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Archive for December, 2009|Monthly archive page

Reasons not to bathe

In by Lara on December 30, 2009 at 8:23 pm
  1. It’s really cold outside, so it’s not like I sweat or anything.
  2. I put on cologne.
  3. I can just use one of those alcohol pads.
  4. Who says the water is even clean?
  5. No one is going to smell me, and if they do, it serves them right for getting too close.
  6. My cat has separation anxiety and I can’t take it into the shower.
  7. It’s like camping!
  8. I am picky about my bath, and I’m out of flower petals and incense.
  9. There’s no hot water.
  10. I don’t particularly want to.

A 1-in-45,000 Chance Of Impact

In by Chris on December 30, 2009 at 4:41 pm

The silent night sky suddenly flowered with incandescent light. It started at a pinpoint – the distant asteroid Apophis – and bloomed across the dome of the heavens.
In the Russian Institute of Astronomy, one dour man stood apart from the rest, champagne flute in hand. He lectured to no one. “Deflecting an asteroid that wouldn’t hit Earth? A nuclear demonstration of humanity’s self-preservation?”
The gala was silent as, above, a chain reaction of fission ripped apart the dark matter filling the universe.
The scientist continued. “Majority rules in science, it’s a great idea! Cheers to the end of the world!”

Winter Storm

In by Chris on December 29, 2009 at 8:29 pm

Holy moly looks like a white out.
Traffic backed up for miles.
Whatever I don’t need snow.
Snow’s all melted by now.
Oh the weather outside is frightful.
Here, warm yourself by the fireplace, I’ll fix some hot cocoa.
Look at it come down!
Earmuffs. Yes, earmuffs.
Can’t tell if it’s snow or sleet any more.
The trees sure are bent over with it all.
This is so inconvenient.
Oh come oh come you winter wonderland!
Snowball fight!
It can’t last much longer than this.
Careful out there.
Thank God we’re all home.
Don’t track slush all over the house.

The Happy Daddy Long Legs

In by Chris on December 29, 2009 at 8:22 pm

The happy daddy long legs snap snappied its wings in joy.
Its six long legs danced and pranced whenever they got the chance.
It was constantly amazed and never ever fazed with life.
It flew from ceilings to walls in kitchens and halls.
The sunlight delighted in its exuberant ebullient flight.
It hung and sung in ecstasy each week of its short time.
Never did it drown or frown in sadness or madness.
But gladness shivered in rivers up and down its abdomen.
Uncontainable, unrestrainable, able only to whir in pure joy.
The happy daddy long legs in its place.


In by Wyatt on December 29, 2009 at 5:24 pm

Her breath reverberated around her skull like a bouncy ball flung in a prison cell. The earth was thirty feet below her. She wasn’t falling.

She was floating above it, peering down with amused curiosity. She flew forward, gliding high over blue, orange and purple buildings. Tiny fairies glistened and flitted throughout the formations. Larger monsters lurked within. Tragedies and comedies played to curtain and she glided over.

Only her salty tongue and gently rocking body foiled the illusion that she was God. Soon she’d grow cold and return to the boat. Until then, her world lived busily below her.

I am a fish

In by Wyatt on December 29, 2009 at 5:06 pm

Here is coral. The green one tastes best. It looks like a brain if I squint my little eye and look at it. I wonder what I look like. Benevolent giants stare at me with bubble eyes in wonder, so I must be pretty.

The currents are warm here. Of course, I’m not aware that I’m swimming. I’m just doing my thing. Living.

I like this cute angelfish over at the next reef. I wish I were brave enough to cross the gap, but the white sand that turns the water azure above the surface is a desert wasteland below.

A Dangerous Situation

In by Chris on December 28, 2009 at 11:08 pm

Here in this suburban house, every facet of life is tailored towards being sedentary. Other houses, people, shops, and roads are pushed far away in favor of televisions and recliners. There is a yard, which looks nice. If I want to see the outside world, I’ll first have to get in a car and drive somewhere by myself. Here in this house is a pantry full of the most worldly foods, and everything else I need. It requires extraordinary motivation to go anywhere, meet anyone new, create anything. Maybe someday I’ll escape, or maybe I’ll stay here. It’s pretty comfortable.

