Front Page

Archive for July, 2010|Monthly archive page

Ode to PBR

In by Michael on July 31, 2010 at 8:54 pm

There’s a place for shitty beer in everyone’s fridge.

If you’re getting drunk off Stella Artois, you’re kidding yourself and wasting your money. Shitty beer (yeah, the stuff that tastes like water) is easier to drink, and delicious beer isn’t noticeably delicious anyway after the first few.

Save the Blue Moon with the wedge of fresh orange for a delicious meal, or on the golf course with your in-laws.  It’s Saturday night. Tear open a twelver of your shitty and get a little drunk. You’ll tear through it quick with a buddy. Don’t worry though; each one’s under a buck.

An Amish Sunday Night

In by Chris on July 31, 2010 at 6:19 pm

The Sunday Sing would have ended hours before, and still Hans was not home. His parents sat in the night on the porch of their wooden home.

“This is the fourth week in sequence,” said his mother.

“Our boy has found the rumspringa, as all boys will,” replied his father.

“Surely we have taught him better.”

“No teaching can keep a young man from the rumspringa. When I was young, it seized me too.”

She peered at him. “But you courted me.”

“How little you know.” He looked far into the night. “You were not the first woman I held.”

Untitled, by guest author Marcus

In by New Author on July 31, 2010 at 5:43 pm

I sit and I wonder why

cabs keep passing me by

I stick out a thumb to flag a ride

but they all have people inside

every time I see one coming around

he stops for the guy one block down

how will I reach my destination

guess I’ll go down to the station

wait for a bus or the subway

or just run down Broadway

what if I don’t make it in time

or end up on a street that’s not mine

fuck it I’m cutting the line

this next cab is mine

no way I’m getting left behind

Brian

In by Michael on July 31, 2010 at 4:46 pm

Brian waited at the bus stop at the corner. He came here every day to wait for the big yellow bus to take him to school. Today he had a bagel.

An ugly stray dog walked over. It started sniffing Brian’s backpack and then it smelled the bagel and got closer to Brian, who was stiff and terrified. Brian put down the bagel. The dog ate it quickly and left. Brian was still hungry but he was happy he was safe.

The bus came and he didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t tell his parents that evening. He never told anyone.

Seconds Decay

In by Michael on July 31, 2010 at 4:30 pm

As you grow older, each new second of your life is a smaller proportion of your life so far. One second to a 20 year old seems twice as long as it does to a 40 year old. The 20 year old has half as many seconds in his life that have contributed to everything he is: his personality, intellect, opinions, and tastes. The early-in-life seconds hit you hard, like a wrecking ball. As you age, wrecking balls become sledge hammers become rocks become pebbles become dust. This second, right now, is bigger than any second you’ll ever live again.

The Stoplight (V)

In by Chris on July 30, 2010 at 9:20 am

It spoke in a voice as wide and circular as Saturn’s rings. Sheila’s head felt as if it wanted to float up above the intersection, where it could listen and watch from the sky.

But again, the light changed, the stoplight-tomato-face vanished, and masses of commuters streamed around her again. What was happening to her? Did no one else notice?

The decrepit trees planted in the sidewalks threw the falling sunlight across the world in puzzles. Purses and elbows jostled her. Someone bumped her hard, from behind. Her hand flew automatically to her bag, but her wallet was already gone.

Dedicated to Michael (This is a true story)

In by Lara on July 29, 2010 at 11:10 pm

It was a sunny, breezy day in San Francisco, and so far the day’s activities had been just as perfect as the weather. Good food, good fun, great biking time along the streets of the great city. Michael was currently sitting in the backseat of the car as it rolled along the road, sunglasses on, foot out the window. That’s the life. Unless…is that a bee?
“Oh my god, it is. It’s a bee! It’s on my sock! What do I do?”
He did the only thing that seemed right. The sock had to come off and out the window.

The Stoplight (IV)

In by Chris on July 29, 2010 at 11:03 pm

As the last few pedestrians scrambled across the crosswalk, once again Sheila was hit with that longing – was it just an empty stomach? – to understand how everything in the world interacted like the musicians in a symphony.

There was the red light again, sagging again. The face grew so full that she was sure it would burst. Its deep, round mouth formed slow shapes.

Finally, she was able to hear it speaking. “…glimpsed the stone benches where monks rest while fasting. We asked ourselves, is this knowledge? Facts are not knowledge. The feeling, the experience. I first felt snow when…”

A Serious Conversation

In by Chris on July 29, 2010 at 12:07 am

Why’d it get so quiet all of a sudden?

I saw a picture of you, with a girl, who was wearing my shirt.

No, but why the silence?

You cheated on me.

Please, no, we can talk about that in a minute. It isn’t what you think. Why’d it get so quiet?

Are you serious?

Yeah.

We’re talking about cheating, and you want to talk about…

Yeah.

Well, umm, normally your heart kind of stops during these serious conversations. You forget about the things around you.

But the whole coffee shop? Silent?

Where do you get these…Wait. What? You’re right.

Un Ami / A friend

In by Lara, by Wyatt on July 28, 2010 at 5:10 pm

Mais non, Maman…
Bien, tu veux de la glace, n’est-ce pas? Lequel?
Tu comprends pas — c’est pas pour moi maintenant…euhh t’inquiètes…
Explique-le à moi, Chouchou.
Ah bon… C’est pour marco… Plus tard.
Marco, il ne vas jamais revenir, t’y sais, petit.

Le vent était froid et fort.

Chocolate chocolate chip please! Oh, and a strawberry, too!
Son, I think one cone is quite enough.
He looked at his mother impatiently.
“Ah,” she said, “for Marco? Son, I think it’s time you made real–well, friends at school,  maybe?”

He just licked his cone. It was cool and sweet.