Dad was in Da Nang when I was born, so he wasn’t there pacing, wearing holes in the maternity ward carpeting, making funny faces at the bassinet just beyond his reach. He was loading an M16. He named it after me.… Continue Reading
Venezuela was bombed. We bombed them, I mean. These things don’t just go and happen. I had the feeling, because of events that happened later, important events to the story, but no more or less important than the bombing, that I bombed them, Venezuela I mean.… Continue Reading
“Where are our darlings?” we ask, on our knees, patting the ground, groping around in the dark. We’ve eaten your bagels with shmear!… Continue Reading
Was Paula part of God’s plan? Or were you following your dick’s plan? Either way, one of you is a massive asshole.… Continue Reading
I see a billboard from the church across the street, and it says God Will Wash Away All Tears, but between the dusty glass and the little girl in the window, the last word is covered, so it reads all scary-like: no tears, no tears, no tears.… Continue Reading
When we both caught the flu (him from his recent trip to Japan, and I from tonguing him for two hours on Sunday night), I found myself on my knees. “Please, Doc,” I said at the clinic, desperate, “Tell us we shouldn’t chew these pills.”… Continue Reading
Jug wine never pretends to be something it isn’t, and if you’re drinking it you’re probably past the pretense too. Jug wine is the definition of punk rock.… Continue Reading
They’ll find each other in the dairy aisle, and she’ll say, “Oh I was looking for you!” and he’ll go pull out his massive credit card and massive dick and maybe they’ll have sex right there, in front of the probiotic yogurt and alternative butter.… Continue Reading
They call me Randall here, a retired accountant. Once I was MC Assassin.… Continue Reading
I was old enough to know shit was going on that my folks wanted to hide from me, but young enough not to care. I had my own secrets.… Continue Reading