Dear Readers,

While I appreciate all of the support we’ve been given, and the great works we’ve posted by our astute contributors, it is with a wooden heart I announce the end of Craniotomic as of February 22, 2012.

I wish everyone who has contributed, read, or even visited us the very best in future years. With sincerity: thank you.

Yours,
Mike Dierdorf
Editor
Craniotomic Magazine

Scrumpy the Robin
Presents the devils hopyard, G.
Facts all fettle and ameliorate that you may not classify,
Halling poker. Killer poker, G.

George Frocester
Presents the counterpane fairy by the numbers review
The promo for the germs, megaupload the rift.
Spellforce!

The Dodos Undeclared
Presents the brakey house:
The new bookmart bermuda—
The new keldovan harrier.

Guitar. Serial number. Dating fender.
The joint commission, oral liquid dating the bull harpole.
Lebron, dating mother.
We are Sex Bob-omb 3.

Brian Hartz lives in Victoria, British Columbia. He is a previous contributor to Craniotomic. Mike Dierdorf is the editor of Craniotomic and lives in Oak Park, Illinois.

For the purposes of group discussion, we present the following questions to help enrich and invigorate your reading and subsequent analysis thereof:

1. OMG. What was that all about?
2. Why were there no orchids on the cover?
3. For that matter, why were there no orchids in the book?
4. Conjugate the entire novel.
5. Discuss the incessant use of the phrase “beer goggles”.
6. Discuss the refreshing absence of Magic Realism.
7. Discuss my hat at length.
8. No, keep going.
9. Describe the elegant way old people dance.
10. Does anyone have any Kleenex?
11. At what point did you fall asleep and why?
12. Who is Chet Atkins? Who is Lord Vexing? Why weren’t they in the book?
13. Who brought the babka? Wow; that was good! I can never make anything that good at my house. You bought it?! You didn’t!
14. Really? Where?
15. When Twyla says Gordo is “full of vinegar,” what the hell is she talking about? I mean, full of vinegar? Literally? Full?
16. How could the “Plight of the Jews” have better informed this story?
17. Next time, can we please pick something with a few more chicks in it?
18. Screw men! HA HA HA HA HA! Oh. Oh, not you, Bill. Sorry! You’re the exception. Damn, you look good tonight. Did I say that out loud? Shut up, Carrie—I have not had too much to drink.
19. What was the significance of the—of—of—oh, forget it.
20. This is so nice. Is this teak?
21. What was the question?
22. Book club? Oh, shit! I thought this was Bunco.

Alex Bernstein is a freelance writer in New Jersey. His work has appeared at Blue Print Review, Swink, MonkeyBicycle, The Legendary, The Rumpus, The Big Jewel, Yankee Pot Roast, WordRiot, and PopImage, among others. He can be contacted at his website http://www.promonmars.com.

Guy loses at table soccer and the girls take it out on his ass.
Actual:
Latina tranny bounces on hard cock!
The ark wantage, Prednisone for dog-licking side effects,
The banshee dorchester—all about the barn girton.
Actual:
Vectorworks!
Free student all about the book-of-the-millennium club,
Welcome the eagle carvery.
New:
The amorous prawn presents the brunchery brandon.
New:
The acorn evershot PresentTop news the beatards.
Get it, Bukowski?
Jack Hickman real estate: the shoelace.

Brian Hartz lives in Victoria, British Columbia. He is a previous contributor to Craniotomic.

Metallus blinked into existence.

“I’m back,” he said. At least, that’s what he tried to say, but his mouth was full of primordial ooze, which was less of a surprise to him this time.

That was a bomb, sir, and in case you didn’t know, it’s blown a great big gaping wound in your head.

HELLO! Hello? Hello? HA! Look—I can see a football pitch and a gaggle of geese that are honking at me. Honk-honk! Honk-honk! Anyway… ah yes, let me see. I can see another massive hole inside there. Wood-boring insects are trying to escape the violent lashing of one of your severed neurons. Gosh, it’s like a broken air hose on a generator.

What the fuck were we thinking? But it was already September. It had been 95 degrees every day. The air was so thick with humidity and industrial grime I thought I was going drown in it, if I didn’t choke to death first. We’d been driving all around town in my car with a busted AC. We’d been looking for three months. The apartment was cheap. It was on a top floor. No upstairs neighbors. It had a balcony. Granted, the vista was a smog-choked view of the expressway. It didn’t matter. I had an apartment where I could look down on things. And I love looking down on things. Even really ugly things.

J. Wilhelm was the kind of cook who would only work over the broiler. He needed to lose a solid one hundred pounds. Instead, he was content to slave over the five hundred degree heat all shift, carpet-bombing the steak and chicken with droplets of sweat.

He was older than all of us by fifteen years. He’d offer tidbits of wisdom like the appropriate sexual habits of a girl worth dating. Those habits were never flattering. He called everyone “brother” like it was some special honor. He wanted us all to know just how tough he was.

And we’ll be back after this commercial break.

Underwriters.

I beg your pardon?

Underwriters. We don’t have commercials, Steve.

No one knows what underwriters are.

You’re an arrogant jackass.