GOAT MILK PRESS

A rat that was caught by a glue trap has declared war on humankind. The rat, now named Napoleon, was caught in a glue trap on Wednesday evening. As Napoleon suffered in the trap overnight, hate grew in the rodent's heart. The hate grew so strong that the Lord of the Underworld was conjured into the home of Jerome and Laqueefa Stalard. The Stalards were on vacation in Mexico at the time, getting rip-roaring drunk and high. The couple's security footage shows Satan making a deal with Napoleon. In exchange for Napoleon's soul, the rat was given magical powers and heightened intelligence for use in its unholy quest to destroy humankind. If you see Napoleon DO NOT attempt to confront him yourself. Immediately call the authorities and hide in the nearest tree or public toilet, but be aware that you will probably die a horrible agonizing death regardless, with your insides falling out of your asshole. Napoleon is a nasty son of a bitch.

A living skeleton materialized in downtown Manhattan this morning. The busy streets were filled with horrified cries as the monster picked up a garbage can filled with heroin needles and tampons, striking the citizens of New York City. The skeleton killed 60 people and injured hundreds more before it was defeated by an unusually powerful squirrel. It tried to rape several schoolchildren on a field trip at the American Museum of Natural History, but fortunately it was cockless.

Insurance salesman and collector of antique porcelain turtles, Noris Pablewakie, shit himself at work today. Pablewakie consumed eight pounds of boiled cabbage the day prior, resulting in a particularly odorous defecation. Roaming the office hallways, asking his staff how their weekend was and commenting on his interns' miniskirts, Pablewakie blasted a shit in his pants in front of the whole office. Instantly those in the immediate vicinity of Pablewakie started to convulse and worms came out of their eyes. Some speculate that Pablewakie committed this act purposely in an attempt to be excused from his ten o'clock meeting.

There has been no explosion at the potato chip factory. The wizard is still old, but he has given up on prophesying. On most afternoons he may be found drinking mojitos at the Holiday Inn on Blackwood Avenue. “The mystic art is a fickle mistress,” he says.

A hole has appeared in the center of town. An old wizard crawled out of it. He warns anyone who will listen about the impending explosion at the potato chip factory.

“Hope may spring eternal,” he says, “but only out of an inexhaustible capacity for self-delusion.”

The Horizontal Men are back. The last plague was ten years ago, so perhaps you are not familiar. These abominations levitate several inches from the ground, in a perfectly rigid, prone position. They move horizontally along the plane of the earth via acts of pure volition, unaided by any mechanical processes. Their swollen forms clog the streets; at times, their erections gently touch the ground, producing a disturbing chiming sound.