More storys to make you stop

Volume Two of the collected short works of Andrew McFing. Although only containing ten vary short storys it costs twenty seven dollers at your local bookstore, and it's printed entirely from kind budd stems made into perfumed paper.

A report on cinnamon Teddy Bears

• published in the winter of 2005
• By Fredrich Grope

The last estament of the population of cinnamon teddy bears in north america put them at twenty seven remaining to the whole species. Being this rare and so widely hunted, they are in a mode of reperductive frenzy. The trouble is finding a mate when the species is spread accross north america an average for one hundred and twenty four miles apart. Lots of pouchers in between. Eco terrorists have been leaveing assualt rifles and extra clips hidden with dried deep fryed honey, and varyous roasted nuts for the bears to eat and arm themselves. The sentence for being caught doing such a crime is ten years in the butt slammer. There is a project started by some eco-terrorists to unite males and females into the same area so they can fuck, sounds noble maybe, but they are eco-terrorists, and doing so would be considered an act of eco-terrorism. Oddly enough, the fine for being caught poaching Teddys is sixty bucks. The punsihment for saveing them, up to ten years in prison, and a ten thousand dollar fine per save.

There is rumered to be a small coloney of Cinnamon bears on planet Blue. They are supposed to live to a deep jungle in a group of thirty seven or so.

How I bagged me a cinnamon bear!

Hi I'm Klet Fustens. I'm kinda famous around here because I bagged that cinnamin bear that all the liberals had been crying about. I sold the furr for three thousand dollars. That was worth a few angry phone calls at three in the morning. All I can say is nothing that soft and pudgy was meant to live. They are all almost gone now so I am really proud to have gotten one of the last. I found it in my barn , I quickly closed the door and locked it from the outside. I ran in and grabed my nine milameter. When I got back the little bastard had broken my barn window with a rack and was scrambling out. Well I ,he he he , excuse me , I shot a loud round of lead into it's side and it smacked against the wall and gave me a syrupy wounded look , another round to the chest and it was down. Little fucker broke my window , oh well that three grand more then made up for it. I bought me some night vision glasses for seven hundred dollars. Now I quietly search for them bears at night. Sometimes I leave maple biscuits , or cherry sponge cakes as bait. Still no bears yet , but I'm ready , and I'm gonna cash in!

Other rare animals on my to kill off list

• Woodfish
• CabooshKa
• Unicorn

gangstrousity

Jerby Ermut and Jimmie Shlafflin sipped there meth-coffees and played cards. Before a crime they always nerved up with a card game of war. Only using tarot cards. Together they where the Jade street guns. A robbing stealing out past curfew drug dealing gang. They used to have a third member , Spike Underwood. Spike was shot to death by the Hillside hustlers. The hustlers where a annoying gang of mexican rappers and the Jade street guns vowed to destroy all 14 of them.

Jerby finished his meth-coffee and stood up grinning." Lets get paid my man"! Jimmie packed a sawed-off shotgun into his armored trench coat. Jerby had his chinease bootleg desert eagle and so far it has not exploded in his hands. They had planned this raid for awhile. A Alternative buzz warehouse for a online catalog that sold mind melting herbs and strange uncontrollled chemicals. Best of all this warehouse was on Hillside turf and the owners payed them protection money. This could make the Hustlers look real fuckin bad. The two man gang each had a modified mophead that was whisper quiet and went up to 60 miles an hour. They had with them over sized back packs to stash the goods in. Jerby brought there gang symbol prepared as a stencil and a bottle of blue spray paint. The plan was to advertise who has encrouched on who. As they pulled up behind the warehouse Jerby pulled a joint from his coon skin hat and lit it up.

