Author Archives: John Semley

From “The Marvel Monthly,” Newsletter of The Magicians and Spellbinders Local 319

Amateur Magician, Father Disappears

By Walter Wynn, Staff Reporter/Apprentice Diabolist

Amazing news out of Cobourg, Ontario this month, fellow illusionists! In a feat of hocus-pocus derring-do, area father and journeyman magician Dave O’Brien vanished from the living room of his Walnut Lane bungalow. According to reports from the audience in attendance, the 46-year-old Cobourg diviner disappeared, as if into thin air, leaving his family of three astounded and without a chief breadwinner. Continue reading

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Rip Torn Rallies An Imaginary Posse

Rip Torn, appearing here as he does in his own mind, prepares to rob a closed bank in Salisbury, Connecticut.

Alright listen up you peckerheads. I know you’re all just Ditran-induced hallucinations and I don’t know who’s talking, me or the Glenlivet, but fuck it all to hell. I am the Glenlivet. So you yella pricks listen to me and you listen hard. That cocksucking bank’s had it good for too long. And we’re taking the fucker down.

Now I know what’s going on in your thick fucking skulls right now: “how the fuck’re we supposed to rob a bank.” Listen here. We get the fucker when it’s closed. Nobody will fucking be there. Empty. It’s a victimless fucking crime. That’s the genius of it right there, shitspecks. Got it?

First things fucking first. Everybody grab an antique revolver out of this old humidor. Don’t be shy. Plenty to go around. Now everyone take a handful of bullets. Now loads the fuckers. I SAID FUCKING LOAD THE FUCKERS! Don’t dare cock your eyes at me, sonny. When I was your age I used to put men twice my size in sleeper holds, get them on the fucking ground, and steal every goddamn cent out of their wallets just to afford a fucking cot at the fucking Glendale YMCA.

Questions? Yeah you, the slope I murdered in Korea.

What do you think, zipperhead? Like I don’t know pain? I’ve been through two fucking divorces. Messy ones. Real muck. Not like that fucking little girl pigtail princess birthday party you put our boys through halfway ‘round the fucking globe. I’ve been there, jack. I’ve been face to fucking face with the goddamn abyss. I’ve known God, Charlie, and he’s a fucking faggot. So fuck you, I don’t know pain! You ever howl? You ever just howl, jack? Like running around in circles barking at the fucking moon like a mad dog? Awooooooooooooooooooooo!

Who else? Yeah, the snot-nose Kid looks like my prick bastard son.

Crazy? The fuck you know from crazy, pipsqueak? I beat Norman Mailer fucking head’s in with a ball-pein hammer. And shit I’d do it again if that pantywaist fucking clown didn’t work up the balls to die. It was on the set of Maidstone. You remember Maidstone, dipshit? Of course you don’t. Hell, 1970 you were little more than a glint in yer dear old daddy’s fucking ballsack. And if it weren’t for an expired sheepskin I’d had in my fucking wallet since the Eisenhower administration you’d still fucking be there! You even remember Ike Eisenhower, mashed potato head? Course you don’t. Hand me that fucking bottle.

Anyone else? Anyone else got the fucking balls to stand up to me? Any other cocksucker here brave enough to pull a knife on Dennis Hopper? Sure. You. The ghost of my second wife.

….

AHHHHHH-WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

We ride at midnight. The fuck time is it anyways?

Rip Torn Rallies and Imaginary Posse

Alright listen up you peckerheads. I know you’re all just Ditran-induced hallucinations and I don’t know who’s talking, me or the Glenlivet, but fuck it all to hell. I am the Glenlivet. So you yella pricks listen to me and you listen hard. That cocksucking bank’s had it good for too long. And we’re taking the fucker down.

Now I know what’s going on in your thick fucking skulls right now: “how the fuck’re we supposed to rob a bank.” Listen here. We get the fucker when it’s closed. Nobody will fucking be there. Empty. It’s a victimless fucking crime. That’s the genius of it right there, shitspecks. Got it?

First things fucking first. Everybody grab a loaded handgun out of this old humidor. Don’t be shy. Plenty to go around. Now everyone take a handful of bullets. Now loads the fuckers. I SAID FUCKING LOAD THE FUCKERS! Don’t dare cock your eyes at me, sonny. When I was your age I used to put men twice my size in sleeper holds, get them on the fucking ground, and steal every goddamn cent out of their wallets just to afford a fucking cot at the fucking Glendale YMCA.

Questions? Yeah you, the slope I murdered in Korea.

What do you think, zipperhead? Like I don’t know pain? I’ve been through two fucking divorces. Messy ones. Real muck. Not like that fucking little girl pigtail princess birthday party you put our boys through halfway ‘round the fucking globe. I’ve been there, jack. I’ve been face to fucking face with the goddamn abyss. I’ve known God, Charlie, and he’s a fucking faggot. So fuck you, I don’t know pain! You ever howl? You ever just howl, jack? Like running around in circles barking at the fucking moon like a mad dog? Awooooooooooooooooooooo!

