I’m Corky Dora, the world’s top surfer, and this is my story.

First, I am “legally” obliged to say that reading my story to the end constitutes a contract with Satan for your soul.

I’m sorry. I need 666 of you to get me out of my own contract. I’m sorry.









Sorry. That was a sick joke. I’m scared. That wasn’t the end. But the rest of what I just said is true. I warned you. Legally.

I was a fat little white worm sitting on the beach watching the surfers. Listening to surf music on my iPod. Getting painfully sunburnt.

Watching the surfers get beautiful honeys, sometimes two for one guy.

They made fun of me.

One day I said out loud that I’d give my fucking soul to be like those guys.

Next thing I knew this hot honey kneeled next to me and whispered, “Those guys are assholes. Fuck them. You could be better than all of them.”

I stuttered, “Huh…? What…? ”

Her suntan oil smelled like sweet coconut.

I flushed when I glanced at her barely restrained tits.

I stuttered, “How…? Why…?”

She giggled so sexy. She said, “I’m Satan.”

I thought rapidly, she’s teasing me like the others, she’s reading my eyes, she’s speaking metaphorically, fuck, who says “metaphorically”?, no wonder I’m a worm, she’s pushing her tits at me.

She said, “This pair could be yours. And more chicks than you can shake a dick at, Corky.”

I really stuttered, How…? How…? How…? You know my name?”

She smiled and I froze as she kissed my forehead. All I could see were her tits and all I could smell was hot coconut.

She said, “Does that sound like a bargain? Think about these. And if you want to be the best surfer in the world there is a simple thing you can do for me. Besides masturbating!” and she giggled so sexy.

Then she became serious and said to me intently, “Kiss my ass.”

I almost boiled when she turned and she got on all fours in front of me.

She looked back at me and said, “Sign with you tongue ‘Corky Dora’.” Then she giggled, “I’ll bet you wish your name was ‘Englebert Humperdinck’.”

In a dream I did what she asked.  In a dream my life changed.




I have won all the top surfing events in the USA. Florida, California, Hawaii, Virginia, wherever, whenever . I am ripped. I have become Legend. I have fucked a thousand girls.

Finally, the night before the North Shore Grand Event, I was fucking my thousand-and-oneth girl when she started to laugh. I’d had girls moan, scream, and cry but never laugh! I thought I hit a new spot.

Then suddenly it felt like a crab claw grabbed my dick.

I yelled and looked into… what-was-her-name’s face.

She said, “You forgot to ask how long you had.”

The crab claw released my dick and I was spat backwards out of … the bed in mute terror.

She leaned on her elbow and looked down at me over the bed, “Satan got your tongue?” and she giggled.

I stuttered, “I.. I… thought you would come after I died! I’m still young!”

She raised her eyebrow, “Yesssss. Tomorrow you die. A rouge wave. A heroic attempt to ride it. But when I suddenly take away all of your skills that I gave you… you die. Very dramatically, of course. Shouldn’t hurt too much,” and she giggled.

I was nauseous. My mind outraced my soul. I begged, “Take someone else. New deal! What can I do? What do you want?”

She put her finger on her pouty lip, then giggled, “I’m short 666 souls.”

I clutched, “I can deliver 666 souls! I have thousands of fans.”

She nodded, “Very generous. How?”

I muttered, “I… I… I could sell my memoirs.”

She frowned down on me, “And?” Then she giggled, “I’m really fucking with you now! I’m putting thoughts in your mind,” then she became serious, “You will write your memoirs but they will really be a contract with me.”

I felt sick with cowardice, “How?”

She continued, “You will have to be completely honest. You will have to start your story with a legal disclaimer. The rest is free will,” she giggled, “Very expensive.”

I whimpered, “I don’t understand.”

She proclaimed, “Anyone who reads your story to the very end will consign their soul to me.”




I just couldn’t write and write and write this to stall anymore for your sake. I just can’t write anymore. I’m so tired. I’m sorry. So tired. What can I do?  I have re-read this draft over and over.  Hey… Wait a minute…















I am not a bad Ogre.
I love my humans.
I tickle their soft bellies and I pet them.
They make chirping sounds.

I am sad when I pet them too hard and they won’t move anymore.
Those ones don’t taste as good.

