Author - Chris Weagel

I was told the internet has built a time machine solely so that people can post photos of themselves going back in time and hugging the inventor of the cowboy hat on Tumblr. Then I was told the internet is a great place to smell jerky burps. Turns out that’s true. Later, my Uncle Anderson was arrested for strapping an internet to his midsection, blindfolding himself, and running full speed towards a line of police officers screaming, “I WANT IT TO BE PART OF YOU, I WANT IT TO BE PART OF YOU!” Early the next morning I wrestled an internet to the floor and threw it up against the wall 6 times when I caught it stealing my wake-up dreams. It ran under the bed vowing to return with a motorcycle and three of its friends. Stepping into my own yard, which is normally full of...

The awful practice of scowling at cereal box mascots has struck our town’s brochures from Visitors Center’s Information Racks forever. We’re just not a pleasant people here. Many of us are part snake. Many of us go out of our way to draw angry/frowny face eyebrows and scowls all over public-facing magazine covers and dentist office waiting room brushing-encouragement posters. Many of us continue to support the drowning of artists festival. Local scouts earn a badge in it each year. Why are we like this? Why did we choose this path? Was it the gold? Was it?! Look, don’t come near us. Our mouths are filled with ash and if you ask us a question we’ll spit it all over your face and go for your wallet. We like the way they smell. The wallets. After they’ve...

None of that explains the large crashing sounds coming from the Paint by Number factory.

There's a local man by the name of Donald. Always has been Donald and always will be Donald.
Donald sits in his living room, each evening, in clear view of the large picture window. No curtains, no shade.
Next to him on the floor, clearly laid out and visible, are four cash registers and seventeen coiled garden hoses. He's not ashamed of any of it. Why would he be?
And Donald sits there, in the dusk, smoking store brand 100s, waiting for someone to be brave. He's waiting for a curious visitor wanting an explanation of his display. And when asked, Donald will reply that it's “certainly none of your business, thank you all the same.”
And for this, locally, Donald is considered a hero.
He'll be dead within 8 years.

He was found with the entire first level of the Donkey Kong video game tattooed across his face.

This is the perfect climate in which to open a Ginger Bear factory. Don't believe the liars. With this scheme you cannot fail. Your family stands to gain much reward and will honor your memory long after you disappear into the sewers, chasing after rupees. These Ginger Bears, working with them is not like working with normal bears. If they bite you, you will become ginger yourself. Total DNA replacement with a very strong spice. It is very difficult to walk as a ginger man. You legs will sand off inside your pants and your neck will never cease being sore. Oh then, yes, you will wish yourself into a room with demons rather than live out a life of painful ginger shocks. You will take anything – including work at the gun range – to get back your true form. Meanwhile these...

Exhausted. Worn out. Collapsed on the desk. Fire limping along. Piles of papers. Books. Books, books. Open, torn, thrown. Piled on everything. Compasses, T-squares, crude measuring devices. Broken animal cages line walls. The doors all left open. Pencils bit in half. Ugly photos of women from the east. In each one they hold a toaster or other desperate appliance. “I can hold. See how I hold? Strong grip. Tell me about prize. When is it mine?” Piles of shoes that do not fit, but, “better hang on to these, could be the answer.” Broken and defeated. A giant, floor-standing globe. Big countries colored in black. Bird skeletons. The whole scene pervaded by a sense of “not being up to the task, of not coming to terms with it. To have wrestled with the very idea of...