A life-sized map of the universe and a pocket chart of sexual (cuts) of meat (positions) announce the birth of two bounding twin SILFS (Selves I'd Like To FILF).

Is man punishing herself for some perceived guilt?

Did you know that if you hold your mother against your ear and listen closely, you can hear your dead father softly crying "my child has gone banana"?

Time flies when you're demoralizing your children.

By the time you are done reading this sentence your right eye will have secretly murdered your left eye, right under your nose.

Every father is mother to a tunnel inside us, leading them away. [Note: Prior to viewing this, you will want to install a restroom in your pants. Because what you see might make you need to use the restroom right into a toilet.]

Using an emotional X-ray device we provide a detailed history of these United States, starting from May of 1951 all the way up until tomorrow at 3:30.

The only thing hotter than the future is the present, and the only thing wetter than a present is the itchy glass of molten absolution that just quenched the thrust of Tessa's face.

Die once, shame on you. Die once every three seconds, shame on us all.

Birth is mommy's most romantic meat cute and mankind's hottest selfie.

Unfortunately, everything in the whole universe just oozed out from Doug Dwyer's head. But luckily, all that stuff is now coming over here to get you and also bite you.

This week Violet discovers that that scalding throb that rips thru your body every few seconds has a name: The Rest Of The World.