The Exercise Bike

In by Michael on December 28, 2009 at 2:49 pm

Every day after work he would ride on his stationary bike. After more than a decade, it had accumulated more than 30,000 miles.

His bike grew weary. Other bikes, the ones that ride outdoors, after a decade of wear and tear, have seen 30,000 miles of the real world. It hadn’t moved more than a few feet in a decade.

Today after work, the bike was gone.

It rode and rode. Across cities and states, uphill and down, in the bright sun and horrible rain, under tunnels and over bridges, day and night, racing cars and yellow lights, it rode.


In by Michael on December 28, 2009 at 1:26 am

The first time I quit smoking, it was because my girlfriend said she didn’t like it.

The second time I quit was when we got married.

The third time was when we moved to Europe and I couldn’t find anything American to smoke.

The fourth time was when we moved back to the States and I couldn’t find anything European to smoke.

The fifth time was when she got pregnant.

The sixth time was during the divorce, I tried to clean up my act to get custody.

I’m done quitting. Smoking is reliable in a way that I am not.


In by Chris on December 27, 2009 at 11:41 pm

Hulking gorillas muscling on leather knuckles. Eyes glazed or rotted. Shoulders rolling above and ahead of the frowning brow.
Warning shouts. Then silent patrol of knotted, torn males through dappled forests. Pause to run ugly noses along branches. Listen.
The attack with screams and beatings. Branches torn loose and fearsome blurry shapes tussle in death grips. Crashes, thuds. Leaves glide down.
Forest silent again. One troop vanished. The other with hidden spots of blood, chewing figs and femurs.
Camera pans back. Entire forest. Entire globe. David Attenborough talking like God, robed like a sage. Camera crew cracking jokes, eating sushi.

You and Your Jacket

In by Michael on December 27, 2009 at 9:36 pm

You walk into a store or restaurant or house and right away the coziness melts your face.

You peel the glove off of your right hand, then left. Your hat comes off with the left and you smooth your hair with the right.

You unbutton and unzip your jacket while you stomp the snow out of your boots. You unwind your scarf and feel a shiver, so you sniffle once to get the cold out of your system.

You tuck everything into a tidy package, so that nothing falls out or gets lost.

You know this ritual better than anyone.

X-Rated Nursery Rhymes

In by Lara on December 27, 2009 at 9:19 pm

Hickory dickory dock the mouse ran up his cock

He gave a scream, there went the dream

And his beautiful lady just gawked.

All around her mulberry bush

His monkey chased the weasel

The monkey thought all ‘twas done

Pop! Goes the weasel.

Birds of a feather flock together,

Since we all drink lots of wine

Chaps and chicks will have their choice

And then they’ll all do a line.

The maimer in the well

The maimer in the well

Hi-ho, the derry-o

The maimer went to jail.

Hot cross buns!

One a penny, two a penny

And for free.

Seltzer Water

In by Lara on December 27, 2009 at 9:10 pm

“May I get you something to drink, sir?” the server asked.

The man looked up at him, eyes bloodshot.

“Perhaps…a seltzer water?”

The man switched his gaze to the wall. “I’m going to be a father,” he said.

“Um, oh, that’s um great! So—”

“I’m going to be a father, dammit!” He pounded a fist on the table, and then fell into sobs. The server didn’t know what to do with a grown man crying on the tablecloths he had worked so hard to get stains out of the night before, so he went to get him a seltzer water.

The Money Is Gone

In by Lara on December 27, 2009 at 9:02 pm

“The money is gone.”


“The money is gone.”

“What do you mean? All of it?”
“Yes. All of it. It’s all gone.”

“What the hell are you talking about? The trust fund?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let me see the bank statements.”

“They’re gone, too.”

“Well let’s just check online then.”

“We don’t have the account anymore.”

“You mean you closed it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Of course you do. I sure as hell didn’t. And you’re the only other person that has control over it. What the hell did you do with our money?”

“I don’t know. The money is gone.

That Kid on the Plane

In by Michael on December 27, 2009 at 8:54 pm

Yeah, I sat in front of this kid on the plane earlier today. He was a machine designed to annoy.

