Fishsticks (18+)

This story is not appropriate for children because of the massive amounts of gratuitous hot nasty narcissism contained within. If you’re under 18 please leave this page and go poop in your diaper.

Kanye West ran his fingers across Kanye West’s chin, feeling his rough but perfect stubble. Hundreds of nubile servant girls waited outside in the hallways of Kanye’s palace, but to Kanye, Kanye was the only the person that mattered.

He bashfully reached out his fingers, brushing them softly against the downy feathers of Kanye’s wings. Kanye shuddered at the ecstasy imparted by the touch. It was forbidden for anyone to touch the wings of an angel such as he, and now he understood why. Overcome by pleasure, however, he didn’t care.

“I’m gonna fuck you like a pharaoh,” he breathed, “I’m gonna put your pussy in a sarcophagus.”

Kanye West was the voice of this generation, and that voice was sweet as honey to Kanye West’s ears. He reached down and unbuckled Kanye’s belt. As he slid Kanye’s pants down his legs, his eyes widened and he gasped in shock.

“No one man should have all that POW-ah,” he swore softly to himself.

Kanye took his hand and stared deeply into his eyes.

“Tonight,” he said, “I’ma let you finish.”

The Ghost of First Methodist Church

Anyone in Victoria Falls “of a certain age” holds fond memories of old Pastor Jameson, who preached at Victoria Falls First Methodist Church for over 50 years. Pastor Jameson was a widower for most of his life, his wife dying of tuberculosis before they had been married for even a year. Although he never had children of his own, he spent his life caring for his congregation as if they were his own children. Indeed, Pastor Jameson’s kindness extended beyond his own congregation to include everyone in town. He was a beacon of light to the town during the Great Depression, both through his messages of hope, as well as setting up a soup kitchen to feed the hungry. During the Second World War, he personally wrote weekly letters to each of the young men serving overseas, full of inspirational and hopeful declarations of the eventual and necessary victory of good.

The image of the man who sticks in most people’s minds, however, is of his daily walk at sundown, walking home from the church. As First Methodist Church is situated near a park, there were frequently many children playing nearby as he left. To hear those who are old enough to tell it, every day without fail he waved to them and cheerfully shouted that they should head home for supper before it gets dark.

Eventually he passed away, as even the best men must, but some say that his spirit still watches over the town even today. Many children have reported seeing an old man who exactly matches the description of Pastor Jameson walking near the church. Some have even said that he’s talked to them, advising them with a friendly smile to head home for supper before it gets too dark. No adult has ever seen him, but ask almost anyone and most would tell you that they believe that he’s still there.