Treehouse

Joey Bently and Matt Sumnal sneaked down the alley , in the shadows they where small and unnoticed. They walked on down by the river where the trees grew thick and they had discovered an old abandoned tree house. The two boys said nothing to eachother , and kept a wary gaze about. They climbed the tree and settled into the gently rocking tree house. Joey reached into his pocket and pulled out a glass pipe , red and orange , with purple lines squiggling through out it. He brushed aside some leaves in the corner and located thier lighter , kept dry in a plastic bag they had found in the park. The bag had small crumbs of marijuanna and they had smoked it up one night with no noticable effect. "I got some good chocolate , got em from my aunt. "She digs those boxed choco-variety packs." , Said Joey.

"Cool , I only have a couple handfulls of cigerette butts." Both made faces at the thought. Matt stashed the butts in a zip lock baggie that had once contained his sandwich for school. Joey broke up a dark chocolate oval on the floor of the tree house. He seperated the peanuts in the candy's center and packed all the chocolate into the colorfull pipe. It lit the bowl and inhaled deeply the heavonly rich taste that flowed over him , filling his head torso and groin with shivering tingles of pleasure. He passed the pipe and lighter over to Matt. Young master Sumnal was bathed in a cloud of scented smoke as he took three short quick puffs. A dreamy joy washed accross him starting at the front and soaking to the back of his body. Matt spoke in a dreamy monotone , "That is some good chocolate , I feel it melting my insides with heavy glowing warmth".

"I would like to smoke some jelly beans sometime" , said Joey as he hit the last of the tasty nugget and tapped out the pipe gently along the wall.

"You know what I wanna smoke?" , asked Matt with a blissfull grin. Joey just shook his head and fished in his pocket for more chocolate. "I want to smoke a girl , put her nipples in a pipe and take a big happy hit!", The boys tittered and giggled and passed around another delicious round of pipe tokes.

The boys had been smoking for four months now. About two weeks after Matt found the tree house that he sometimes spends the night in where his drunken father gets violent. Joey had the pipe about six months before that but had never used it. He slept with it every night , he believed it gave him dreams of deeper meaning. They started out smoking tobacco bits from ciggy butts they gathered from the park. A couple of stale reefer roaches had been tryed but they where to far burned down to have an effect on the curious children. Joey had found the pipe after it had been dropped by a couple of adult long hairs who smelled of burned plants in a pleasant way. Later that smell he knew was of marijuana and he thought of people so aromatized to be like holy men. They had been re-searching drugs on the internet. Only ones that could be smoked had any interest to them. The rest seemed moraly wrong and for weak people to mess with.

Hard times

I'm just hanging around, eating halloween candy. I've got this big orange and yellow sack full of random candies. That's the best part of halloween the sheer randomousity of it all. Nothing like a eight pound sack of sweets and horror movies on t v all night long. Yummy!

Mr. Fabcan and the last days of this stinky world

Mr. Fabcan always thought he would have a good retirement, that in some ways it would be the best days of his life. After all they're is much to be said for not haveing to get up and go to work and all that. He worked for SmithStone merchandizeing for thirty seven years, giveing a percent of each paycheck to his retirement fund, so he could have maple butter sandwitches and imported tea every single meal and not ever have to skipp a meal, but sadly things did not turn out this way. The C E O of the company who had been hired on a couple of years before has decided that he deserves that retirement money more than the employees do, after all he was only a millioniare. He had gone to church on sunday, he had faithfully voted republican all his life. Why had things gone so wrong? He thought the C E O was a card carrying republican, he remembers him indorseing Bush, yet he does a thing like that and gets away with it. The president personally interveneing on his investigation sighting terrorism security secrets are involved that could jepordize the civalized world. He didn't understand all that, but he knew that it was all Hillory Clinton's fault, the wicked witch of the communist ditch. She was behind everything. What the country needs is another war. The one we are currantly in is bogged down, best abandon that one and get on with blowing up a different country, only this time just blow em up and head over to the next target. None of this clean up bull shit, that's where our boys lose thier nuts, or even theyr'e lives. Just fly over, bombs away, fly on back. It's as simple as that. But what went wrong?

