Author: thegorkogazette
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Naughty Not Nice: The Convicted Felon’s Holiday Gift Guide by Torrey Kurtzner
Not sure what to get your loved ones this holiday season? Fear not; our resident convicted felon has got you covered!
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MORE GORKO GAMES FOR THE HOLIDAYS
Three new games that are guaranteed to get people talking about what is going on at your place in Peoria.
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3 new poems by Peter Mladinic
The limo took us to a mound we stood above as hands lowered the casket of Ted Hughes into ground far from Fairbanks
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After An Argument and 2 more by Kushal Poddar
A pool of skin and calcium starved bones sunken underneath swim upstream
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You ain’t seen nothing yet b-b-b-baby, you just ain’t seen n-n-n-nothing yet, B-B-B-Brother Ethernan
How do I know? I met a devil woman, who took my heart away.
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Chicago and 2 more by Janet McCann
Chicago I can not forget the my-age bully who roughed me up twice
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GORKO IS GAME FOR THE HOLIDAYS!!!
Do you want to make this year’s holiday soiree the talk of the town? Try The Gorko’s all new parlor games for the holidays!
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GIVE THE GIFT OF CHESS PROGRAM CANCELED AFTER LATEST GANGSTYLE BEHEADING
This is not the first time that chess has driven youth movements to acts of irrational, hot-tempered violence.
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diver down by Theodore Wallbanger
Four years of tedious investigations uncovered a feud between two spicy dwarves that worked at the Perris jump location
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The Theme of the Week is When A Boy Named Kevin Almost Drinks From Your Martini
You straight up missed the chance of a lifetime, hon.
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The Gateway to Eternity and 1 more by JD Clapp
He loved the beauty of monarch, red admiral, peacock, and small tortoise flappers.
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GORKO CHEF RAMBO BOLILLO REVEALS HOW HIS TERMINALLY ILL MOTHER LOST FIFTEEN POUNDS EATING ONLY 3-INCH MIRACLE CAKES, THEN DIED
Apart from the 3-inch miracle cakes baked by her son, her only form of sustenance since April of this year had been vodka with Red Bull chasers.
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GORKO ON ICE
Gorko on Ice is an annual world famous winter wonderland broadcast of Gorko — on ice, so his decomposing body won’t stink up the holidays.
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2 poems by Nicholas Viglietti
Truth was one of those things Like the rest of us, seen in his own way.
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High Anxiety Dining: The Barn Kitchen & Bar by Torrey Kurtzner
While trying to determine the good from the bad, we rarely consider the dining needs of the stoner. That is, until now.
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Another Poem about Winter by Nancy Carol Moody
There’s a ding in the fender remaindered from October
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2 poems by M. Benjamin Thorne
get into a drunken fist-fight with itself then sop up the bruises with shitty bitter tea
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Margaret Atwood’s First (and Last) Speed Dating Night by Colette Tennant
Quick – tell me everything you know about Canada
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CHARCUTERIE BOARD LITERALLY JUST LITTLE PILES OF THINGS FROM GUY’S FRIDGE
Local gourmand and all-around great neighbor Jeff may in fact be Peoria’s biggest fraud!
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(The Castle) by Tempest Miller
The flames project a harder, redder light onto the prawn-faced young person
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FREESTYLE HIGHDIVING NOT YOUR THING? WELL YOU SHOULD HAVE STUCK TO THE 12 FOOT BOARD
You should have stuck to the kids’ board.
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Mister Banana Likes His Eggs Over-Easy Sike
NO NOT MIXED WITH TRASH NOT AT THIS TIME OF THE DAY GOOD BOY
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Was Professor Stout in fact Hermann Goering?
He began claiming that he had adopted the German accent in order to more quickly pick up the German language.
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HOW TO STOP GIVING SUCH GREAT ADVICE AT EVERY SINGLE FAMILY BARBECUE
Yes, it is like the straw that breaks the camel’s back, or rather ounce of gold dust, if you prefer to think about it that way.
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MY NEW HELLS ANGELS BUDDIES DONT USE APOSTROPHES EITHER
What if we were to tell you that it is YOU that is missing the apostrophe, not us.
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bottled rocket by Theodore Wallbanger
Reality vision quests snap into caustic frames like an out-of-focus 16mm student film
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Left in the Lurch by Colin Gee
In verse, essay, and found horror, the sordid saga of Lefty Smith’s tumultuous visit to the Land of the Sun lurches back into the light of day.
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Who’s Sorry Now by Steen W. Rasmussen
As my gurney was positioned in front of the teacher’s desk, the headmaster started playing Seasons in the Sun over the PA system.
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3 poems by Oliver Baer
The pneumatic hiss of crypt air coalesces Mandibles clack in time Pedal phalanges pounding out a beat
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You Can Leave Now by Nolcha Fox
She took a few more steps backwards into the water. She was chest-deep.
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fruit salad by Theodore Wallbanger
I felt I had just pierced a salacious love triangle between aggressive pineapple bits
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MISSING! Selections from Mykyta Ryzhykh
The ghetto of time sticks to the void And black birds are knocking on the broken window
