America is a land of Abundant Plesantries. It’s a land of dealer-operators with one bad eye. Each one all set and ready to guide you and your family straight down the tiger’s throat for a simple handshake. America is a land where you thank these men for such compassion. You thank them by sawing off your own leg and offering to eat it, right there in front of them. America is a land where everybody’s always ready to put on a show. It’s a land of stilt-walkers who truly know how to work those things. It’s a land of people who run the ceiling fan all through winter because they read the book and know how to work it. They can reach the switch. America is a land filled with guys like your Uncle Mike. A man who, thanks to the unaccountable whims of fate, no longer...
I must do everything in my power to protect this cardboard treasure chest. It is filled with delicious, home-made caramel corn. Oh what a delight.
All-natural butterscotch flavors. No plastic liner. Just cardboard printed up with a faux-wood pattern and caramel corn. The lock on its lid is no more than a drawing.
It’s useless against the spiders.
OK. I’m going to set my knife on the table now and begin counting up the pieces again. I’ll use this sandwich bag as a plastic glove. I’ll speak the numbers out loud. You repeat them.
And get Mother on the line. I want her to hear this.
I would love to kick a yowling, yapping, barking dog square in the face with my workboot. Each and every day these horrible creatures mindlessly bark at me as I walk by their owners’ homes. Their incessant screaming accomplishes nothing. It doesn’t even burn calories. They get fatter and fatter each day, the fat pushing their eyeballs out from their skulls and swelling up their tongues. These dogs have but a single thought: destroy Chris. If only, Dear God, this metal fence wasn’t in my way, I could get my jaws on him and tear his flesh for having the audacity to walk near me. Ecstasy, true ecstasy, I would have it, Lord. The pain and emptiness of not being human would lift – however temporarily – if only I, a lowly dog, could crush him. Give me my chance...
Another Saturday night spent ironing plastic shopping bags.
Once they’re crisp, they go right into the bubble mailer and then off to the Library of Congress.
During my evening stroll, I came upon the first sidewalk chalk swastika of spring.
Right there on Gloria Street.
The artist placed it between a smiling moo-cow and the name ‘Alexis’ in block lettering.
Reverse mortgage informational seminar-themed pinball games. That’s what we design, that’s what we sell.
Check back tomorrow for the kickstarter link.