Clown in a Cornfield

by Adam Cesare

Janet had mastered the stomach-in-ass-out art of the selfie before Victoria had been old enough to remember her own passcode.

“If she drowns, I get to keep the body.”

While they were out furniture shopping, maybe they’d pick up a blowtorch and some accelerant, too.

mean-looking, steroidal goat

Harlan’s final thought was: “Still mayor.”

The knife was impossibly long, the kind of exaggerated blade that only existed in video games. “Cool,” Tucker said. “You went to Party City.”

the cold of blood loss becoming the fire of a chemical burn.

He was wiry and thin, pale but still attractive. Jared Leto–y, almost.

for all Quinn knew, Matt might have also been in love with Cole, just to even out the overlapping love triangles.

Janet shrugged, as if she had no idea why any of her dumbass friends did the dumbass things they did.

Ronnie found a way to make polyester clown coveralls pornographic.

“Redneck Rust,” Janet burbled. “Pew pew, small pee-pee,”

He’d had to punch

“Please get me a doctor that’s not me.”