I like my rowdy humans.
The other Ogres say they need discipline.
I like my humans rowdy.

I like best the soft sweet-smelling ones.
Especially when they smell of blood.
I tickle their legs.
I lick my fingers.
I coo, “You taste sooooo good, sweety.”
They make shrill sounds.

I like their heads the best.
I bite them off and they are crunchy then soft.
It might be bad manners but I like to suck their insides out through their neck.
I could go for one right now.

Their skin and bones I use to feed my other humans.
Their excrement makes soft beds for them.
Recycling is important for Mother Earth.

I am not a bad Ogre.
I love my humans.
You should see how other Ogres treat their humans!








Whores, Liars, Wormfood. Thieves all. Welcome to the 2,017th Halloween,


We are gathered tonight to celebrate the Soul Harvest and to dishonor the still living! Would I lie to you?

<laughter and weeping>

Damned if I do. Damned if I don’t.

<laughter and weeping>

End of days first:
A shout-out to Harvey Weinstein, crucified for your sins!

<sound of mass flagellation>

We loved your money, Harv! Hashtag #UncleSpooge.

<sound of lustful moaning>

We all know that I invented Jesus.
I gave you My Word.
Fake News to give you all false hope.

<“Filthy liar!”>

‘Thank, yuh. Thank, yuh, very much.’

<laughter and weeping>

Turn, turn, turn, turn.
You had two more cheeks on your ass.
You let me behoove you.
Like cattle in a chute, you bowed for the hammer.

<“Yeah we did!”><“Mooooo!”>
<laughter and weeping>

Sin-searingly! Cross my… eyes!

<laughter and weeping>

As God is my witness!

<laughter and weeping>

But honestly,

<laughter and weeping>

What smile does not bare teeth?
I offer succulent corruption.
I am CEO of every human endeavor.

<“Work will set you free!”>

I made you money.
You did as I said.


Suffering is not the distance from God.
Suffering is the distance from material comforts.
God, indeed! Don’t get me started!
You prayed to your Holy Shit.

<laughter and weeping>

I preyed to my fill.

But that is the season past.

You are with me now.
Do you still believe in God?

<a dim small voice, “Why have you forsaken me?”>

I am the Bitter Truth, the Ember’s Light, the That’s All, Folks.
You might as well believe in your Self, LOL!

This night, let us all scream helplessly at the sky.





I gather sunshine
My roots are dark underground
I hold to the wind

I blossom brightly
I gather the stormy rain
Rain travels in me

To the sky again
I offer all my children
While they are sleeping

Once upon a time
My roots rose above the ground
I was a human






Bonjou, you.

I be Visolelah Delacroix.

I be a Mambo, High Priestess, Vodou princess.

Is right: Mambo Visolelah Delacroix.

Me friends just call myself Vee Dee.

Me day job is Plot Broker for Soysete City Coroner.

I tell you:


Time killed is a river.
This river she flows to After All.
After All is where they Dead they live.


I seen After All.
They Dead they know myself, you see.
They know all Mambos.


What you call Halloween, they Dead welcomes they new Dead from this year before.
They new Dead been sleeping in they graves this year before.
I be renting you people you graves if you knew, ha, ha, ha.


I be a Plot Broker I told you.
I witness the funeral march.
I seen they Dead dancing to the funeral march.


I seen them what died in the finest clothes get the best seats.
I seen mutilated babies carried by angels.
I hear they Dead priests they saying:

“Truth is unmoving.
Desire is the moving principle.
I desire a God who will remember this passing Love with its child, Sorrow.
I ache that they might be left in the grave.”


So, you.
I am you spiritual guide.
You dancing very fine.
I take you now to welcome you place in this Funeral March.
Happy New Halloween to you!





click o' treat - resize 1




                                                            THE DEVOURED HEART


                                                                                                                                                                                 PATRICK BUTCHER’S HAUNTED THEATER




                        FALL OF THE SPARROW


                                                                                                                                                 THE FOGDOGS


                                                                DUCKY SHINCRACKER




                                                                                      CLICK O’ TREAT 2014















You’re dead.


Don’t bother “looking around” for something to describe.


You are dead.


Right now you are nothing in particular.


