Happy Ea(ter of Acid)ster!! By Heath Brougher

Psychosexual Psychodynamic Psychedelic eggs/ bunnybrain personified/
Lysergic Easter / foilwrapped chocolateprisoned cream / happy Zombie Day!
/ oval acid hits / a divine tongue
was born when God decided to try LSD.

"Why did we hide all those eggs knowing that we didn't want to lose them in the first place?"

"Don't know. Maybe it subconsciously says something about our intrinsic yet latent need to break away from the herd and work to fulfill our True Destiny."

"Don't say heavy shit like that right now!
Fuckin' A, man! Forget trippin' balls!
I'm trippin' OVARIES for fuck's sake!"

Heath Brougher is the poetry editor for Into the Void, winner of the 2017 and 2018 Saboteur Award for Best Magazine and, even though he hasn't submitted in a looooong fuckin time, is already tired of bragging about himself.

3D by John Patrick Robbins

                           

I remember in my younger days going to the local bar during the super bowl game.

I remember during the halftime show every one getting these stupid 3D glasses to watch some Coke or Pepsi commercial.

They were like children waiting for something big that truly was anything but that to happen.

I remember how impressed they all were at this one basic effect. 

And I thought to myself how easy it was to impress drunks.

So when I started out writing, I decided that they would become my core audience.

I been writing awhile now and penned a few books as well.

Largely my audience seems to have let me down a bit.

Probably because my books have no corporate sponsor or 3D glasses. 

And if by chance anyone at the Jim Beam distillery may read this.

Don't hesitate to drop me a line. 

Because I would sell out in a heartbeat.

Screw critical acclaim give me free booze and let me die happy.

This message brought to you by the fine voices in my head.

                         John Patrick Robbins

Is the editor and chief warlord of the Frat.
When not in training for the Olympic drinking team he usually spends his time starting mags just to annoy everyone around him.

His hobbies include.
Studying the occult, Binge drinking, playing with matches.

His publications include . High Times Magazine, Shakespeare Sucks Quarterly, Better Homes And Gardens, The Dope Fiend Daily, Aerial Chart, And The Yellow Pages.

His work is always unfiltered.

My Liver is a Spotted Hyena by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

My liver is a spotted hyena.
I hear it laughing at me at night.
A sickly spotted hyena.
Flesh torn away and necrotic.
That rabid smell of Death.
The eyes sunken back into the skull.
The jaw slung low and panting.
Everything meaty and fly-ridden.
Maggots falling out of the wounds.
But still it laughs.
Because it is both a hyena
and my liver.
I crack a fresh bottle
turn up the music
and smile a little
myself.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a male gigolo for hire.  Presently residing along the sunny shores of Guantanamo Bay, Cuba where he spends his days drinking discount Tequila and accusing chemtrails of being "sky farts."  His work can be found both in print and online in such joints as: The Rye Whiskey Review, The Dope Fiend Daily, Outlaw Poetry Network, Horror Sleaze Trash, and Under The Bleachers.

THE END IS NEIGH! by Todd Bagger

Listen Sheople, the writing is on the walls!
(unless you are actually a reptilian then close your scaly eye flaps and stop reading this!)

We all know that U.T.B related incidents of drunk driving have more than tripled this fiscal year.
But what most of you don't realize is that by simple calculations a dark plot emerges.

Take the total number of drunk driving accidents 5,190 in 2018 then multiply that by 23.
And divide the product by 666 this results in the number 179.

179 is almost 180 which is the sum of the angles of the angles added up in a triangle.
This is no coincidence as the triangle is the symbol of the illuminati.

Whom are the current funders of U.T.B.

If you take this data into consideration and then look at the unique anal finger print left by Ryan Quinn Flanagan on 2 ply toilet paper.

The trajectory adds up to the coordinates of a nuclear silo built in Antartica during the "Cold war".
And the amount of pizza beagles that can be stored there is exactly 173.2 million units.

