Mad-Writer-From-Hell

Once upon a time in the land of Deviance, there was a crazy reporter called Tracey. Tracey had a special talent for telling people they were wrong about something but never coming through to back up her claims. Her other talent lies within filling bases and line art. Oh and tracing of course. Yes, Tracey the Tracer. One day Tracey harassed a citizen of Deviance, making wild claims that she was the one being harassed. Even though she'd been prompted several times to leave this citizen's household as she was the one who so rudely barged in making wild claims to the resident that their use of Ungabunga was wrong. While Tracey claimed she could s

Once upon a time in the Land of Deviance, there lived a young artist in a shining castle lined with many white knights and ass kissers. Although she had a relatively good following of people who enjoyed her art, the artist was whiny, spoiled, and always wanting more attention. Then one summer's day a brilliant idea came to mind. Tell everyone she was blind!! Yes! Brilliant! Her followers ate up every word of it and mourned for their artists misfortune! The poor dear! And yet she produced such amazing and brilliant work while completely blind. Such talent! Such devotion to the creative arts! Unbeknownst to the white knights and ass kissers, t

Women must be beautiful, you guys. Because that is all they'll ever have going for them in life. The very thought of a woman showing any kind of intelligence and not looking like a runway model is absolutely appalling. Don't even get me started on the idea of a woman being both beautiful and smart. It just is not done. Women are the home keepers, the baby makers, and the toilet huggers when they discover that extra few ounces of fat. Oh wait that's a bit of skin tissue hanging from their bones. Oh well, they're not supposed to be smart enough to know that. Just bone thin, brain dead, and above all else, beautiful. Men are the head honchos.

What I Am. Who I am is nothing to worry over. It's what I am that should make you tremble. Not a stalker. Not even a hunter. Just a vagabond in the Land of Deviance. With a Holy Hammer in hand. And a mother of two with a wonderful husband. With a talent for satire and dealing out punishment. A minor clue is all I need to track and find you. It's not so hard to catch your kind. You fugitives and assailants. You thieves and home wreckers. I find it funny to see you hanging around my home. Making demands when you know you're a goner. At times I will make myself known to you. And others I will bring down the hammer from the shadow

Whale Song Oh woe is me! I cannot find the sweet child I wish to violate. I suppose I shall just go and violate my dog. And Momma's horse. Tee hee hee. I love to scat all night and day and in the meantime you will hear, oh you will hear... The sound of my song as I wail in the night. "Life is not good enough even though I have clothes and shelter." So I will cut myself and baww and baww and baww and baww.... And then I will drown forever in my tears of chicken grease. You gaize dun understand. Mah soul is a never ending flood of pain and darkness! Bawwww! This is my story, this is my life... This is... This is... M

Of the Noblemen and Women.... O ye vicious, cowardly cads! Following your kings and queens fads! A curse on ye for your belligerence! Ye step well with your slavish dance! Ye protect only those who pay taxes! While we are butchered as the moon waxes! Burn in the fires of your self made hell! It is your own souls that ye sell! Am I to be so falsely accused? I can only sit by and remain amused. Ye are the noblemen and women of Deviance! Yet ye are too busy having your hands down the others pants! O ye filthy, self-serving ghouls! Ye dance a dance of fools! Plea for mercy! Plea for an appeal! With these insolent bastards there is

         The Land of Deviance. Maddie Devereaux pulled a long lock of raven black hair away from her face as she walked along the dirt path, not knowing where she was heading in the land of Deviance. Her friends had suffered horribly at the hands of trolls and the royal court for the last few months. Many of them had scattered in search of new land to rebuild their village. She grunted softly as she adjusted her mighty iron hammer on her shoulder and sipped from her jug of corn liquor, sighing in contentment as it warmed her bones and shot nerves. The wind blew against her and she drew up her hood and face guard, teeth chattering within her