Well at least they're was his two hundred and thirty dollers a week from social security. If they would just cut funding on librarys, museums and such they're would be plenty of cash to have a couple more wars going and still enough for him to have a descent retirement. So Mr. Jonathon Fabcan got a can of wolf chili out of his cabinet. He poured it into the sauce pan and he added a few jalipino peppers, some hot picante, and chopped onions to the mix. What a world, what a world. It sucks to be better than everyone else, yet to have to live on the same level as the scum. Not right at all.

Mimi Jones in: Don't trust your neighbors

Lots of terrorists reside within the borders of the United States of America, and not all of them are arab. Some of them are even white, although you won't see these whites at church on sunday, more likely they will be at home nurseing a hangover. These anti-american americans take drugs, and even manufacture them, remember drugs are weapons of mass destruction. Well don't just stand there and take it, do something about it, for the love of Jesus and the children. Join my national club, The Nation Of Narcs. It's a pleasure to Jesus when his good servants snoop.

Never leave this plan unattended

Lots of jerks out there nowadays, and I plan to kill. Kill. Kill. Little pranks like peeing in my mailbox, whipping human shit on the windows of my house while I'm at work, killing my kitten and hanging the corpse from the tree in my front yard. Or how bout putting kiddy porn mags in my car I foolishly left unlocked and then makeing a anonymous call to the cops, I'm faceing a possible sentence of twenty years for that one.

I already own a handgun, it's a cheap thirt two I filled with hollow point shells. I've got a long slender sword I named catshup. I have been patrolling the grounds after dark, escapeing through by closet window that I can easely slip out of in complete silence. Tonight I'm going to sleep in my van. I'll put a couple battery powdered alarm clocks in with me so I'll be up in time for work, let them fuck with my van now..

even the jorden river has got bodies floating

Deon and Paul Rimbear are making photocopies at work.They work at a store called Brush.These are secret forbidden copies. They are copying pages from the Necromonicon to give to children as halloween pamphlets.Pual sets it up while Deaon goes to the loading/unloading dock.There he sees a trailered truck back into Dorm Roger’s hand crushing all the bones. "MY hand my hand", Dorm screams as the truck hisses, shrugging off the trailer. Deaon can not do nothing but stand there stunned. He finds he cannot speak or move, he is frozen in space.

Later Deaon goes by the copy machine and sees that Pual set it up wrong somehow and it is still making copies, mounds of them lay on the ground. He could not get the machine to stop. Even after pulling the plug. Endless pages from the Necromonicon stacking up, he had to smuggle them away before one of the managers saw what was happening.

External undermint

External undermint. Glow gravy entanglemint. Glimmer gone thinner , leaf thru this river. Meet the meta meat mask.

Take up with the minty broth patrol. We husk underneath the pieces. Jigsaw mardi gras. Tall tangerines come clean. The clown theather burns a silly fiery death , sizzling grease paint. The fire fighter laughing too hard to be able to help. Again the distance rings with charms and alarms.

The phobia hat clings to varyous heads and follow them downtown. You can't masterbate in a police state and never stay out late , they put you in the ground. Trees and tall boners claim soothing fire and bonnets full of heather.

Trenchcoat teams gleam and scream. Cats rains on the window pane. Laughter drags threw clenched teeth. Like the highway like the inter-zones of onion skins. , or more like between them. Drag dinner over violins. Herbal hyjacks and raisen smears fill the studio with nudity. Cross the infinate bears and pizza scraps. Fill my blunderbuss with lust shoot it with folded foldy thangs.

The Machine of Rage

This was the worst summer on Adam Gernten's life. Gulf war four has erupted and gasoline has gone up to fifteen dollars a gallon. Twenty bucks a day to go to work and back. They are cutting back the amount of hours allowed to be worked there as well. It is getting to the point where Gernten can't afford to drive to work and back the full two weeks till payday. Everything else is going up in price as well. Two days till payday finds Adam driving to work with the gas guage below empty. The car sputters and dies. Adam screams obsencitys at the uncaring world as he coasts over to the side of the road. This looks like the end of the line. He can no longer afford to drive to work. The line is finally drawn. Adam's rage steams in the car.