That’s like a teacher on syllabus day going, here’s the textbook and by the way, I will stab you a couple of times throughout the semester with this knife. Post your responses to the discussion board. … More
That’s like a teacher on syllabus day going, here’s the textbook and by the way, I will stab you a couple of times throughout the semester with this knife. Post your responses to the discussion board. … More
Mr Finkel’s Malteser birthday cake, aged 5 hours, passed away between 6 and 6:25pm on 23rd April 2024. Weighing up the facts like baking ingredients, Mrs Finkel decided that her husband absolutely did not deserve a birthday cake, much less the effort she had put into creating it.… More
The first time Mary Pat overheard Freebird mention how he lost his leg, he sat on the far side of the front porch with Miss Mildred who’d been widowed early in her marriage to a WWII marine. They watched squirrels gather twigs to build their nests in the poplar tree across from Silver Oaks Retirement Community’s parking lot.… More
Smash the front door in with the pickup, says Dad. I considers it: a cement step, the sunken garden next to it, the brick around the frame, the new pickup. How about a locksmith? I built it sixty years ago, he says. It’s pretty strong. But you’re driving, he concedes.… More
My American girlfriend holds my hand loudly, like she’s giving fuck you, cishets because she thinks we’re way behind in Australia.… More
You think you’re better than me? A guy in a bear costume with a ranger hat and hollow eyes. You think because you live in New Jersey you won’t be affected by micro-particles floating south from fires in Canada?… More
What had followed was a cycle, an expulsion of amassed pain. It could not be dispelled nor evaporated, it had to be unleashed the way clouds poured the rains they harbored, rather than condensed into the buried recesses of wells. Despite her sins, she has suffered plenty.… More
Johnny asked if my father had fought in the war. I told him my uncle had died in it, so my father didn’t have to fight. He asked if my father was yellow. “No,” I said. “My father can kill your father,” he said. “He killed lots of people in the war,” he added. “Said it was nothing.” I became concerned Johnny and his father were planning to kill my father.… More
Why do men—most of us, at least—grin through our cracked teeth and dance on our broken ankles, but then crumble, just crumble, when our noses begin to drip? Why aren’t we more embarrassed to be seen being sick, chronically ill, unsensationally uncomfortable? Why aren’t we less embarrassed to be in serious pain?… More
The first time I ever saw boobs was on the streets of Galveston during Mardi Gras. Puddle of Mudd was playing on the Strand and my parents thought twelve was old enough to brave that chaos to see them.… More