Gunfire cuts through the gals, and makes a big mess of a soft summer night. There's no rest for the wicked, and no respite...
It’s the first law of the wasteland, always keep one in the chamber for the ferryman. Things have a tendency to go Murphy out...
Let’s ride on through the desert on a horse with two names, all my succulent sandworms of radioland. There’s always some new dysentery to...