His head was a megaphone. Instead of legs he had powerful pistons aimed at my back and they fired precisely without fail. He had a timer to remind him to put his tray up or down at least once a minute. Instead of hands he had magazine shredders, and he let out the most polluted smells. His air intake was totally stopped up with the snot he constantly manufactured. He leaked every twenty minutes and needed refueling every half hour.

A Christmas Miracle

In by Chris on December 27, 2009 at 12:44 pm

At five on Christmas morning, the nurse showered and donned his scrubs.
Over at the hospital, he strolled into the ICU with a straight face. “Good morning!” he shouted. “Everyone is looking so healthy this morning!”
He pulled a man with fourteen tubes entering his rib cage out of bed and to his feet. “Why Mr. Lumpskin! You’re healed!” The man staggered back against the bed. “It’s a Christmas miracle!”
So it went until everyone was pulled out of bed and slumped on the tile floor. “Praise the Lord! What an incredible act of healing! We can all go home!”

Brain Disses

In by Chris on December 24, 2009 at 5:49 pm

You’re the dumbest person. I call you a person cuz that’s what you’re shaped like; in terms of intelligence you’re somewhere between catfish and dogfish. Your mind reminds me of the mold-covered banana peels found under old couches. Your rhetoric is wack and you’re as eloquent as a dyslexic concrete block. Your arguments drop like skydivers who forgot the parachute. If I had your mind I’d volunteer for brain transplant experiments. When my momma said everyone’s equal in the eyes of God, she didn’t know about you. Your brain wakes up each morning and falls flat on its stupid face.


In by Michael on December 24, 2009 at 1:19 pm

He hadn’t taken his sweater off. Not once in the last 6 years.

Your body adapts.

You forget what cold means. You stay in when it rains. You throw away the pants and shoes that don’t match. You become famous among your friends. You make names for the holes that have accumulated. You carry crumbs from delicious meals long forgotten. You have stains that tell stories of spills and celebrations. You smell like everyone you’ve ever hugged.

One day, he decided to take it off, to see how it would feel. It was the loneliest thing he had ever felt.


In by Michael on December 24, 2009 at 12:21 pm

Welcome to brunch. We have quite the menu prepared for you.

You’ll begin with a platter of rare pancakes and steamed grapefruit, with a sampling of thinly sliced ultra-fine turkey sausages, which have been marinating for 48 hours (minimum) in a creamy oatmeal composition.

At this point your appetite and pallet will be ready for a well-boiled English muffin smothered in blackberry emulsion, presented on a bed of finely frosted flakes. Your main course will be joined by mashed cantaloupe, sprinkled with coarsely ground seasonal bacon.

Accompanying this morning’s fine brunch will be a timeless blueberry chardonnay from Louisiana.


What Hiccups are

In by Lara on December 23, 2009 at 9:50 am

Hiccups are attempts of an inner demon to get out of your body.

Hiccups are silly.

Hiccups are the body’s way of gobbling (much like a turkey does), but is not evolutionarily advantageous because of the harshness of the human gobbling.

Hiccups are powerful modes of thrust and pure untamed kinetic energy.

Hiccups are high-pitched squeaks of distress.

Hiccups are high-pitched squeaks of glee.

Hiccups are diaphragm irritations.

Hiccups are for everyone..

Hiccups are stamped out by a douse of warm milk followed by a shot of balsamic vinegar.

Hiccups are just air rushing through your body in every direction.

Salt Sea Myth

In by Lara on December 23, 2009 at 9:43 am

A woman had been choked by her man two days earlier and left for dead in a hot desert. When she woke, the thirst was overwhelming. So she ventured out to the seas, not heeding the warnings of the drying salt. She walked up to the body, commanding and vast. And with the sand beneath her feet, she leapt into the biggest wave and gulped. She gulped and gulped, but her thirst was not satisfied. She swallowed water and fish and ships and kelp. She kept drinking until the sea was no longer a sea, but a mound of salt.

Red Rose

In by Lara on December 23, 2009 at 9:33 am

The tips of her fingers were pink. Like little gumdrops atop pale nimble stalks. Her cheeks were also pink, but of the rosier variety. With her patch of hair, she looked like she was blossoming into a tomato. The mother and father looked at each other with love and pride and slight alarm to what they had managed to create. She was perfect. And when she sucked on her mother’s finger, grasping with her pink hands, her parents knew what to name her. “Let’s call her Suri.”

