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American Dream Serialization (Early Chapters)
Introduction to Jim Chaffee's Studies in Mathematical Pornography by Maurice Stoker
Introduction to Jim Chaffee's Studies in Mathematical Pornography by Tom Bradley
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: American Dream Title Page by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 1 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 2 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 3 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 4 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 5 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 6 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 7 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 8 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 9 by Jim Chaffee
01-01-2015
Modern Tragedy, or Parodies of Ourselves by Robert Castle
01-11-2014
Totally Enchanté, Dahling by Thor Garcia
01-04-2014
Hastini by Rudy Ravindra
The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 5 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
01-01-2014
Unexpected Pastures by Kim Farleigh
10-01-2013
Nonviolence by Jim Courter
The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 4 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
07-01-2013
The Poet Laureate of Greenville by Al Po
The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part VI by Thor Garcia
The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 3 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
04-01-2013
The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part V by Thor Garcia
The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part IV by Thor Garcia
The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 2 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
01-01-2013
The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part I by Thor Garcia
The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part II by Thor Garcia
The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part III by Thor Garcia
The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 1 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
10-01-2012
DADDY KNOWS WORST: Clown Cowers as Father Flounders! by Thor Garcia
RESURRECTON: Excerpt from Breakfast at Midnight by Louis Armand
Review of The Volcker Virus (Donald Strauss) by Kane X Faucher: Excerpt from the forthcoming Infinite Grey by Kane X Faucher
01-07-2012
Little Red Light by Suvi Mahonen and Luke Waldrip
TEXECUTION: Klown Konfab as Killer Kroaked! by Thor Garcia
Miranda's Poop by Jimmy Grist
Paul Fabulan by Kane X Faucher: Excerpt from the forthcoming Infinite Grey by Kane X Faucher
01-04-2012
Operation Scumbag by Thor Garcia
Take-Out Dick by Holly Day
Patience by Ward Webb
The Moon Hides Behind a Cloud by Barrie Darke
The Golden Limo of Slipback City by Ken Valenti
01-01-2012
Chapter from The Infinite Atrocity by Kane X. Faucher
Support the Troops By Giving Them Posthumous Boners by Tom Bradley
01-10-2011
When Good Pistols Do Bad Things by Kurt Mueller
Corporate Strategies by Bruce Douglas Reeves
The Dead Sea by Kim Farleigh
The Perfect Knot by Ernest Alanki
Girlish by Bob Bartholomew
01-07-2011
The Little Ganges by Joshua Willey
The Invisible World: René Magritte by Nick Bertelson
Honk for Jesus by Mitchell Waldman
01-04-2011
Red's Dead by Eli Richardson
The Memphis Showdown by Gabriel Ricard
Someday Man by John Grochalski
01-01-2011
I Was a Teenage Rent-a-Frankenstein by Tom Bradley
Only Love Can Break Your Heart by Fred Bubbers
10-01-2010
Believe in These Men by Adam Greenfield
The Magnus Effect by Robert Edward Sullivan
Performance Piece by Jim Chaffee
07-01-2010
Injustice for All by D. E. Fredd
The Polysyllogistic Curse by Gary J. Shipley
How It's Done by Anjoli Roy
Ghost Dance by Connor Caddigan
Two in a Van by Pavlo Kravchenko
04-01-2010
Uncreated Creatures by Connor Caddigan
Invisible by Anjoli Roy
One of Us by Sonia Ramos Rossi
Storyteller by Alan McCormick
01-01-2010
Idolatry by Robert Smith
P H I L E M A T O P H I L I A by Traci Chee
They Do! by Al Po
Full TEX Archive
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Support the Troops By Giving Them Posthumous Boners:
Leftward-leaning Prot-priestess gets overexcited at Marine hero's funeral, causing all true red American blood to seethe

By Tom Bradley

Behold this bleeding breast of mine
Gashed with the sacramental sign.
I stanch the blood, the wafer soaks,
High Priestess moistened death invokes.
This Bread I gorge, this Oath I swear
As I enflame myself with prayer.

—Aleister Crowley, Mass of the Phoenix

Distinguished, decorated, not much longer corporeal Corporal, trenchered out piecemeal in our laps, your bronze whatzit with fig leaf clusters or almond clusters, or whatever, pinned on your thorax, reamed-out, stainless steel-stented, don't you fret, my handsome boy.

We promise not to tattle to absentee Pa that you, literally gutless, failed to complete your eighth stop-lossed tour of duty, way over there in Eye-rack, running interference for Halliburton’s pricey mercenaries.

Not from us will ex-pregnant-teen Ma hear that you unmetaphorically crapped out before she could hold a bake sale for E-Bay body armor, your penultimate birthday-boy surprise.

Meanwhile, allow me to hoist the hem of my pastoral cassock, climb on the casket rim, and squat, knickerless, like Greer over her mirror. Pucker up, youngster. Don't pout. We intend to give you every benefit of the doubt.

Nourished from infancy on meat and sugar, you brat of an illiterate slag, reared in the roar of televised blood and shit and sperm, numbed to your neurons by the fumes of Ma's kitchenette meth lab, capable of only a bored child's-eye video-view of the manifested universe, blood addict, insane with black hate-spleen.

You popped a chubby at a pep rally back in hi-skool, got called a homo by jocks, jeered by cheerleaders. You said to yourself (back when you had tongue and lips that were something more than ash primped with jizz-colored mortuary wax), "Gol-dang, I need some o' that--what-d'-you-call-it--dissy-plin in m' life. I better enlist, yup-yup-yup."

Are you retarded enough to reckon that was an actual decision on your part? You were part of the plan all along, Corporal Corpse. Your nation was methodically over-lawyered in preparation for your nativity, divorce was facilitated, your generation well-farmed, incubated in broken homes, corn-fed golem oafs too heart- and brain-damaged to do more than rampage in a proxy war on behalf of that boa-constricting entity which I, your priestess, for self preservation’s sake, even here in this Christian sanctuary, must euphemize, in a whisper, as "the Trans-national Corporatocracy."

Their pet execs in the recording industry soaked your existence, in-utero onward, with perpetual grunting decibels, drumming monotony, aural steroids. You obediently i-podded it straight into the side of your learning-disabled head while slogging through Fallujah's scab-clogged gutters.

Just following orders, carrying out YHWH's immemorial injunction from on high, as we find in today's reading from the second and third verses of the fifteenth chapter of the First Book of You-Know-Who (with wet thighs I mount the lectern, pry apart the Good Book's buttocks, and declaim):

Now go and smite Amalek, and utterly destroy
all that they have, and spare them not;
but slay both man and woman, infant and suckling,
ox and sheep, camel and ass."

Such a useful runt. I brim with white phosphorous affection for you, my boy-toy. We need to breed whole fleets of Bradley Urban Assault Vehicles jam-full of lovely, drooly, bristly, backward-bending hard-ons like you.

That other military empire, Grand Assyria, whose ashes you made mud with your shit and blood, had the right idea. High on the ramparts they impaled any teen Ma, any unpatriotic hussy, who sought to procure miscarriage.

Speaking of writhing on a spike, with my sacerdotal labia majora I now squeeze your jar head. Here's a trigger for you to pull, kissy-boy. I twist your muscled neck to wring a final requiescat stiffy.

Ten-hut. Support them troops.

© Tom Bradley 2011