Letter from the editor


Howdy, and welcome to Mud Lake! My name’s Cooter. I’m the editor, publisher, and CEO of the Mud Lake Proboscis, your one-stop source for all the news that matters.

Now you might be asking yourself, how does a creepy, toothless, semi-literate old bastard have any business running a website?

Well, let me tell you. I may be a crazy old codger living in a broke-down trailer in the middle of the desert next to this sorry, dried up excuse for a lake, I might be missing most of my teeth and suffering permanent brain damage from a lifetime of methamphetamines and sniffing glue, but let me tell you one thing, brother. I respect the truth.

Not your mainstream, liberal-conservative brainwashed sheeple truth, not the truth that they spoon-feed you poor bastards from your cable television networks every day. I mean the real truth. The truth that gets your name on lists kept by shadowy government agencies. The kind of truth that gets you targeted by government mind-control satellites that beam tachyon waves into your skull so you’s got to wear a hat made of tin-foil just so the voices stop and you can get some sleep. The kind of truth that makes cars full of government agents sit outside your old trailer at three AM, staring at you, except they’ve got eyes like cats and no ears, but as soon as you grab your camera they engage their cloaking device and disappear.

UFOs. Bigfoot. The Illuminati. Comcast. That kind of truth. I’m talking down the rabbit hole, brother. The question is, you got the balls to come along for the ride?
As editor of this fine publication, I give you, my readers, this promise: Whenever I’m not working my slave job as a closing cashier at the Mud Lake Pharma-Barn, whenever I’m not passed out drunk in a dumpster behind the bowling alley, whenever I’m not in town stealing ladies underpants off of clotheslines, I’ll be right here with you folks. Dishing out the truth.

Hold on. It’s gonna get bumpy.

Cooter Jackson

Mud Lake, Nevada


      1. no, searingly ous, lee: this reminds me and deafeningly seems to be a similar, if knot kindread, thread, to an ongoing series of stories entitled the Prophet of Melon. and the comment al-lewdid to my tentativity of memory, and retention, of memory, which I can’t help but also label as me(s)moreez, as, uv coarse, it is sumwhut mesmorizing.

        Liked by 1 person

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