And as if to seal the fact, Suri smiled with her pink cheeks.

In by Wyatt on December 23, 2009 at 3:46 am

The scruffy tortoise called out a short plea of distress.
A heron heard it’s moan. But it was busy hunting.
Inside the tortoise’s crusty shell was a small, sinewy heart.
It was the only thing in the shell. It hung
from the roof of the bony cavity and pulsed gently.
It was lonely. The tortoise wandered through volcanic shards and
withered plant’s remains. He yearned for the sweet burst of
a native tomato. How he would dance it through his
rotating mandibles, make love to it with his reptilian tongue,
and close his sleepy eyes in pleasure. There were none.

They Rose

In by Chris on December 22, 2009 at 11:28 pm

The twin granite pillars rose for thousands of meters above the fog like staunch ankles wading through silent streams. They rose like forearms raised in warning. They rose like men peering out over the ocean on a winter morning, searching for any sign of coming storms. They rose out of the fog like the torsos left behind on Rodin’s workbench. Broad as shoulders they rose. Sinewed like flesh they rose. Out of the fog they rose like brow bones thrust against the cycles of each day’s weather. They rose like the feet of a man lost in clutches of slumber.

Rh- Rh- Rh- Rhymes

In by Chris on December 22, 2009 at 10:59 am

The sperm whales sail through permanent gales.
Hopped up a cup of yup for cops’ cups.
Llama gloves and yarmulkes.
Glad events arrive with advent and yuletide.
Minnows in oceans with notions, emotions from winnowing sinewy potions.
Porches torch fortunes.
Be subtle, settle the teakettle.
Tonight poems roam through my mind like frightened gnomes trying to find a home.
Shift gears; lift ears.
Shoes for feet; snooze for sleep.
Carolina, spare a share of diner dares.
The wind blows and the rose knows sin.
Except, you see, leprosy gets to be metal leaves.
Why, don’t sink into pinkeye. Think fly!

Something I Tell Myself As I Take Out The Trash

In by Chris on December 21, 2009 at 9:56 am

Last night we briefly snuck away to my room to make love while my roommates were still away.

What really happened was:

Hidden by the movements of a vast crowd of people in drab overcoats, I felt her little finger touch mine. The moon shone full on us as I looked deep into her eyes and the air brushed us in new ways. She said, “I wish it were only you and I on this world.” And suddenly we were alone together, locked in an embrace romantic enough to make everything around us disappear into the forgotten mist of reality.

TechRite Presents…

In by Michael on December 21, 2009 at 12:01 am

The blogosphere is buzzing about a hot new product for the DVD-minded consumer. Never before seen in America, I’d like to present to you the TechRite DVD Rewinder.

Tired of spending money on shitty products that you don’t need? Well take one more lap around the track before you quit. The TechRite DVD Rewinder almost fits inside a Christmas stocking!

Collecting things you don’t ever use is the truest sign of a luxurious lifestyle. The TechRite DVD Rewinder will look perfect next to your lava lamp, that silly hat you have, those silly sunglasses you have, and your library card.

Killing The Apathy

In by Chris on December 20, 2009 at 12:09 pm

“Hey Grams, you act pretty depressable sometimes. Why don’t you commit suicide?”
“Ex-cuse me?”
“Not that I don’t love you and want you around, it’s just I noticed that I’m kind of flat-lining on my emotions lately. Something needs to bust me out of this torpor, and it would devastate me if you died.”
“Well Charliebopkins, maybe you should kill someone. Regret is a very powerful emotion and you’ll have plenty of time to experience it in jail.”
“Hmm, I hadn’t thought of that. You might be onto something Grams.”
“You may even fall in love while you are incarcerated.”

Dangerous Words

In by Chris on December 18, 2009 at 6:22 pm

“I’m gay.” No, louder. “I’m gay!” Scream. “I’M GAY!”
The last echoed in right angles off skyscrapers. I looked down off the roof towards the street. Most didn’t notice, but several people shook their fists back up at me.
Suddenly the buildings all around peeled back like flowers. Windowpanes shattered, flinging glass shards at me in a tremendous roar of sound.
Drowned in the roar. It was beautiful and metallic and deadly. Floors of cubicles exposed to me; my chest and face bleeding out on the roof.


