WRITING SAMPLE – Spring is in the Air



Once again,

as it happens. always happens.

The sickness is in the air.

The virus, the plague, the malicious attempt at humor from


The smallest,

and yet,

most vile ATOMS produced on this



Earth’s greatest weapon.

This “Pollen Pollution”

[(Which for now and forever will be referred to as PP, just in case “they” are listening…..)(Who is “they,” “you” may be wondering. “They “ is “Them”. The conservatives? Maybe. The liberals? Possibly. The hippies? Most likely. The eccentric? Getting warmer. Anyone who disagrees with “me”? Damn straight, bitch. “You”? If any one of the above applies, yes.)]

is something that some are immune to

(Call them Springwalkers, if you will)

And these Springwalkers were blessed, somehow, some way, and are able to


without fear of plant reproductive juices fuckin up their orifices.



Was once a Springwalker. But the PP somehow changed.

Its formula

Decided to target me


So now, when I walk outside

I fear the PP.

People in my shoes, these sad, dilapidated,  defeated shoes

Are what we call–

the forsaken.

One night, deep into the War of the Spring time I laid upon my bed


My eyes squinting as if the sun were too bright,

Burning as if infected by lice

Red as if….tomato.

My nose was useless,

clogged by its own mess

tender from all of the prodding

My skin crawled from the effects of the potent PP

My throat,

if you could even call it that anymore

felt as if ants were called upon my larynx ,

to Party.

And what a festive party it was, and always is.

No amount of scratching with the back of my tongue

or the ill-fated journey of mine own finger

could quell the PP beast.

I prayed that night. I prayed for


Salvation came in the form of a cocktail of,

(Allegra, benadryl, zyrtec, nasacort, claritin-nondrowsy, claritin-yesdrowsy, local honey,  nonlocal honey, drowsy honey.)

I became a shell of my former self whenever I took this cocktail


it felt good to breathe clearly for five minutes.

Though I’d usually sleep for days at a time afterwards and would wake up in a

drunken- maybe dreamlike, or possibly even cracked out


It was better than having to deal with PP.

Spring is in the air, plant sperm and eggs.

Spring is in the air, Earths’ attempt at a massive orgy

Spring is in the air



Writing Sample – Bored Games

Bored Games

I stand before the ostentatiously jeweled gates of Drandsmiore,

The frigid mountain air sweeps down and howls in sweet jubilation

as if powered by the souls of those who once accompanied me.

I breathe slowly.

My body aches from my previous battle with the Cyclops of Eyron,

its blood still fresh and dripping from my Sword of Disparage.

I journeyed through it’s dungeon to find the Jeweled key, which was attached to the Diamond Skull Armour in which I am wearing now.

Even though I lost my fateful companion, Travis, in the Plains of Exasperation to the wicked flying demoness spawned, Aerophineas I eradicated it and erected a Mound of Prayer to grieve Travis’ loss.

I battled my way through The Cavern of the Verbose and harangued the Verbinator to deaf to retrieve–

“Wait, you harangued the Verbinator to deaf? Dude, what the fuck?”

The Dungeon Master, Peterominous, (Peter, to the uninitiated) interrupts my heroic speech, per usual.

“Define harangued or it shall be struck’en from the Book of Records, you plebian!”

Bastard… He knows my weakness is word knowledge…

-Harangue means to strike down egregiously with your tongue!-

My plus 19 Pendant of Eternal Wisdom must have aided me because Peterominous thinks for a second and nods, allowing the word.

“Just hurry up, dude. You know Travis has work at 9. You have to roll a 6 in order to break through the Jeweled Gate of Drandsmiore and recapture the captured princess of Seitnap… Tee hee.”

I expel a primal roar as I thrust the Jeweled key into the gate’s orifice.

The tremendous force behind the penetrating key shatters it and the explosion of color momentarily paints the frozen air.

Jades mixing with azures, mixing with ruby, mixing with mauve, mixing with brown. And orange.

Though the key shatters I feel the sudden urge to attack the wall with my mighty sword!

Attack! (with twenty-sided die)


I rolled an eleven so I bash the gate eleven times.


Hit twice.


Strike it thrice.


I slice at the gate.



“Dude, mathematically, you should have hit 6 at least four times accidentally by now.”

Peterominous is right. No matter how much time passes by, I will continue to strike the gate!

Though my hand is bloodied and my wrist aches like a chronic masturba… master of.. Masters, I will continue to attempt to get in!


God damn it.


HOLY SHIT! The gate finally opens!

I rush inside with a newfound vigor!

“You lose. The recaptured princess is already dead. She’s been dead for over an hour now. You took too long, plebian. Travis is late for work and I must accompany him so I can ask his boss for a job.”

I fall to the ground. My beloved recaptured princess of Seitnap, felled by the unluckiness of my throwing hand. And that bastard Peter…