I remember looking out the window of my dad’s apartment on the tenth floor, where I was going to stay for a few months while I looked for a job and an apartment in the city. This was back in 2005 and I would have been 21.
I got into a bit of finger-painting to pass the time while we all wait for death.
It occurred to me that the audience for posts about COVID-19 might be people from the future. Maybe they want to know what it was like to be human, way back when everybody was locked inside, alone, to stop themselves from killing each other.
There were moments where the doctors seemed to imply it might have been something else (particularly, cocaine), but then they’d run another blood test and go oh, shit.
She spoke about the stars as if she’d visited them, but then claimed not to be all that interested in astronomy.
Maybe today is your great big day off. But what will you do with it? You can’t just watch the telly all day, because even Alex Trebek gets a little stale after a while. Ever since he lost the moustache things haven’t been the same. When was that, 2003?
I never really liked going to work. It seems fine enough at first, but about a month or two into any job I’ve had I’ve come to the conclusion that a month or two is pretty much enough of that.
I came across a dead bird on the side of the road and I thought, hey! There you are, there’s my guy! It was just what I needed.
Some new faces this past year. Don’t forget your toothbrush.
I have no particular need to explain this to you, but I’ve been collecting pictures of myself yawning for about 10 years now.
Videos are like pictures, but longer. This is what one day of my life felt like.
Random shit I’ve done recently. Let’s not be precious about it.
The skylords have decided not to drop any snow this year, but to come right down and gently lay a sheet of ice across the ground. The fog just kind of rolled in and splayed out over the earth until it hardened and stuck there. Lazy and uninspired.
From my perspective, getting drunk and falling into a forest where I’d heard a girl would be makes a whole lot of sense. There is really no reason I wouldn’t do that. But if I was to try and set that stage a thousand times over, I would be a little surprised if a girl showed up once.
Dating a writer is a terrible idea, mostly because writers fucking write about everything.
In which our hero looks at a pretty girl.
Did you know that Paul Quarrington died of lung cancer a few years ago? Of course you didn’t, because you have no fucking idea who Paul Quarrington was. But even if you did know who Paul Quarrington was you certainly wouldn’t have known that he died of lung cancer a few years ago, because if you did you would have told me.
Who doesn’t like a good girl? Well, not a good girl.
I guess I thought it would be a great place to watch the rapture, because cows and religion go hand in hand as personal interests, but when that didn’t pan out I had to find something else to do.
I have decided to convert to a standing desk, for several reasons. First, because I am so much better than you at everything—including standing.
On the day I was born I remember very clearly the first words spoken to me: “Son, you are a Scorpio. Don’t let it go to your head.”
An aggregator is a website that lets you bypass the free and diverse dream of the Internet to be more efficiently fed only the content your peers have selected for you in advance.
I had been under the impression that if they pulled a tooth, they would put in a new tooth. I guess you’re supposed to ask. It all happened so quickly, and I wasn’t briefed in advance. I just had a toothache is all.
Originally written for a now-defunct feminist zine called Buttercup, where I was tasked with providing a male perspective under the title: The Scrote of Wisdom.
Once you see me soaring through the air like a gazelle, there’s no way you’ll be able to resist my awkward advances.
I know a thing or two about the topic, and this is one crazy badass sandwich. I’ve never enjoyed such a rich and varied flood of overwhelming, yet harmonious flavors. Not in a sandwich, and not in anything else. The first thing I did when I began to chew that first bite was call my cat into the room, because I wanted another soul to bear witness to this.
I think the people at the 7-Eleven hit the “Large Slurpee” button on the register as soon as I walk in the door. I get to the counter and they just smile and take my money. There’s no typing or beeping. They know what I’m there for.
Today we learn how to be a proper badass.
Hey pretty girl, did you go to college?
I just can’t even, but here are some pictures.
The bus was a sea of grey and expressionless faces, contrasted by yellow safety rails, garish advertisements, and a dozen songs playing at once. An overstimulating mess of nothing, like a casino or a carnival, but on the bus not one person present wants the noise.
Brandi. Spelled like that, I’m pretty sure. I remember talking to her on MySpace. She was into the same bands as me, and she was skinny, and she thought I was smart. That was my type when I was 20.
This update may never have been written if not for the brave actions of an unknown tree surgeon.
The first time I saw a boob in person I was twelve. The girl was fourteen or fifteen, and her boobs were probably bigger than my head. I had been trying to get her to take her shirt off for months, and one day I came up with the plan that got the job done.
This was a pretty typical, hot afternoon in the summer. The only reason it sticks in my memory is because it’s the day I met The Game Master.
Say what you will about a man of the cloth with his hand in a little boy’s pants, but in this instance it seems to have worked out for the better.
My dad got me a sickass water pistol. It’s one of my earlier and most vivid memories to this day, because I was so impressed with the thing I lost my goddamn mind. This wasn’t some chump’s plastic squirt gun, but a powerful, motorized weapon…
I don’t have a memory of being born, which is probably not surprising. What’s surprising is that I THINK I do remember it, even if I know that has to be wrong.