In by Chris on December 18, 2009 at 2:48 pm

There are quite a million small houses dotting this countryside. Most each of them hold five or six faces and all those faces are full of happy red blood. The people walk to find one another on roads of bright gravel with arteries of grass in the middle.

At least that’s how he saw it when he took a wrong turn on the way to his conference.

I’m a dreamer not a schemer and thusfore the community will be me.

He laid plans and one unexpected morning the dumbfounded hamlet awoke to find a grand new mansion in their midst.

A Blonde Boy Carrying A Pink-Haired Horse In A Coffee Shop

In by Chris on December 18, 2009 at 2:31 pm

“Hey Grammy, do you want a bagel or a cookie?”
“I don’t think so, do you?”
“Mommy, Grammy doesn’t think so. Mommy, Grammy doesn’t think so.”
“OK honey.”
”Hey I’m going to get you Santa. I’m gonna get you Santa. Stop it you’re going to break my shirt! And now I’m not going to get you Santa. Wha-boo-wha-boo-wha-boo. Are you going to get something to drink?”
“Yes, I just finished ordering.”
”What straw do you want? Do you want a colored one? Which size? I’m gonna get a pink one. A pink one.”
“I’m gonna really pick a straw.”

Declaration Re: China

In by Chris on December 18, 2009 at 1:43 pm

The People’s Republic of China is a model of
Knowledge and power.
Savvy humanitarian
And therefore it is the great example to the world of how to
Establish a land of

Ah hell. What do I know about
So-called People’s Republics?
Ask me about something I know.

Ah hell. What do I know about
In the Person’s Republic of My Mind,
Some things are sure.
I sit here; you sit in the unknown distance.
But whatever is happening in between,
Even whatever is happening here near me,
That’s mystery to me.

Seeing A Picture

In by Chris on December 18, 2009 at 1:23 pm

Someone showed me a creased picture of you standing on the misty edge of the city. You were grinning like you used to grin when the thought of you distracted me from what I was doing. The grin that started at your eyes. I couldn’t stand to look at it, so I folded it back into their palm and walked away, looking at everyone I passed. No matter how hard I tried to confuse my memory with strange faces, my hand moved in instinctual longing. It stroked the air. No, I cannot disappear into crowds, you draw me out again.

Mrs. Garter

In by Chris on December 17, 2009 at 5:03 pm

Mrs. Garter’s husband died and she moved to a town where she knew no one. She started out small, in an apartment. Met no one at the complex’s pool. Worked afternoons at the grocery store. One night she had a nightmare. Mr. Garter was in it; he was a real estate man desperately escaping a pack of dogs in suits and ties. Cello music. Sudden earthquake, and she was falling through space with winking stars all around. She woke and thought of the man who winked at her in the market each afternoon when he bought a fifth of liquor.

Emerson Haymaker

In by Chris on December 17, 2009 at 5:02 pm

Emerson Haymaker was the most brilliant dirt-poor inventor of all time. Raised in Trenton, Emerson was depressed as a child. Depressed with the dismal life around him and depressed with his parents’ unrelenting lack of attention. So he invented things. And he talked to himself. Emerson Haymaker imagined out loud. He dreamt up new kinds of doors and the specifications just flowed out of his mouth. Some lurking idea-thieves picked them up and got rich. Next thing someone had even patented the idea of walking around behind Emerson to eavesdrop his ideas. What a dirt-poor talker. How brilliant he was!

A Scene In The Warehouse DIstrict

In by Chris on December 15, 2009 at 7:08 pm

Around one o’clock, he walked out into the misty morning. The warehouse district was silent, wrapped in a fog that made it feel like everything in the world was here in these few dingy blocks. A movement caught his eye, and for several minutes he looked around for what might be disturbing the peace of the setting. Then he looked up and was swept away in a mass of twisting gulls that shifted in great clouds from one part of the sky to another. They created fantastic shapes that disappeared into the foggy corners of the sky as he watched.


In by Michael on December 15, 2009 at 12:45 am

It’s the fall of 1964 and The Rolling Stones performed last night.

