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The Lost Sock
​Spare us your obvious and exotic. We want work that hides in the crevices, collects cobwebs in forgotten corners, and crimps itself deep between the cushions of your couch. We want odor, grime, and the infuriating feeling that somewhere, the other half of this piece exists. We want to know that the other half is warm and clean and found—but we’re not interested in that piece. We want the one that remains elusive and unlocatable. We do not accept stories with dentistry. Send us your best work.


Ozzy Osbourne Review
We want stories that bite the heads off bats, piss on the Alamo, snort a line of ants in a cocaine haze, set fire to a coop full of chickens, get thrown out of concentration camps, literally try to strangle their spouses. No poems. ​Send us your best work.


Ed Wood Review
Send us your worst.


Decorative Gourd Review
We’re the journal that’s not afraid of a little motherfucking seasonal sentimentality. Got a story that sits like a speckled scrotum in the middle of the goddamn dining room table and says it’s time for some fucking festivity? We want it. We want the poems that put the spice in pumpkin spice. We want the spice that puts the poems in fucking spicy-ass prose poems. ​We want essays that blow the leaves off the trees. We want work that makes people sit up and say did someone light a cinnamon scented candle only to realize, no, god damn it, it’s the motherfucking words motherfucker. Send us your best goddamn shit.


La Sexorcisto: Devil Stories Volume One (Ed. Rob Zombie)
Send us your nightmares. Not your scary stuff, your horror stories, your creepy poems. We want your nightmares. Download them straight into a .zip file and upload to Submittable. If they’re not neon-colored, if they didn’t make you doubt and question reality when you woke up, if they’re not more human than human, we might not be the right fit. Best of luck elsewhere. Send us your best.


Send us your money.


X-Files Quarterly
Does your poetry run under the skin like small black worms and swim across your eyes with alien intent? Do your stories hover in the brain like black helicopters, chopping the air with their blades? Do your essays skirt the edges of understanding, making the casual observer scream “What the fuck? What the holy ever-lasting fuck?” Are there good ones and bad ones and some that are just okay but have some sick shit in them anyway? ​Send us your best work.


Color Object Review 
We want work that drifts and soars, work that sput sput sputters like a moped and yet roars like a Harley on a mountain road in the dead of night on its way to the Fyre Festival. We want work that would drive that Harley right the fuck through the Atlantic Ocean just to suck at that sweet influencer air like the most delicious cotton candy vape pen. We want work that stands proud like a FEMA tent on a rocky shore, sturdy and less glorious than promised like the very essence of life itself, work that sways with glory in the everloving glitterlight like the vague moon-staring idea of a thing that reminds first year MFA students of that thing that visiting writer read at that reading that time when there was all that very free boxed wine. Work should be formatted in Calibri font only. Send us your best work.