“Ok kid, hook ‘em up.” “Are you sure this is gonna work. It’s highly unorthodox, as far as interrogation procedures go…” “Take it easy, kid. If we fry ‘em, we…

In which Rico Soiree’s features are altered – and so are Lemurov’s When last we left Josh Davies’s 9th-story Brezhnev-era apartment in Kyiv, Ukraine (see Part 1 of this report),…

The last time we left the Ukrainian Diaspora Zebra, named Zamazda, many episodes back, at precisely this time three months ago, he had been waddling his fat short stout ugly…

… where they cross-examine each other over tasty meals And who are the astronauts? Two Hell fiends, perhaps, skulking about incognito? Again the soothing olive hues of pseudo-Mediterranean eats, the…

“So you see, Steve, it was time for him to die,” says The Half Guinea to the Great Kowalski.  In fact, however, Steve is not great or even remarkable by…

“Could you top this one up, John… that is, if it’s not too much trouble?” “Sure Mr. Soiree. Just let me finish washing up these dishes.” “Certainly, certainly, John,” coughs…

“Come on kids. Don’t lag behind or you’ll get lost in the crowd.” “Dad, why is everyone speaking Chinese,” asks the little boy. “Papa, I wanna see the Animal Boy…

Not an MF Journal Installment So I end up offering Smith a hundred smackers in the form of a rolled note, legal tender, for the shots he took of me…

“ARE you WELSH LOSSER?” “No.” A leathery backhand smacks flat against an alcoholic cheek, but the recipient of the blow remains silent… not because he’s tough or even trying to…

Losser murders Lard’s PR Consultant Hos in unconscious sex act Aaaaahhh, when last we left them, Welsh Losser, just back from Venus, was headed aggressively toward PR Consultant Hos in…