The Boneyard.

by Joe Pachinko Borgnine and McGurgle were going through boxes of old seeds in the McJunkin Corporation warehouse and they were freezing. Their breath rose around their heads like smoke. The warehouse was filthy. 100 years of dust covered everything. McJunkin Corporation employees had put off cleaning it for so long it was now impossible.… More The Boneyard.

Todd Moore: graced with guts, gutted with grace…

It was at some coffee shop in Albuquerque. Seven or eight poets had read, all of them dressed in vaguely Navajo-looking clothing, or natural fiber pastels which matched the decor. They read poems about the desert, they read poems about coyotes, mesas, their dead children, corn gods, the moon, and their Latino housekeepers, and all… More Todd Moore: graced with guts, gutted with grace…

Armageddon Street.

by Joe Pachinko Garbuglia limped down what was left of the rubble filled street. Much of the ruins were still in flames or smoldering and the air was full of vile smelling smoke. Odd things were left intact amongst the broken garbage. A bathroom with the roll of toilet paper still hanging in its’ dispenser,… More Armageddon Street.


by Joe Pachinko “The custodians of the true faith cannot logically acknowledge tolerance of heresy to be a virtue.” – Robert Heinlein Renzo the Dwarf came dancing by, dressed in his Jester costume. “Burning day!” he sang happily, “Burning Day! WHEEE!” and danced off down the cobblestone street, bells jingling. This made Celia laugh. Squarcio… More Heretic.

The Doomfuckers #3.

by Joe Pachinko “Our Predator Drones carry out the policies of righteousness and goodness,” some politician on the T.V. news said. We were eating dinner at the Boscarellis’, they kept the news on while we ate. “Have some more insalate,” Mama Boscarelli said. “I make this from my garden with three kinda onions!” On the… More The Doomfuckers #3.

The Scorned Genius of William Kotzwinkle or, Why the Human Race is Sucking Satan’s Cock.

by Joe Pachinko If you become famous in the U.S., I mean really famous, they’ll put your name on the Hollywood Boulevard sidewalk and people will walk on it. For all eternity. Dogs will shit on it, drunks will throw up on it. Cigarette butts will be squashed out on it, some may even kiss… More The Scorned Genius of William Kotzwinkle or, Why the Human Race is Sucking Satan’s Cock.

If you are not guilty, you have nothing to worry about.

by Joe Pachinko “Criminal means, once tolerated, are soon preferred.” – Edmund Burke They had brought bread and water twice, Jesse must have been there two days. The cell was too small for him to stand up in, the walls and floor were wet, and he was naked. His hands and feet were shackled. There… More If you are not guilty, you have nothing to worry about.

Send in the drones.

by Joe Pachinko Lazlo got to the tree line just as the first Hellfire Missile exploded. There was a gargantuan cracking of trees and a fire cloud shot through the forest with the smell of burnt wood and chemicals. He got up, smoke rising from the back of his legs, backpack, and the hair on… More Send in the drones.

The Beef Peach.

by Joe Pachinko Copyright © 2010 Joe Pachinko 250 Stephens Lane Ben Lomond, CA 95005 The ants crawled in and out of the rotten hamburger. The alley was full of it. And flies. Yeah, lots of flies. And the smell. “I’ve been walking around all day with your jizz up my ass,” Holly said. Dickson… More The Beef Peach.

Philip Kindred Dick.

[Traduco dall’inglese il post di ieri di Joe Pachinko] Molto é stato detto sullo scrittore Philip Kindred Dick; su come tenesse un vasetto di anfetamine sul suo tavolo da lavoro; su come fosse così povero da comprare carne equina in un negozio per animali per far mangiare la sua famiglia mentre sfornava centinaia di racconti… More Philip Kindred Dick.


by Joe Pachinko As I sit here writing, in America, what I am doing becomes more and more illegal. Nobody has ever liked it much. The writing. As years pass the reactions have been getting progressively more angry and strange. I was in a bookstore in Portland, Oregon doing a reading to promote my first… More *?&*^%*@$#*!

I Got an Asshole Transplant and It Rejected Me.

by Joe Pachinko [This short story has been censored all over the web, excepting, for its contents. I’m publishing it to accomplish what I’m concerned about: freedom of speech.] Useless, useless as a nun’s cuntfart useless. Punch the numbers into the machine. A microwave oven for the brain with extra buttons, a glorified blender.… More I Got an Asshole Transplant and It Rejected Me.

Barfing to Calabria.

by Joe Pachinko Everything in Trieste was gray, and cold , and closed.  I couldn’t get anywhere with anybody. I had been told that Italians didn’t eat until nine o’clock but every night I went out at nine and entered a horrible freezing darkness of no place to eat. I’d ask passersby in Italian, “Where’s… More Barfing to Calabria.