Nothing here is true.

Not even this.

Until recently, Elizabeth used to water the little red flower pot in front of her house every other day. Last Tuesday, however, she realized for the first time that she was clearly unwilling to wither alone.


Thus we must fear that the little plant will fall victim to this poor woman's despair rather sooner than later.

Lou, a Chinese immigrant in Oklahoma, was so homesick that he built a replica of the Great Wall around his restaurant, albeit a more fanciful one. Unfortunately, the construction company did not think of any gates.


Although the "Dragon Palace" sign occasionally faintly flickers through the foggy night, we sadly never heard from Lou again.

When Jesse woke up early in Kansas City, he suddenly felt as if it was his unavoidable destiny to carry the world's wickedness alone, unaided, and until the end of the times.

Whenever Lemmy passes by, he fires from out of the moving car on the windmill. If he manages to get them fuckin' blades down by christmas he would ask Jenny whether she would marry him. If not, he would ask Charlene.


Life's great when you're young.

Later that day Alfred would buy brushes and stencils to paint his little daughter Lizzie's room over and over with hundreds of cute butterflies. He knew exactly the particular shades of blue and teal she loved. And between all the funny and happy little butterflies he would leave some space for the image of Lizzie and him taken on their trip to the theme park. 


Unfortunately, however, that happy day was long ago and he hadn't seen Lizzie ever since she left with her mother soon after that. It would be the seventh layer of butterflies, and afterwards Alfred would sit on the couch, staring into a past which prevents him from having a future, and slowly succumbing to the all-devouring charm of the rust belt.

The Smelko family had been driving for 12 hours to arrive here, always worrying whether their battered, but newly acquired roof box was really as dust-tight as the tacky guy from the thrift store had said. And hopefully no water had seeped through the tiny gaps during the long journey through the rainy vastnesses of Kansas and Nebraska. Then they opened the box - and they were relieved... The urn was well shaken, but still intact. They opened the lid, then a bottle of champagne, and while they toasted Grandfather, the fiery wind of the north gently dispersed what was left of him.


And this is how - over many, many generations, of course - in the end the Badlands were created.

Once there were two naughty boys hanging 'round at this spot, called Bobby and Nobby, who were two good-for-nothing scalawags, mean, malicious, and misogynistic. They met their fate when a travelling witch came through and, outraged by their molesting behaviour, turned them without further ado into something that could please stick its nozzle kindly into itself without bothering anyone else. If you look closely you will see that they look a bit like pumps as we know them from gas stations. Now imagine how you would feel if you had to put your "nozzle" into your ear for the rest of your existence. So better treat women (and men) right, as you will never know whether the witch comes along your way some wicked day too...

Bingo N. Maguire, tourism manager of this lovely spot in Northern Montana, was convinced that nothing would make a stranger feel more welcome than a chopped-off elk's head in the middle of the road.

Given what we had seen on the telly earlier today and what had made us leave our home in a hurry, the roads were surprisingly empty.

Bruce was a textbook example of a techie. His tiny, somewhat dark workplace was completely crammed with computer and science magazines. Especially artificial intelligence and automation interested him extremely. In the future, anything seemed possible. Maybe he would even live to see the day when a vending machine could sell a soda all by itself, i.e. without a human in it.


Then he would finally be free.

When Gerry, the local investigative journalist, found out that this in fact was the hidden entrance to a new and powerful large hadron collider with which the army was trying to manipulate the space-time continuum in order to win once lost battles after all, he was torn between exposing the nefarious enterprise and sneaking in secretly at night to relive that day in summer 1972 when his mother hugged him so that he believed for a moment he was loved.


What would you do? Seeing the most joyous moment of your life again or saving the world from evil and turmoil?

Hidden from the uninitiated, this supposed puddle in Western Nebraska once served as the secret entrance into an ungodly underworld full of vice and seduction. Many men were lured into it by the song of local sirens, only to fall prey to their insatiable longings.


Years later still, the deserted cars of the victims are admonishing witnesses of the lamentable weakness of men.

Jimmy was so proud of his first killed Ram that he took the poor victim straight down to the Amazon to have it processed into a shrunken head by the experts there. On the way back through Mexico he had a small but noble silver coating applied and - bang - ready was the most individual hood ornament in all of Montana. 

Uncle Dante sadly passed away before he could complete the last of his many powerful poems on the prairie. Luckily, the local Friends of Poetry association has - after many weekends filled with painstaking work on the details - succeeded in finishing the masterpiece.


And thus, come spring, the sign will read: "Chime, chiffchaff, cutting morning's mist, embracing my thighs vengefully."


Dante, we miss you...

The owner of this lovely laundry, Martha from Montana, is one of the tallest Americans north of Laramie. While the front door is designed conventionally lest no customer gets confused, the back door and the complete interior is exactly as tall as the building itself, so that Martha can roam through her soapy realm without hindrance.


The villagers love Martha not only because of her helpfulness when it comes to changing bulbs, but particularly because no one else can wring out even the longest sheets with such ease and grace.