[Editor’s note: This editorial was mailed to our publication, scrawled in crayon, almost completely illegibly, on a series of cardboard scraps, and we feel as though it is our journalistic duty to make our readers suffer through this as we have.]

Don’t you see them? Like, oh my gawd!!! 

I picked up this futon from my friend Greg’s house, but as soon as I brought it home, I realized something was up. I mean, I sat down, and then this squish and something moving; this caused me to think: Hey! It feels like there’s a lizard in my asscrack. This had happened before. 

So I looked down and whattya know? There was a lizard in my asscrack! So, I pull this disgusting reptile out of my anal cavity and stand up just to realize that there are more. And here I was thinking the pleather was just moving because I was on acid, but it turns out, it’s both because I’m on LSD and because there are desert-climate reptilians moving about my furniture. If I had to guesstimate, I’d say there were at least 40 scaly f*cks crawling around in the cushions. 

So I call my other friend, Methhead Rodney, because he’s got ties to the extermination business–and because I’m running low on that crystal, babay. He rides his Vespa over and hits my f*ckin’ cat, so now I’ve got this dead cat and all these f*ckin’ lizards, which is a real bummer because my whole plan was to train the cat to systematically kill and eat the reptiles. So Methhead Rodney comes in and he’s all like, “Shit man, there are so many lizards on the sofa!” and I go “Well, what are we gonna do?” and he goes [illegible]…

[Editor’s note: Three of the cardboard scraps are too covered in mucus to read.]

[Scrap 7:] So then I look down from free-basing heroin with a paper towel roll, and what do I see but a naked Methhead Rodney, at least half-consumed by these non-amphibian, lower beings. And I think to myself, “Holy shit! Rodney’s been working out!” 

[Editor’s Note: At this point, the narrative written on these scraps ends. We here at The Sundial are fairly unsure as to why the narrative ends with these final lines, as well as a tattered nude sketch of Methhead Rodney. However, our working theories are that the writer either was eaten himself–which would explain the copious amounts of blood in the envelope–or he simply grew bored of writing. Investigations are being done into the writer’s identity, and herpetology experts are currently consulting with us to find a specimen of the addict-eating sofa lizard (puer parum pudici).

No matter what this strange situation entails, we are proud–and a bit pained–to include this piece in our publication, and if the author is reading, we implore him to send more scraps. Perhaps some erotica taking place in the Methhead Rodney Universe would do nicely in our next edition. 

Furthermore, out of a sense of responsibility, if our readers ever feel as though they are experiencing a lizard infestation, we at The Sundial wish to remind you to follow the M.E.T.H. Method: 

M: Make Haste.
E: Exit Thine Dwelling.
T: Tell All Your Friends.
H: (Freebase Some) Heroin.]

Written by Sue Veneers, Staff Writer, and Dan Druff, Staff Writer