Who else? Yeah, the snot-nose Kid looks like my prick bastard son.

Crazy? The fuck you know from crazy, pipsqueak? I beat Norman Mailer fucking head with a ball-pein hammer. And shit I’d do it again if that pantywaist fucking clown didn’t work up the balls to die. It was on the set of Maidstone. You remember Maidstone, dipshit? Of course you don’t. Hell, 1970 you were little more than a glint in yer dear old daddy’s fucking ballsack. And if it weren’t for an expired sheepskin I’d had in my fucking wallet since the Eisenhower administration you’d still fucking be there! You even remember Ike Eisenhower, mashed potato head? Course you don’t. Hand me that fucking bottle.

Anyone else? Anyone else got the fucking balls to stand up to me? Any other cocksucker here brave enough to pull a knife on Dennis Hopper? Sure. You. The ghost of my second wife.

….

AHHHHHH-WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

We ride at midnight. The fuck time is it anyways?

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To The Editors of The New Berliner

Gentlemen, the cartoon in question is, as its stands, ridiculous.

Dear Editors,

I am writing to you re: a recent editorial cartoon published in the Saturday evening edition of The New Berliner. On page 43 [dreiundveirzig], a cartoon attributed to staff illustrator Joe Himmel depicted our most esteemed ruler, emperor, and Deutscher Kaiser und König von Preußen, Prinz Friedrich Wilhelm Viktor Albrecht [hence, Wilhelm II or, Herr Kaiser] attempting to take a bite out of a globe resembling the Planet Earth as if it were a Cookie, Round Fruit, or Spherically-Shaped Piece of Chocolate. [I have attached a copy of scribble same with this letter.]

Continue reading

One World Government Declares Every Third Friday Hawaiian Shirt Day

Fort Bilderberg citizen #8346 ("Dad") embraces the newly mandated Global Aloha! Day.

(Center City, Earth) A press release issued by the cabal of word leaders comprising the New World Order revealed today that, beginning with the third Friday of this month, every third Friday will be henceforth be commemorated as Hawaiian Shirt Day, or, Aloha! Day.

The announcement comes months after the United Nations, IMF, Elders of Zion, Freemasons and several worldwide ecclesiastical authorities consolidated their power as a means of putting an end to global power struggles and securing the future of the human race. While projects initiated by the world government (colloquially, “The Gov”) have thus far proven unanimously popular—from the worldwide installation of Esperanto academies, to the adoption of a single globalized credit system, to the appointment of a benevolent posthuman ruling caste—this announcement injects some degree of levity into an administration whose “strictly business” mandates have resulted in their appearing cold, inaccessible and ogreish in the eyes of some extreme uncooperatives. Continue reading

Chilled Out Record Store Manager Breaks Down Seasonal Sales Quotas

Yo, everyone. What up? First, right off, I want to thank all you for coming in on a Sunday. A lot of you are missing Dexter, and that sucks. I know. Is everyone here? Craig? No? Well I’m going anyways.

Alright staff—wait. Naw. I hate that word “staff” you know? Makes us sound like we’re a bunch of Bay Street bigwigs. Or like we’re that thing that one Ninja Turtle used to carry. Which one was it? The Purple One. Raphael? Whatever.Corporate asks me to address you as “staff” but fuck that. I like “team” better. Makes us sound like we’re the 92-93 Jays. Molitor. Borders. Henderson. Alomar. You feelin’ me, team?

Sprauge. Continue reading

R.L. Stine’s Unreleased GOOSEBUMPS Synopses!

goosebumpscastwithstineRecently, while perusing the wares at R.L.Stine’s estate sale and non-perishable food drive, one of Terminal Laughter’s interns came across a spiral-bound folio of grave interest. It contained literally dozens of proposed titles and capsule synopses for never-released titles in the Goosebumps series of children’s novellas.

Now, in a Terminal Laughter Hallo-scream Edition Exclusive, we have reprinted several of the most ghastly entries, entirely for your pleasure.

Continue reading

Undercover Cop Just “One of the Guys”

brancato_narrowweb__300x561Ding-dong, fellow college-age persons! Is this a sick party happening or what? Buddy of mine, Craig, told me that it’s you guys who are the ones who throw the whackest (or is it most whack?) parties on my beat, I mean street. Mind if I come in?

Cool, cool, cool. Cool setup. I really dig the posters. Pink Floyd? Tell me about it, right. Can’t believe Dark Side still holds up after what, thirty-five, thirty-six years? Unbelievable. Who do you guys think rocks the most, Floyd of Zeppelin? Classic debate.

So guys, point me towards the keg! I got to thinkin’ and the thoughts I’m thinking is I’m thinkin’ drinking. Oh. No keg? BYOB eh? Hmmm…novel, novel.

Let me just turn my ballcap around here. There we go. Continue reading