THESE PIZZA BEAGLES ARE BEING SOLD TO YOUR SUPPER MARKET AND ARE INJECTED WITH DRUGS TO BRAINWASH YOU INTO BUYING U.T.B BOOKS!

AND THE FUNDS FROM THESE BOOKS ARE BEING USED TO MAKE GOVERNMENTS INTO PUPPETS FOR OUR FUTURE MARTIAN INVADERS TO CONQUER US!

YOU MUST RESIST AND FREE YOUR MINDS FROM YOUR CORPORATE OVERLORDS AMERICA DON'T BECOME THE CHEESE PIZZA OF AN ALLIEN RACE!

Todd Bagger is currently at an undisclosed location and dedicates his life to unveiling the evil truth behind U.T.B. Nobody knows his true identity but he will always be there watching and reporting on the state of the world. If you want to also set your mind free then buy his patented vitamins and  tin foil hats at  a secret dropbox near you.

Never a Leave It to Beaver Episode by Dan Provost

She was a face from a 50’s Pulp magazine.
Cool for sleaze.
Comfort for boys who needed an outlet for
busty worship.

Lipstick too red.
Dress too tight.
A harlot in distress for libido.

Cigarette inhaled; tits heaved then
expanded…a cloud of billowy smoke
surrounds her devilish charm.

Haze of sultry between streams of tobacco.

Ultra-vixen that Wally or the Beav never
mentioned to Dad on the car ride to Friends Lake.

Dames like her were strictly beat-off propriety.
Photos hidden under feared mattresses.

Hoping never to be found by Hugh Beaumount.

  Dan Provost has been published throughout the small press for many years.  He is the author of nine books and lives in Berlin, New Hampshire with his wife Laura.

Kiss Like Jagger by Linda Imbler

The night before his sex-reassignment surgery,
I kissed Mick Jagger goodbye.
(surgery deemed necessary to increase today’s
relevancy for a rock band with fifty-plus years
of formulaic riffs and moves.)
His mouth was wrinkled and stiff.
He was hesitant at first.
He said, “She (Gladys, that is) won’t let me.”
But, once I put my lips on that famous pout,
he relaxed into the kiss.
A kiss lasting but a few seconds,
brief, but thorough.
As our faces moved apart,
his eyes found their smile.

Relinquishing a 76-year old rooster’s ego won’t be easy.

Linda Imbler likes cheap wine, but expensive rock concert seats.  When not reading dime store novels and noodling on her guitar, 

she puts chicken scratches on paper with a pen, which oddly enough, turn into poems.  Her work can be found all over the place, 

but if you insist on being anal about it, check out lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.net.

A Treatise On Fucking A Sexy Triangle by Scott Simmons

I went to an airport naked and refused to buy a ticket.

And declared “Fear not all of you mortal scum, I shall glide to the skies like a unicorn from the Isukadik Provence of the Eastern Canadian wilderness!”

For I could fly through the vibrations of orange pulsating in my ballsack.
And swim the seas with a toothbrush called Karl Marx gently inserted in my anus.

TO EUROPE WHERE MEN WEAR DRESSES MADE OF SQUIRREL NUTS AND SPARKLING VAMPIRES ILLEGALLY FEED AMONGST OUR HORSE SEMAN FARMS!

I SHALL NOT BE CONFINED TO YOUR PUNY PHYSICAL PENILE LIMITATIONS!
FOR I AM THE SEXIEST BITCH OF THE KNOWN ELCTRO-COWBOY UNIVERSE!

Scott Simmons is an accredited resident pervert at the Ron Murphy's School of Bullshit after he paid Ron a tuition fee of $25,000 and was then immediately abandoned in the parking lot of a Texaco gas station. Scott Simmons work has been seen in various manifestos and children's coloring books that remains locked in form the of 8 tracks in the national vault of Chuck E. Cheese.