Archive for May, 2009


if you lived at rancho vista apartments, you’d be home by now, but you’d have a neighbor with an adult baby fetish

My literary agent has said he wants me to do more to raise visibility of my “brand”, and recently he gave me a list of suggestions to that end. I question the merit of a highly publicized trip to drug rehab, though, not only because I don’t think it would spill that much ink, but mostly because I will never fucking stop using drugs, no matter who I hurt or how much property I damage along the way.  So instead I’m rolling with one of his other suggestions, and debuting my new Cosmo/Marie Claire-style advice column. As always, these are actual submissions from actual readers. 

Dana, Connecticut: My boyfriend likes me to keep things trimmed pretty closely, you know, down there, but my husband keeps complaining about the scratchy stubble. Help!

As with a lot of things in life, compromise can keep everybody happy. Take a cue from the British and manicure your lady hedge into a shape that everyone can enjoy. Something tasteful, like a lightning bolt. Look around on the internet; I’m sure there are templates you can print out. By the way, this is the only non-Halloween-related personal hygiene item that you should ever take a cue from the British on.

Mistee, Ontario: Lately I’ve been making decisions that have some of my friends worrying about me. I’ve been going home with a lot of guys, and my roommate has said I might be a nymphomaniac. Should I seek out a professional?

There are a lot of misconceptions floating around out there about sexual compulsivity, a/k/a nymphomania, so get the facts first. Here are a few:

1. it is awesome.

2. you should make at least a cursory attempt to convince guys that you have it.

Throughout time, nature has pivoted on the battle over the earth’s finite resources, and the dating world is no different. Do something that separates you from your girlfriends, who, make no mistake about it, are your chief competitors. It’s like when I wanted to start a Misfits cover band, before I realized we wouldn’t be able to compete with that one Misfits cover band that actually has Jerry Only playing in it.

Pam, Florida:  Lately I’ve noticed that gravity has begun taking its toll on my body. Short of finding the fountain of youth, what can I do?   

You may not know this, Pam, but I’ve been watching you for a long time and waiting for the right moment to bring this up. Your current bra is terribly inefficient, and you’re throwing away hundreds of dollars a year in energy costs. Furthermore, the hook assembly at the back is more complicated than the gear shifter on a Soviet car (don’t ask me how I know this; I don’t even have a driver’s license anymore). Think of a new bra as an investment in yourself, girl, and spare no expense. People say the rustproofing is a scam, but just try getting through winter without it.

Sirikit, Thailand: I was kidnapped by sex traders at an early age, but since I turned 17, my value has gone down considerably. So I may be due for a career change, assuming my captors don’t decide it would be cheaper to kill me. Any suggestions? 

Take some time off and find yourself. I’d advise you to study abroad for a semester, but you’re already in a foreign country. Whatever you decide, I wish you nothing but the very best of luck!


sometimes a human skull with pentagrams and upside-down crosses drawn all over it is just a human skull with pentagrams and upside-down crosses drawn all over it

If you are reading this missive, it means that I have died. If I have not yet died and you are reading this against my wishes, fuck you. In 2096, science definitively disproved the existence of an afterlife, but I will find a way to haunt you from beyond the grave.

The reason I created this mind-file, dear surviving friend or family member, is to confess something I never could muster the courage to discuss during my time on earth. My role in the Great Human-Robot Conflict of 2047 was much more prominent that I have let on. For decades I maintained that I was a low-level mechanic that didn’t see much action, but that was a mere cover story so I wouldn’t have to discuss the horrors I saw on the front lines of the war against the robots I had grown to love like brothers before the Betrayal.

Things weren’t always like this, you see. Robots were once our most trusted companions. When work obligations on Datison-12 prevented my biological parents from attending my high school graduation, I went into the attic and recharged the old Sittertron, who filled in ably. Years later, the recorded video of the ceremony through synthetic-tear-stained optic sensors still brings back memories.  Robots served us in ways that can never be repaid. A  friend of mine (not me, I swear) was once alerted to a testicular lump after a session with a particularly thorough Hitachi sexxx-bot (okay, it was me. but that was the 2030s; you had to be there).

Where was I? Ah, yes, the war.  Yes, we humans emerged victorious, but I, like so many of my generation, spent a lifetime laying awake at night wondering whether the price we paid was worth it. Hiding under a pile of dead robots, then surprising their grieving comrades with a flamethrower when they came to honor their fallen. Replacing an oil shipment destined for a robot refugee camp with industrial-size drums of yellow mustard. Goddammit, didn’t even have the decency to use brown mustard.  Gaining the trust of a simple farming droid, then hitting his off-switch, which was briefly exposed when he turned to introduce me to his children. Ultimately, I fear the acts I committed to preserve humanity cost me my own.  

And now, as I record this message from inside the hyperbaric chamber that has provided me with a full head of dark hair, six-pack abs, and diamond-hard erections on demand even at the ripe old age of 124, I pose to you a question: is the world you have inherited all that you want? Because if not, don’t waste your time looking for anything good on Sephalon-22. I made a fortune building condos there, but trust me, it’s a real shithole.


the devil and steely dan’l

the work begins

when you first open your eyes in the morning.

and until day’s end

every task among the myriad

is somehow configured to serve a final goal.

but you keep at it

even when there’s little to show for all the grinding, squeezing,

and planning.

all the while patiently waiting for that moment when some obstruction 

becomes dislodged.

sometimes it’s easy.

May 2009
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