CHICAGO—A spectral place, was 9009 Archey Road, tucked in a bend of the river on the South Side, with the night’s mist rising. A tavern out of time.

On the walls were a faded Parnell poster, lithographs of racehorses, and portraits of the town’s political thoroughbreds: Hinky Dink Kenna and Bathhouse John Coughlin, the great U.S. Sens. Paul Douglas and John Blutarsky, and assorted Mayor Daleys.

The barkeep, Dooley, was a man of stature. He poured with a liberal elbow, and was easy with his opinions.

i dare you to read the whole thing. it actually becomes more incomprehensible.

some reactions:
i think we can say one thing: it’s retarded
that’s a fuckin abortion of a story
this is like james joyce on crack
a potential comment: “how drunk were you when you wrote this?”
what! i dont understand
first of all. why is there a comma before was

add your own reactions!

at the age of 12, [she] applied to join the Mickey Mouse Club; she was rejected after reading a poem by Sylvia Plath at the audition.

in related news: check out frances bean cobain, courtney’s daughter (right).

with her genes and upbringing, there is no way this girl is not bat shit crazy.