josiedog

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
Forum topicTransmute josiedog1012 years 2 months ago
Forum topicWhere to go with Weasels josiedog912 years 2 months ago
Forum topicWilbur Worm josiedog012 years 2 months ago
Forum topicNatural journey by hailfabio josiedog112 years 2 months ago
Collectionopium for the people josiedog012 years 2 months ago
CollectionStuff and nonsense. josiedog012 years 2 months ago
CollectionBag of Weasels josiedog012 years 2 months ago
StoryWitness josiedog012 years 3 months ago
StoryWeasel's Return (A weasel excerpt). josiedog012 years 3 months ago
StoryWhen my dog died. josiedog012 years 3 months ago
StoryOpen Letter josiedog412 years 3 months ago
StoryMichael josiedog012 years 3 months ago
Storymorgue josiedog012 years 3 months ago
StoryTen Dead Girls josiedog012 years 3 months ago
StoryNecklace. josiedog012 years 3 months ago
StoryThe Pigs are Back. josiedog012 years 3 months ago
Storyopium for the people josiedog012 years 3 months ago
StorySerious Trouble josiedog012 years 3 months ago
StoryThis was all fields once. josiedog012 years 3 months ago
StoryMedical Gothic (A Weasel Excerpt). josiedog012 years 3 months ago
StoryPenguin josiedog012 years 3 months ago
StoryNo Sleep for Weasel josiedog012 years 3 months ago
StorySnoutstealer josiedog012 years 3 months ago
StoryLast Day of the Reich josiedog012 years 3 months ago
StoryHounslow of the Dead josiedog012 years 3 months ago

My stories

Allardyce

Allardyce sat on the thick mattress of the high brass bed and bounced twice, patting the space beside him. "Come and sit with you favourite uncle, my dear."

opium for the people

Jarrick pulled nervously at the wig and tugged at his half-inched gentlemanly get-up, visibly uncomfortable in the ill-fitting clothes.

Weasel's Return (A weasel excerpt).

So my name is Graeme Sunningham, and I've lost the lot

churches

The churches are shut.

Bag of Weasels. Chapter 27.

This piece of town gave its age away by its twisty-turny street lines, and although their reason was long-forgotten I could smell the old below, and Flea employed the twisty-turns to keep us weaving through and in.

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