Category: Guest Authors

Furtive whispers in the dark.
Thirty pieces of silver change hands. In moments, the purported Messiah is in irons.
He is led in chains through the streets of Jerusalem, where the mobs howl for his death.
“Behead him! Behead him!”
He is led to the hill at Calvary, where stands the grim scaffold. The axe falls.
Two thousand years later, James Avery enjoys a successful business selling miniature Chopping Blocks, and on Good Friday, Christians everywhere commemorate the Decapitation.
In this world of Humane Romans, the Nicene Creed reads:
“He lost his head so that you could lose your sins.”

Technology always was a double-edged sword, and the Orgasmotron was no exception.
That was the popular name for it. The geeks that created it called it the Cerebrostimulator, and it swept the world.
A minor surgical procedure was all it took to implant the socket. The control unit was about the size of a Blackberry. You could stimulate every pleasure center in your brain with a touch of a button.
Hamburger. Pizza. Orgasm.
Aaaahhhhhhh.
76 countries banned it, even before people started dying.
700 consecutive orgasms, no food for weeks. They died like flies, but with smiles on their faces.

He had been waiting a long time for this evening.
Everything was ready; he’d seen to that. The chilled Champagne, the candles, the flowers, the scented oil. The freshly laundered sheets.
And now she was in his arms.
His chest pounded with desire. He forced himself to breathe.
She nestled her head in his lap, sought him greedily. He moaned, pleasure building within him like a breaking wave.
AFLA-A-A-A-A-CK!
Afterwards, Donald lit a Mallardboro and exhaled slowly, blowing flattened smoke-rings. The night would not be cheap, but so what? His credit was good. She would put it on his bill…

Pope Papadapoulos the Portly stood at the window of his basilica, surveying his domain, reflecting on his life’s work. He was pleased.
Singlehandedly, he had effected what had been thought impossible: the healing of the Great Schism. Now, Greek, Roman, and Russian churches all obeyed a single authority, kissed a single ring. His ring.
With the elaborate ceremonies that were to mark the historic relocation of the Holy See from Rome to Buenos Aires about to begin, the Holy Cheerleaders were in position, clutching their pompons.
Papadapoulos strode forth. It was time to deliver the first Bull of the Pampas.

It was only a matter of time before she branched out into a new business.
Name recognition? She had that – in spades. Her online journal was massively popular: on the rare occasions when she accepted comments, hundreds would sprout, like mushrooms after spring rain. She was eagerly sought out for interviews. Television. Newspapers.
But writing was becoming a bore, so she now turned her prodigious talents to the world of fashion design. Within months, her pocketbooks were being introduced in the hottest salons of Beverly Hills and Salt Lake City.
Yes, ladies: Now you, too, can own a DooceBag.