“What is this,” Crog thought as she explored the nuances of her hairy body. Crog walked on two legs, unlike most of her friends, and she was much more curious than they. Crog often wondered “What am I? What does that feel like? Why?” and now, “What is this.”

She poked at it some more. It was her butthole. Crog didn’t know it was her butthole, though, because she had never heard of a butthole before.


Norman was a quiet man with yellow hair two shades lighter than summer corn. His plump figure always pressed against his clothing, daring his taut garments to burst at their seams and expose the doughy frame beneath. His friends, if he had them, would call him courteous, calm, and humble. But even his friends, had he any, would be unaware of his magical, singing butthole.


Unicorn: noun, a mythical animal typically represented as a horse with a single straight horn projecting from its forehead.

But what the Oxford English Dictionary doesn’t tell you is that the unicorns do not have buttholes. How do I know this? I’m Destiny Charms, Unicorn Hunter.


“You’re a butthole,” the sign above Kensington Station read. Kevin knew it was about him. And he knew who posted it, too. The raccoons.


Carmen was beautiful with silken locks of auburn hair and eyes like two silvery moons beaming beneath her brow. But Carmen was never able to find love, for her butthole was a portal to hell.

Julia Weiss is a writer, improviser, and actress. Julia has a big heart and a tiny bladder. Julia likes baths and wine. @weiss_tea.

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