Archive for July, 2010


everything bruises something

Johnson, this is Hedgecock. We’ve got a major emergency on our hands. You know that sporting event where we were going to have a scantily clad girl sit at a table and collect guys’ email addresses, ostensibly for a raffle, but in actuality so we could send our computer virus to them, then infiltrate their personal records so we can determine a pattern of their household comings and goings, then report our findings to our company’s top-secret residential espionage division to reduce the chances of someone being home and gumming up the works when we send our elite team of Navy SEALS-turned-cat burglars to raid their homes?  Well, the girl we had lined up can’t make it. Last minute, I know, but is there any way your sister could fill in?… I know, but her AdultFriendFinder profile says she’ll “try anything once,” and then has one of those winking emoticons you make with a semicolon… Of course your sister has an AdultFriendFinder profile; I’ve got it open and am looking at it right now here in my office… Username ValtrexValkyrie6969… Now, a couple of things, nothing major. First, we’re gonna have to have her facing to the left the whole time, to reduce potential customers’ chances of seeing that facial tattoo… She got it in prison, you say? Well, it’s quite impressive. Not just the craftsmanship, either; it really speaks to a person’s character if they have the patience to sit for a really elaborate tattoo of a topless mermaid with eagle wings and a flaming skull for a head… Of course we can arrange for someone to watch her kids… Six? Wow. She’s only 24; how did she find the time, what with the 7-year prison stint?… I guess the three that were born in the penitentiary must have been triplets… No?… All right, I’ll fax you the paperwor- oh, wait, wait, never mind. Well, I just clicked on this pic, where it looks like she’s holding a butterfly knife with her left hand, real threatening-like. The boss man is not gonna like that… I agree, left-handedness does seem like a really weird thing for him to draw a line in the sand on, but that’s just this weird idiosyncracy he’s got, probably from the war or something… What about your mom?… Yes, I realize that the bitch so fat that when she got kidnapped they had to use all four sides of the milk carton, but at this late hour, being overly selective is no longer a luxury we can afford.


in which some stuff happens

“Ours is a forbidden love,” said the boy angel Precious Moments porcelain figurine to the girl angel Precious Moments porcelain figurine, “but the few stolen kisses we have shared, coupled with the heavy price we have paid for them, only increase my desire to have you near me.” The girl angel Precious Moments porcelain figurine replied, “I cannot wait until 6 o’clock this evening, when the elderly grandmother that imprisons us finally goes off to bed. Then, hidden under the cover of darkness, we can once again express our true feelings for one another.”

“Despite the fact that we are tens of thousands of years old, my love for you remains as ageless as our eternally childlike faces,” the girl angel Precious Moments porcelain figurine continued, “and it has only grown in the eons since God kicked us out of heaven for having sex.” The boy angel Precious Moments porcelain figurine nodded in agreement, and added, “Though our exile on earth has tested our thresholds for suffering, my spirit is renewed daily when I consider two things: one, that we are still together, and two, that we at least avoided the fate of the star-crossed lovers from Love Is…, who in a fit of God’s wrath were stripped of not only their wings but their genitals. If I have lost Heaven but gained you, I still consider that the most fortunate bargain ever afforded me.”

“Still your tongue, my cherubic inamorato,” the girl angel Precious Moments porcelain figurine said. “From my vantage point atop the curio cabinet I can see the TV, and it appears that Jeopardy! is now over, which means that the old woman will be coming by soon to dust us.” The boy angel Precious Moments porcelain figurine grinned slyly. “Prepare yourself aptly, for the chore she does with her feather duster shall be but a mere prelude to the vigor with which I plan to knock the dust off your sweet ass this very night.”