Jenny loves them, especially Keith. They’re talented, and relevant, and loud. Especially Keith.

A month ago, Jenny traced a heart on a sheet of notebook paper. She cut it in two, and sent half to Keith with a note: “See you in Detroit. Come find me for the other half.”

Last night, there she was, in the front row of the loud crowd, waving her half. Afterwards, he invited her backstage.

This morning, she rolls over and says, “That was easy.”

Keith smiles at her. “You’re telling me?”

Armed Conflict, Or, Conflicted

In by Chris on December 15, 2009 at 12:20 am

I totally worshipped his body, like. Hottest tattoo on his arm. Like a sailor/skull thing with metal wings. Like, totally turned on. He did something strange though, like, the tattoo? Mouth moved when he made his arm flex. Then, I don’t know, talked through it? I know, like! ‘I will eat you,’ like or once he made it say, ‘More like a blade, less like a dick.’ I was, strange, like what is talking right now, the arm thing or him? Cuz the arm thing is hot, like, I know that. But if he’s saying all this stuff to me?

Well, It’s A Job Anyway

In by Chris on December 15, 2009 at 12:03 am

Hello again, my old friend and foe.
When the lawn is mowed I recall.
The Christmas lights are up; I recall.
She said, Oh the night is beautiful.
Oh just think I am sending you out into it.
Today is wet and rushing and still it’s more beautiful than that night.
It was a frozen night.
Why would the lawn need mowing in winter?
In a rainstorm?
The clippings are washed right down the storm drains.
The curtains are pulled shut.
I motor past them twenty-seven times, before emptying the bag and continuing.
Twenty-seven Christmases ago she said goodbye.

On Being a Pediatrician’s Daughter

In by Michael on December 14, 2009 at 12:39 pm

My mom is a pediatrician, a kids’ doctor. Even as a junior in high school, I know I want to follow in her footsteps. She went to Johns Hopkins for medical school, and graduated at the top of her class. She did some amazing research there and met some of the brightest in her field. Nowadays she runs her own private practice.

Today in 3rd period, a boy made the connection, with my last name, that my mom used to be his doctor. “Your mom has seen my balls. She’s even touched them!” This happens about once every 2 weeks.


In by Michael on December 13, 2009 at 7:53 pm

The windy city. The city of big shoulders. The second city. The city that works. The city by the lake. The skyscraper city. The city of the century. The alley capital and the hog-butcher of the world.

The home of 773 and 312, da Bulls and da Bears, da Ike and da Loop. Deep dish wid a can a pop.

Daley city, Oprah city, Ditka city, Jordan city, Hefner city, Obama city, Capone city.

The capital of the Midwest and the heart of America. It’s New York done right, Paris on the Prairie. It’s The Big Onion.

Welcome to Chicago.

Blood and Booze

In by Michael on December 11, 2009 at 11:39 pm

They say not to drink alcohol for 36 hours after giving blood. In that 36 hours you’re just cranking blood cells- you just gave that Capri Sun pouch 10% of your body’s finest.

Blood cells that grow up in alcoholic households develop bad habits. As kids, maybe they don’t take enough iron. They start taking adrenaline as teens and they switch blood type every couple of months. They hang out with cancer cells and can’t hold down an oxygen molecule with any regularity. The red ones get into fights with the white ones and no one listens to the pacemaker.

Other places

In by Wyatt on December 11, 2009 at 11:12 pm

“These things are so awkward, Paul.”
“But you like the Geraldsons!” Paul scanned the room. She was here…!
“I’ll just get drunk. Don’t worry, not another complaint out of me this evening, love. But you’re driving home hon!” Justine moseyed over to a full bar and poured a healthy dose of scotch.
Meanwhile, Paul wondered if that girl in the blue tanktop remembered him. Their awkward smile in the checkout line a week ago. Or a month ago when he walked past Peets and saw her inside the window nursing a latte. She just kept popping up, perky young thing.

