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165 pages, Kindle Edition
First published December 18, 2013



"Have there been any reports of tapir attacks recently?" I ask. "Possibly involving a tapir eating someone's significant other and then trying to assume their place? Or perhaps you've gotten wind of some kind of Freaky Friday body-swap shenanigans happening around town?"
"There have been no body-swapping reports filed in the last 24 hours. And tapirs are strict vegetarians, sir," the operator coldly assures me. "I doubt one ate your girlfriend."
"They—they are?"
"Why would I lie to you?"
"My girlfriend is a vegetarian, too."
"Sounds to me like your girlfriend is a tapir, then."
"Yeah," I go. "I suppose she is."
It would have been one of the nicest evenings I'd ever had in years if she hadn't torched my house while I was still tied to the kitchen wall.
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I'd read a handful of her stories, and enjoyed them, in spite of their too-heavy-handed polemic. I'd also seen her blog, and knew that if she'd put half as much attention into her fiction as she did her tirades against the patriarchy, she'd be a force to be reckoned with.
"I will get you this tongue, but i refuse to put bovine eyeballs in my pussy hole just so you can watch."
Lester, from birth, had been blessed with the ability to pass himself off as the outer casing of a premium range vacuum cleaner. It was a gift.
The three clowns shot sweet coconut milk into each others' mouths from pinched nipples and ate each other's gourmet butt-fudge and mint nose-jelly with complete and utter abandon.
"Curse this infernal cock!" he'd say, chasing it around the house with a bullwhip, or a pair of pruning shears. "I should've listened to Buñuel and got myself a dog instead!"
Dalí was always saying shit like that, especially when he was drunk.
Roy was depressed. He loved his kittens. He just wanted to take them in his arms and hug them forever and never have to think about using them as bowling pins ever again.
For just as I reached down to grab her ass, I started hearing those same, awful noises again—like a herd of dying moose within her panties.
"Trick-or-treaters?" Calvin wondered, shoving another Reese's into his mouth.
"Maybe," said Rosa, getting up from the couch. "Give me the bowl."
"It's a plastic pumpkin, not a bowl."
"You're a plastic pumpkin."
"Great, now we've got fire gnomes."
Threading the hooks through her tiny nipples proved tricky at first, but with festive red and green balls dangling from her chest, a bit of her old spirit returned.
Alexey was a Northern Black Bear. He weighed 480 lbs and stood seven feet tall on his hind legs. His fur was thick and his rock-hard skull could withstand a round from a .22 caliber rifle. He was death on four paws. Hikers felt their bowels turn to ice water when they heard his chainsaw growl. He was massive. He was intimidating. He was terrifying. So he was very surprised to find himself getting punched in the face by a Yeti.
"No hit!" he roared, covering his muzzle with his paws. "No hit bear!"
"Eeeee!" the Yeti screamed, and punched him in the face again.
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