my knowledge of what you did is not limited to the events of last summer

Hello, Mom? It’s me, Andrea. Oh, I’m okay; just a little down is all. Well, the other night I ended things with David. Listen, it’s not something I feel like going into a lot of detail about. Things had gotten a little intense, and I had to get out… If you must know, I’ve just had this weird feeling about him lately, dating back to us reminiscing about how we met. Like, how can we be sure that he didn’t run that red light and hit me with his car on purpose?…  Yeah, I know you and Dad liked him, but if anything, he was too charming and handsome not to be a Ted Bundy-style gentleman serial killer. Combine the words “handsome” and”charming”, and you get “harming”, so think on that… I know, I know, but I’m sure the word “chandsome” probably means something ominous too…. Point taken, but you can’t reconcile the fact that he worked at a florist with that unsettling look of determination he’d get on his face when he felt like children or puppies and kittens were trying to compete with him… Yeah, so I’m doing okay, not going out much, mostly just re-watching my DVDs of police procedurals. I left the house the other day to pick up some ice cream, and I wore a pair of blue tinted sunglasses, so I could pretend like I was still watching Cold Case… Uh, hold on, Mom; someone’s at the door. Oh God, it’s David, and he’s got a knife! He’s trying to get in! No, wait- before I call 911, there’s something of vital importance that I need to tell you. Can you still hear me? Because what I’m going to say next is going to change life on earth as we all know it. Okay, the reason why I was so afraid of David is becau[PLEASE DEPOSIT $.35 INTO YOUR FLOPPY DRIVE TO FINISH READING STORY]


live by the sandwich sword, die by the sandwich sword

One of my goals as a writer is to one day have my correspondence posthumously published. Should that happen, dear reader, shed a tear for the poor intern that has to go through the reams of my written interactions with other humans, since most of it exists in the form of instant message conversations with strangers I met on, in which I unsuccesfully attempt to talk them into turning on their webcams and showing me the two-decades-old tattoo hidden under their sweatpants, a tattoo which serves as a mocking vestigial reminder of a forgotten time when life’s possibilities seemed endless, with any number of avenues available to them that didn’t involve van ride after thankless van ride from Montessori school to soccer practice to gymnastics to parent-teacher conference in an unending, dehumanizing cycle that erodes to the point of erasure any ambitions left over from the bloom of youth. Aaaaanyways, for those who can’t wait until I’m dead (clarification: to read my correspondence, I mean. For many reasons, there are likely scores of people waiting patiently to line up in the streets for the chance to spit on my corpse), I’ve included a sampling of my more accessible letters to whet your appetite:

Dear Trucker’s Helper Sex Toy Manufacturing Company:

You should really consider putting a warning on your Portable Jelly Lady, explicitly advising users not to put it in the microwave to warm it up before use. A friend of mine could have really gotten hurt this morning. Oh, never mind; it’s written right here on the package. Please disregard this letter, which I am going to mail anyway, since I have already written your address on a stamped envelope.

Dear NASA:

You know what would be a great prank? If, the next time you launched a Voyager or Hubble Space Telescope, you had somebody write “aliens suck” in really small letters, like maybe hidden under one of the insulator panels. Can you imagine the look on the aliens’ faces when they figured out what that meant? Classic. The beauty part of it is that they’d have plenty of time to cool off during the thousand light-year trip to destroy the earth, and by the time they got here, they’d probably just want to hang out and drink some beers with such a hilarious species that doesn’t take itself too seriously.


bonus fourth of july post

I don’t have any acting experience and I’ve never even been to California, but I think that I would be a pretty good understudy for most of the animatronic robots in the Hall of Presidents at Disneyland. Like, if they ever had to temporarily shut down the robots due to a credible threat of machines rising up to overthrow their human masters, I could definitely fill in on an emergency basis and satisfy the (surprisingly high) public demand for the soothing monotone of a mechanical James Madison: “I… am… James… Madison,… Author… of… the Declaration… of… Independence.” Then some smart alecky voice from the crowd would point out that James Madison was the primary author of the Constitution, and that Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence, which would cause me to say, “Does not compute. Malfunction!” in a suddenly more urgent-sounding robot voice with none of the ellipses that characterized my earlier robot voice, then walk into the audience all stiff-limbed and strangle someone. Quit freaking out, dummy, it’s not like I’d be strangling a little kid or anything. In fact, I’d probably hire a second actor to play the audience member, and patriotically stimulate the economy as a bonus. The point is that people shouldn’t take their freedom for granted. Not everyone makes it out of the Hall of Presidents alive. Take off your hat and show some respect, asshole.

July 2010