Don't ask what any of that means, because attempting to answer you might make him
drag his brain out of the rusty strongbox where he stores it, and nobody wants that,
Zondar's words of nasty fun do not come from Mayberry, or North Carolina nor anywhere
else that you might take the wife and kiddies to visit on a sunny Spring day.
The stuff that falls out of his mostly empty head comes from New Orleans, via the
dark, wrinkled asshole of Satan's slutty daughter, and her almost-too-nice best friend,
My stories are wet and nasty and they burrow deep into the shadows of those dark
places that we all own, but mostly refuse to acknowledge. My stuff will always be
teased from that dark dirty place with an oversized broken pencil, but I will always
strive to bring a bit of golden light into the shadows of his disgusting prose, in
spite of its soiled yellow origins.