A subway train assuredly could outrun the wrath of a sleepy pantheon deprived of mortgage payments and meal tickets since the masses stopped tithing. But still she worried.
[Photo by bruceley]

No, the steam-powered jackalopes would never arrive in time to save us — unless our one great hope could succeed. The hope’s name, of course, was Begonia Escargot.
[Image by A.A. Salmon, shared by The State Library of Queensland, Australia]

“Too bad,” Rutherford said, as if on cue. “Too bad about that hole in your hand.”
[Image shared by The Library of Congress]

Bolted to the headstart, we were going to the galactic center of a Tootsie Roll Pop and licking every center from the inside out and there was nothing the scientists could do to stop us.
[Image by Jack Delano, shared by The Library of Congress]

He probably should have retraced his steps and tried another destination when it was clear that the elevator had dropped him off in 1927 instead of 1972.
[Image by Wreford Miller]

“Old ghosts aren’t always old souls. If one must play with them, play nice.”
[Image by Christina Ramey]

The motel wasn’t highbrow enough to be considered fleabag; even the most infinitesimal of bloodsuckers were more discerning with their taste in lowlifes than the clientele of this shit stain in the middle of hillbilly Timbuktu.
[Image by Raniel Diaz]

Most of them had looked forward longingly to the cheerfully bitter brew that now, as Fulholme himself was fond of saying, “tamed the long thirst” with the exception of Optiminius the Teetotaler, who was loathe to give up his long-coveted and recently earned nickname for even a few scant drops of what his order deemed to be “demon spittle.”
[Photo by Patrick Fore]

Donald spoke m-dip fluently (and, like untold others, secretly), but he found himself wishing, at that moment, that he didn’t.
[Photo by the_matt]

I will get rich on the overwhelming evidence of the sea’s indifference to human suffering.
[Photo above by Keith Marshall]