Archive for March, 2011


if i’m not complaining, i’m not happy

The well-dressed man walked as though purposefully, but without known destination, through a convention center concourse that would soon be teeming with people, the clap of each step of his Johnston and Murphy soles against the polished stone floor echoing but for a brief instant before being replaced by a new one every second as he strode hurriedly. A subtle furrowing of his brow, difficult to detect, was all that betrayed the panic informing his confident gait’s sense of urgency, as he reminded himself that he needed to remain in motion. By pausing too long, he ran the risk of drawing attention to himself, or worse yet, being recognized later once the search for suspects and persons of interest gained focus and witnesses would be placing faces at the scene immediately following the crime.

He finally happened upon it, after a moment’s worry when it had not been in the exact place he was told beforehand. Careful not to arouse suspicion, he fed a crisp twenty-dollar bill into the machine and began rapidly entering pseudonyms, fabricated occupations, and fake fax and telephone numbers into the specified fields on the glowing monitor. Soon he would have 20 freshly printed (and wholly counterfeited) business cards with which to conceal his identity. Confident at last that the final piece of preparation outlined in his elaborate plan had been completed to satisfaction, this man without a country opened a ceiling hatch and ascended a ladder into the building’s rafters to begin assembling the equipment to enable the broadcast feed from the blocky beige videocameras he would soon be covertly installing in the women’s bathrooms.


choose ye this day whom ye will serve: mr. roper or mr. farley

It was a really tough day when Mr. Horvat told us kids he might have to close the soda shop where we all hung out. The only other time I’ve ever seen a grown-up cry was the time like my dad told us he was gonna have to go away for a while because he made some mistakes that led to us making a bunch of money off an old lady’s life insurance policy, but Mr. Horvat came close when he described how tough things have been for him and his wife in this tough economy since she fell ill. We had a big meeting in the clubhouse in Jimmy Koladycz’s backyard. Pepe Melgarejo talked about how the soda shop had been in Mr. Horvat’s family for sixty years, and that our parents and grandparents had grown up going there. Aamu Kolehmainen said she wished there was something we could do, but we were just a bunch of kids. Djibril N’Diaye told us the soda shop was gonna be torn down and replaced by a tungsten smelting facility and none of us were gonna live to see our fortieth birthday. Then Thaksin Syaap brought up a great idea: we could help make repairs to the soda shop, then drum up business for a Grand Re-Opening!

We spent a whole Saturday painting, hammering, and cleaning up. We worked hard, but by mid-afternoon we had made a ton of progress. The soda shop was starting to take shape, and we were all getting really excited. Even Mr. Horvat, who had lately been smelling like mouthwash, stumbling when he walked, and talking really slowly, came around to tell us what a great job we were doing. Then I saw it: in the kitchen next to the light switch was a note with every first letter capitalized that said “If You’re The Last One To Leave The Room, Please Remember To Turn The Light Of”. It was so confusing. “Of”? It was especially discomforting coming after the note’s author used the correct form of “You’re”. The note had been there so long that the paper’s edges had begun to yellow and crack, and it strained plausibility to imagine that Mr. Horvat had allowed the grammatical error to stand this long. I removed the plate cover from the switch, ostensibly to paint the wall around it, then began surreptitiously untwisting the wires from each other. I had to be careful to only splash a small amount of paint thinner onto the sparks, so the fire marshal wouldn’t suspect that an accelerant had been used when their forensic teams went through the soda shop’s ashes.


magnum, 3.14159265358979323846

Scene opens to a nude REP WHITEFORTH dancing in particularly rhythmless fashion in a Four Seasons hotel room. A voice behind the camera (MRS WHITEFORTH) encourages him.
MRS WHITEFORTH: That’s right. Shake it, dear.
REP WHITEFORTH: Haha! Well, this is great fun, but don’t turn the camera on, of course.
MRS WHITEFORTH: I’ve been recording this entire time!
REP WHITEFORTH: (stops dancing, incredulously asks)What?
MRS WHITEFORTH: Oh, I’ll stop now. Don’t make a big fuss.
REP WHITEFORTH: You know, this could get us into big trouble. (steps behind the camera, as if to embrace MRS WHITEWORTH) I’ve done a lot of good for my constituents over my last six terms, and I did it by engaging in a lot of boring, responsible behavior. (kissing sound) I stay away from the rowdy activities at Georgetown cocktail parties (kissing sound), I haven’t had a girlfriend in years(kissing sound), and I work a lot of late hours. That keeps us out of the tabloids, and able to serve as a voice in Washington for the hardworking folks of the great state of- hey, is that camera still on?
MRS WHITEWORTH: I thought I turned it off when I put it back on the tripod, but check.
REP WHITEWORTH: What does this red light mean?
MRS WHITEWORTH: Oops, it is on. Here, I’ll turn it off for you; you never have any idea how that thing works whenever we‘re filming our wonderful grandchildren during one of our many weekends spent in our beautiful home district.
REP WHITEWORTH: And make sure you delete this video, sweetheart.
MRS WHITEWORTH: Oh, let me keep it, Cecil. This is as close to something like this as I’m ever going to get.
REP WHITEWORTH: Very well. Just make sure you safeguard it.