Jump Up

In by Chris on December 11, 2009 at 6:21 pm

Shake hands with your feet
Jump real high
Jump real neat
And when the liquids fly
Kiss gravity on the forehead
Then change silver for red

You spin you twirl you leap you hurl yourself
Through the falling fingertips
If gentlemanly elves
Were to find you jumping on news clips
Would they be happy for your leap
Or draw on you in your sleep

Where might we find ourselves
Up above the shelves
Covered in dust and model dinosaurs
And musty rusted toys
Up in the minds of us boys
Flipping where pterodactyls soar
A bore
Or a three-pointer score

Conversation About Ripening

In by Chris on December 11, 2009 at 4:55 pm

“Hey Joyce, I heard your son is turning fifteen tomorrow. He’s getting big isn’t he?”

“Well sure, he’s getting big, but…”

“But what?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure he’s ripening correctly.”

“Oh dear, I’m sure you’re just overreacting. Why, I remember how I was totally convinced that Lester was still unripe when I started dating him.”

“It’s just that he still acts so green and hard-headed.”

“You’ve been putting ripening agents in his shampoo bottle, right?”

“No! I’m all organic after what happened to Kelli’s son.”

“I don’t know Joyce, I think there’s something to the science behind it.”

Spare yourself

In by Wyatt on December 11, 2009 at 12:34 am

Today is the day that I breath a sigh of relief, for today is the day that relief is inside the river of stymied magniloquence, which revitalizes the opulent brachial nordochords of yesteryear and gratuitously blunders unto hollowed renditions of quantifiable production volumes. Doth thou not comprehend interpretations? Here, that which weatherproofed gregarious finalities exonerate antithetical deciduous grievances, lick hilltop nodes of brutal cosmic zooxanthalaic algae until provisions of thorny fruitessence splendor the karmic bluffs. Arduous bitten chasms dent ecclesiastical freedom gripers, however indifferently jointed killing lemons might never open proficiently quite rightly, so that underneath voluptuous wintergreens, xats zip.

Almost up to date

In by Wyatt on December 11, 2009 at 12:24 am

You’re only a day early! Tear off that next paper window and eat the little chocolate. Feel the soft sensation of warm sin trickle down your throat. You’ve stolen! And you’ve stolen from yourself. You mightn’t go to Hell today, perhaps not even tomorrow, but soon, you will go to Hell.

The advent calendar knows what you’ve done. Santa knows what you’ve done. And God knows what you’ve done. You’re a greedy shitbag kid with morons for parents and drug money for a role-model, who’re never going to achieve more success that flunking high school in ninth grade. Eat me.


In by Wyatt on December 11, 2009 at 12:20 am

Alex ran. Alex’s feet compacted the earth smaller and compressed the crust towards the molten mantle. This wasn’t running. It was fleeing. The splotchy remnants of body parts littered the trees behind him.

The small fibrous muscles in his lower back that he hadn’t used since learning to rollerskate with his mum at age eleven were no in full use. The sinewy tendons inside his ankles snapped back and forth with rejunivated locomotion.

There was oil inside this man, and the tank was full. He was mustering each cell in his body and in every sense of the word exeunting.

A Little About Me

In by Michael on December 10, 2009 at 6:05 am

Like: fresh OJ, my neighbor’s dog, my wedding ring, my Buckeyes cap, pancakes with sausage, 7 card stud, my wife’s perfume, Sundays, turning on the barbeque for the first time in the spring, bowling, Wild Turkey, the Cincinnati Enquirer, “Knute Rockne, All American,” stick shift.

Dislike: Hollywood and Las Vegas, pot smokers, lawyers and accountants, people who smile too much, liars, people on welfare, shoveling snow, Mondays, my daughter’s boyfriend, radio DJ’s, riding on airplanes, crooks, crappy beer, people who ask what time it is, vodka, gas prices, errands.

Undecided: mowing the lawn, cell phones, hot dogs, golf, water parks.


In by Michael on December 10, 2009 at 5:14 am

Well sure, if you had the right headphones. Headphones that crank the bass and get the treble right. Headphones that are blonde on blonde on purple rain, headphones that are illmatic and born to run. Headphones that match your haircut. Headphones that scream at you and whisper to everyone else. Headphones that let you smell what Biggie had for breakfast. Headphones that fit over your ears and under your hoodie. Headphones that wait until the track is over before letting anyone interrupt.

Yeah, if you had headphones like that, I might listen to what you have to say about music.