay in the tub, naked, in the fetal position.

The door shook and then got ripped off the hinges. A woman walked into bathroom. She was a seven foot tall woman with a firm, curvy body that was covered in blood. Tusks jutted out of her mouth. Her eyes were piss-stain yellow.

She didn’t notice him.  She sat on the toilet bowl and started to shit so loudly the entire house shook.

The smell was potent. It filled the boy in the tub. He became dizzy. His body shook. Horns sprouted from his head. His limbs stretched out and his muscles bulged. He screamed in pain as his teeth grew into long, cock-shaped daggers.

When he was done transforming he looked up and saw the lady-monster was standing over him. Her eyes were wide. She mounted him. The sun was up but the night wasn’t over yet. This girl was ready to party. 

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Justin Grimbol went to Green Mountain College for thirty years. He majored in Partying and Dry Humping. He is the author of DRINKING UNTIL MORNING and THE CRUD MASTERS. 
Copyright 2013 Justin Grimbol