The way you were in life.


Right now?


“Think” of yourself as a fading afterglow.


You think, therefore you were.


Any last questions?


Me? I’m what you could have been.


I’m what you used to call an angel. But I was always you.


The Meaning of Life?


The Meaning of Life is Death.


The Purpose of Life?


Oh, come on: Living.


Not much “time” left. You are wasting time. Just as you did in life.




Yes and no.


God is Yes and No.


No, Nothing but Everything.


Yes, Everything but Nothing.




You are just too much fun to torment!


The Devil? Me?








A soul?


Yes. Spelled: S.O.L!








Grassy Ridge is high above historic Saddleton,


Once a legendary outlaw hideout, “Saddle Town”,

Saddleton is now a tourist destination.


Today’s forecast: more hot, dry, windy conditions.

Linemen look down on Saddleton from Grassy Ridge,


They’re “riding” the transmission towers,

4-wheelin’ along the spine of Grassy Ridge,

Looking for overloads.

I’m Aideen, visiting Barbara at her job, giggling,


Barbara, dispatching for Saddleton Electric Company, grins,


Us two cowgirls snicker saddle fittings,


My husband Glen, a “Tramp Hand” lineman,

Moves around wherever the electricians’ union finds jobs


“Read you, Glen, what’s up?”

Glen, [Hazy. Down the east side. What’s cookin’?]

Barbara sits straight.

“Nothin’. What can you see? Be safe.”


“Glen, get off that ridge. Go now.”

Glen, [There’s men climbin’ this way.]


I muzzle my outburst as Barbara shushes.

Glen, [Orange jumpsuits. Convicts. Firebreak maintenance detail. Scrambling!]


Glen, [I see flames moving!]

Barbara, “I’ll send the helicopter. Where are you?”

Glen, [No time!]

Travis, Glen’s partner on this tower inspection,


Travis, <Those guys’re waving up to us!>

Glen, [Fire’s catchin’ the slower guys!]


Travis, <Climb! They gotta climb faster! Look!>

Glen, [A dirt bike’s coming up our trail]


Barbara, “Talk, Travis! What’s happening?”

Travis, <The kid dumped his bike. Not starting!>

Glen, [C’mon, kid!]

I look out, up at the hills,


Wings of smoke unfurl behind Grassy Ridge.

Barbara fights not to sound frantic,


“Wind will push that fire over you all!”

Glen, [Tell Aideen you’re just bein’ Mother Hen…]


Travis, <Fire ate two guys!>

Glen, [Come on you guys! Don’t look back!]

Travis, <Another one!>

Glen, [Big convict is climbing up fast!],


Travis, <The slope is rolling into hell!>

Glen, [They’re burning up! Burning up!]


Travis, <The big convict made the ridge!>

Barbara, “Hear me! Get everyone out of there!”


Glen, [Big convict’s runnin’ to us!]

[He’s picked up the kid running to us!]

[He’s not real!]

Travis, <The fire’s jumped the trail ahead!>


Glen, [Can’t go back down the trail!]

[Climb! Everyone! The tower! Come on!]


I’m pulling my hair out, yelling.

Travis, <Those flames gotta be twenty feet high!>


Barbara yells in sympathy, “Climb!”

We hear over the radio desperate breaths only.

We hear crackling.

We hear a stranger’s voice calling out.


{Here, take the kid! Can’t climb anymore!}

{I shot my wad. I’m empty!}


We hear a kid scream, “I’m hot!”

Travis, <Grab my hand! I got you, kid!>


Glen, [Big guy! You too!]

[Big guy, we got the kid. Hold on!]

{Can’t. Hold. On.}

Glen, [The helicopter! The helicopter! Hold on!]


From the window, I spot the helicopter.

A high burst of fire retardant!


Flames vanish from around the tower base.

The blaze moves away down the west slope.


I see specks up there,

On the tower. The helicopter’s landing near it.

I am fainting.

Barbara is above me, cradling my head.


We both start to cry and laugh.

Days later at the memorial,


We pray for those lost up there,

And we pray for those saved down here,


Glen, Travis, the kid Steve,

The convict Michael, everyone together,

Memorialize this:

Barbara’s dispatcher recording.