Category Archives: Lexicology

January 29, 2023

Art by Tasty Piece,©️ The Safehouse Collection 2023

adjective: saprogenic
  1. causing or produced by putrefaction or decay.

The stripper before him smelt of the sourness of the second shift of a very rough double. The sour breath of alcohol and penis and the odor of sweat and smoke. Her dead tooth was a dark glare in the light of the bar, and the way the blacklight made all of her teeth glow nuclearly except for the dead one wasn’t helping anything. Her eyes were wild with desire and methamphetamine as she moved her hips in circles. He felt the warmth of her body as she leaned in and her hands grasped his neck tightly. He tried to ignore the stench of her dead tooth and focus on the feeling of her body against his. Although he could not deny the saprogenic smell of her mouth as she mumbled whorish nonsense mere  inches away from his face, he remained transfixed upon the song blaring in the background…it was one of his favorites.  It didn’t have a dead tooth.  “Focus on the song,” he told himself.  “Once it’s over, this dance will be over, and I can finally escape this ho and her fetid breath.”

N.P.: “You’re Insane” – Rod Stewart

January 11, 2023

Art by Tasty Piece,©️ The Safehouse Collection 2023



  1. not particularly attractive or appealing to the eye.
    Myriad words have been employed throughout the years to describe unfortunate looks of the neighbor lady: repugnant, ghastly, bleak, filthy, paltry, revolting and unsightly. Comparisons to war wounds and auto accidents had been made more than once. The more charitable…the ones who genuinely tried to be kinder often described her as unprepossessing.  But on this particular night, with the eldritch moonlight illuminating her hunchback just so as she snacked on a midnight goat in the backyard, the only term that came to mind was “bestial.”  God, she is vile.  

N.P.: “Living On The Ceiling” – Blancmange

September 19, 2022

Art by Tasty Piece,©️ The Safehouse Collection 2022

Hey dear reader…just wanted to check in real quick…the writing is going extremely well, I’m just working on too many projects and there are simply too few hours in the day.  Thirty hours would be about perfect, I think.  Stupid heliocentric universe.  Anyway, I promise I’ll be back here soon.

N.P.: “Bil Biyelgee” – The HU

September 2, 2022

Art by Tasty Piece,©️ The Safehouse Collection 2022

Well, it’s the first week of September, so naturally it’s hot as balls here in The Creek. We’re in the middle of something worse than a Heat Wave…it’s evidently called a Heat Storm and it is evil. The next 7 days are once again featuring highs in the 120s. And as has long been established, no great literature can be committed in any climate hotter than 110, and even that’s pushing it.

Fortunately, the Safehouse is equipped with a state of the art Freezeyerass Air-Conditioning unit pumping out something like 15K BTUs, of chilly climate-controlled bliss, so work on the books shall continue apace, despite the ongoing temperate fuckery.

N.P.: “Ten Times More” – Dropkick Murphys

noun: mondegreen; plural noun: mondegreens

  1. a misunderstood or misinterpreted word or phrase resulting from a mishearing of the lyrics of a song

So my three most memorable mondegreens are these:
1) In The Beatles’ Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, I thought the lyric was “The girl with colitis goes by.”
2) In Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Bad Moon Rising, I thought the lyric was “There’s a bathroom on the right.”
3) In Head East’s Never Been Any Reason, I thought the lyric was “Shave my wife, I’m going down for the last time.”  Which made more sense to me than the actual lyric.

N.P.: “Gott Maschine Vaterland” – Cephalgy

Today was utterly fucking exhausting.  It’s the special kind of exhaustion that comes from planning for a year or so to do something, then suddenly finding out it isn’t possible, then 20 minutes later finding out it is, then 20 minutes later finding out it isn’t possible for a different reason, and then 20 minutes after that finding out that there is an entirely different option that you were previously unaware of that makes the thing you’d been planning to do for a year rather pointless.  I think at the end of it all, my situation had actually improved, but what a roller coaster ride getting there.

Gonna go collapse.

N.P.: “Ship on Fire” – Zeal & Ardor

Jayson Gallaway

April 15, 2019

petrichor – noun – a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.

There were two raccoons fucking next to the recycling bin when I took out the trash. But they weren’t fucking each other: they appeared to be tag-teaming a dead possum.  Or at least the possum appeared to be dead. He could have been acting. Playing possum is an especially appropriate behavior if one is a possum and one is being violated by multiple members of an entirely different species.
I wasn’t expecting them when I came around the corner, and they clearly weren’t expecting me.  But what I was expecting even less was their reaction to my sudden presence.  Rather than scamper away like a fuzzy little woodland creature should, these arrogant little bastards squared off, assume aggressive fight postures, and hissed contemptuously.
“You little fucker.” I actually spoke out loud, which, though totally natural and spontaneous when I did it, seemed like a strange thing to be doing, talking to a raccoon.  The larger one hissed again and took two quick steps toward me.  “How dare you!  I’m not gonna take any shit off of some goddamn raccoon in my own goddamn alley,” and I reflexively kicked the shit out of him.  The kick launched him solidly into the liquor store’s big blue dumpster.  He sat there, sort of stunned, and his little friend suddenly understood the gravity of the situation.  He knew better than to try to fight, but didn’t want to run away and abandon his postmortem-possum-poking partner, so he froze.
“My God.  How did it come to this, Mr. Raccoon?” Since I’d already spoken to him, I figured  what the hell, we might as well have a conversation. “How is it that you, a nocturnal garbage eater, possess the unmitigated gall, testicular wherewithal, and general chutzpah to get sassy with and show teeth to an apex predator?   I have to blame my fellow humans for being soft and falling for the cute masked bandit act and letting you get away with this nonsense.  I guess most people just run away when you hiss at them…”
The raccoon got to his paws unsteadily, his companion ran to him.  They cautiously started backing out of the alley.  I contemplated capturing them, putting them in them in a cage with a sign that says, “We violate the dead,” and leaving them in front of the liquor store to be shamed by the good people of Fecal Creek and their fellow raccoons.  But once they were halfway down the alley, they turned and ran.  I decided to let them go.
The moral of this story is to avoid messing with apex predators who are several times your size and I.Q.  And also stay the hell out of my alley when I’m taking out the trash.  And also  don’t violate the dead, whatever species you may be.  It will always be unseemly across the entirely of the animal kingdom.
“Lightning Man” – Nitzer Ebb

Another overly peopley day.  Peoply?  People-ly?  Whatever.  There were too many fucking people.  I got through it fine.  Exhausting, though.  In lieu of wisdom, here is a word I’m rather fond of:

Your Word of the Day is pluviophile – noun – a lover of rain;someone who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days.

N.P.: “Majesty” – Ghost