All right. That’s what we came up with, Congressman Whiteworth. It’s the only way to get your name out of the headlines for sponsoring that guns-for-kids bill someone circulated as an early April Fools’ Day prank. You brought it to the House floor, for fuck’s sake! And though it may seem difficult, we need you to stick to the script, sir. Now, I know you’re probably not wild about the prospect of having your nude image broadcast all over the world, or telling your wife about that early-career affair you had, but this thing overall presents you in a pretty flattering light, so our image counseling wizards thought including a few missteps would humanize you. Oh, and let me talk to our video experts, but I think with a little Hollywood magic, you and Mrs. Whiteworth don’t even have to be in the same room to film it. It shouldn‘t take longer than eight hours to make the whole 38-second video, so we can have it leaked by morning. We need a decision quickly, because I’ve got TMZ on hold right now.


actiz and actrissiz

These are the times when we as a family have to come together and make the best of a bad… no, make that challenging, situation. So let’s look at the bright side here: we’ve all come to a better understanding of one another today. Hey, gang, that’s something we should be celebrating, and definitely not super creeped out by. As far as I’m concerned, we should just enjoy the rest of this online gaming convention as a family, despite the fact that we all lied to each other about even knowing what online gaming was, even as we were in separate rooms for hours a day, engaging in bloody intrafamily conflict totally unbeknownst to each other. Though we relied on elaborately constructed alibis to obscure the fact that we were coming here, the fact of the matter is that we are here, and should just embrace that.

Jayden, I know this is a tough time in your life, son, and that I haven’t been offering you the emotional support to get you through ninth grade. I can’t help thinking that your eerily acute identification with a fantasy world that will never, ever get you laid or employed for that matter is somehow a manifestation of your adolescent frustration with the fact that nothing you ever do is good enough to earn my praise. But my eyes are open to that now, and I’m taking steps to rectify it starting today. You may be having trouble in Earth Science class, champ, but this warlock costume is really top-notch. I’m equally impressed by the fact that you were able to assemble it in our home while covertly using your mom’s sewing machine without any of us noticing.

On the other hand, Emily, this is hard for me to say as your father, but I’m afraid I am very disappointed by your actions and your choices. Now that you’re seventeen years old, we were expecting to be able to trust you with the responsibility of an unsupervised weekend at home. I just… I shudder to think what could have happened to you while hitchhiking across the country to get to this convention. We’re gonna need to have a serious discussion about this reckless behavior when we get home, and I expect to be reimbursed in full for the money we left you, which I specifically said was for groceries.

Of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge some wrongdoing on my part here. Kids, it was wrong of me to mislead you in our family budget meeting by saying we didn’t have the money to enroll you in that SAT/ACT prep course, without mentioning that the reason is because I dipped into your college funds to buy my plane ticket to San Diego. Furthermore, I’d like to apologize for telling you all at various times in the heat of gameplay to “fuk off n di3, n00bz”, while shooting you in the head with an enchanted arrow. I assure you that I would have treated you with more respect if I had known that the Stratum 6 Gremlin Nymph I had just cut in half with my mighty Wrathblade was my sweet little girl. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to very gently break the news to your mom that you guys accidentally saw the guy that played Lieutentant Worf on Star Trek: the Next Generation signing her breasts.


how the breast was fun: an erotic journey

Brandon approached slowly. He had no way of knowing how the news he had to deliver would be received, in much the same way that when a band goes in a new, more experimental direction, the bass player, for instance, is probably really nervous right before their album is released or leaked. He took a deep breath and tried to find some courageous words, but none seemed to come. Then he approached Randi and started to talk to her for a while, about just normal stuff at first, but then he thought that enough time had passed to where he could probably try to carefully transition to the thing he really wanted to talk about.

“Randi, I need to tell you that I am looking for a new job.”

Randi, upon hearing this, was really sad and did not know what to do. She started to say something, but Brandon pressed his finger up to her face and was like, “Shhhhhh.” His finger that smelled like the sandwich stuff in the sandwich shop where they both worked, which is where they were talking because they were at work. She began to cry because her feminine heart was fundamentally different from a man’s heart in the way that men are from Mars, and women are from Venus, and so she had a hard time controlling her opinions. If only she could be quiet for five fucking seconds she could hear the reason Brandon was looking for a new job.

“The reason I am looking for a new job is not because I don’t enjoy working with you. It’s because Al’s Classic Sub Shop has a policy discouraging romantic conduct between managers and register personnel. That’s right, I am hoping to date you.”

Randi was very excited about that, because the whole time they had been working together, she had been falling in love with him, and all the hours she had spent telling him all about the many guys she was dating had only served to make her fall further in love with Brandon, who was right there all along when she needed him, even helping her move and also helping her set up a scavenger hunt for Randi and that dickhole Marc’s six-month anniversary. Planning the scavenger hunt had been a lot of work, with little notes at all the places they had been on dates recounting the details of all those dates, but finally Randi appreciated that what she had been looking for had been under her nose this whole time.

Randi said to Brandon, “There is this one little thing we need to do before you leave here.” Then she took Brandon by the hand and led him into the walk-in cooler where they kept all the vegetables to put on the sandwiches. “Wow, it sure is cold in here, Brandon. Why don’t you come and warm me up?” With the fervor of a zealot, he ripped off her underwear, which resembled an eyepatch adorned with lace and sequins. The minutes they had together were scarce, so they devoured those minutes like locusts that eat all the crops and then the farmer has to declare bankruptcy and his wife loses all respect for him.

Three hours later, their lovemaking was super intense, like two suns colliding into one another, and a black hole formed around their grossly engorged privates which swallowed all the vegetables in the walk-in cooler, and all the customers in the sandwich shop who had been listening to Brandon and Randi getting busy, and then the whole town, and then the planet, and then other planets. The black hole became known to extraterrestrial travelers as the “Star System Devourer” and was so feared that no craft would dare use it as a wormhole, despite the growing legend that the wormhole would have finally made possible the yearned-for direct trade route between Xarxyyx and Tamiflu-44.

March 2011