I am Not a Monkey!

“Your face, so melancholic and phlegmatic”, the painter said. “I will paint it in shades of green, and greenish baby blue, with a bit of greenish red and greenish orange to hint at the choleric aspects of your personality”

I could not tell if the painter looked bug eyed because I had told her the surprising news, or because she actually had big bug eyes. Otherwise, her face was vacant, vapid, and blank. Her mouth, slack. Her jaw, also slack. Her nose and chin, fixed and unblinking. Her whole flat demeanor made her lips petulant and her skull, sardonic.

I turned to Claudette Akins. A range of emotions flickered through her simian face: from stolid to deadpan to straight, back to deadpan, and then on to glazed and inscrutable.

“I adore you so, my little, lovable monkey”

“I am not a monkey, Godammit” Claude huffed. “How many times do I have to tell you? I am an ape, and not just any ape but a great ape, a Silver Back Gorilla. Monkeys have a tail, and apes do not, for Christsakes!”

“You could get surgery. You could get a tail attached, and then you would be my lovable monkey.”

“Why are you always trying to change me. Can’t you accept me for who I am?” Claudette put her gorilla face in her gorilla paws and began to cry. Not just a little, but a heart-rending monkey—I'm sorry, ape—howl.

“Please, you are making it quite difficult for me to paint.” The painter stabbed at her palette with her brush.

Oh, here we go again, I thought. Truth be told, I didn’t really love Claudette. I was only dating her for one of her paws, so I could have my greatest wish granted. Eternal happiness. Which for me, was having a lifetime supply of silly putty.

Of course, her paw would need to be amputated before I could cast the proper wish-granting incantation. Not a huge sacrifice for her. She would still have three other perfectly good paws.

Most importantly, for the spell to work she needed to be a monkey. Not an ape. I knew very well what the difference was, but I had been totally rebuffed by numerous spider monkeys, howler monkeys, and marmosets on Tinder, Bumble, and OKcupid.

Claudette was the only primate who had any interest in me, but she could be so needy and clingy. This relationship was taking a real emotional toll on me.

“I’m so sorry, Claude, darling. Of course, I love you the way you are.”

”I need a hug,” she said. “I need a hug with everyone!”

So the three of us had a big group hug.

“I know what you’re all about,” the painter whispered in my ear while we were hugging. “Claudette, will be safe from you. I have a magical paint brush that was forged in the fires of Icelandic volcanoes by elves, and since I have painted your portrait with it, I can oblige you to truly fall in love with Claudette, even if you are completely unworthy of her, for her own happiness.”



My memoir, which I have toiled on for many days, is dedicated to the many important people in my life.

To my Dad who abandoned me as a child, but when we reunited later, donated a second-hand stroller to me for my own child, which would have been really handy if the courts hadn’t terminated my parental rights. I’m not sure why they did that. I thought everything was going really well with my parenting classes and therapy.

To my other Dad who has always been there for me when I needed money. I know we don’t really love each other any more, but you’re handy to have around. I forgive you for putting me in a hold, and I’m sorry that I bit your hand so hard. It could all have been avoided if you would just understood what I was telling you.

To my mother, who kicked me out of her home, because her daughter from that other guy who was not one of my fathers accused me of sexual abuse. Which was perfectly OK, because I was able to live with that really nice, obese woman who couldn’t get around but was able to run a meth lab out of her home to provide for the all the people she let live with her, including that mother and son who probably murdered her and fled to the Turtle Mountain Indian reservation.

To my other mom who I haven’t spoken to in years, but still have that one fond memory of, which I will cherish forever. And I am sorry that I triggered you so much that you couldn’t spend time with me or talk to me, because you had your own childhood was also pretty shitty.

To my boyfriend, who is going to be here from the East Coast any second now. It’s been a long while since I’ve heard from you. What’s going on? I still believe that you did have a vasectomy.

Office Emails of the Old Ones

If someone does another reply all to the company wide distribution list, the walls will bleed red with the sacrifice of the old ones who cannot grasp how distribution email lists work

Please hang your human skin suits in the skin suit closet and not over your chair or the side of your cubicle. We don’t want higher deities visiting our offices and thinking we’re still the amphibious demigods of the last teraannum.

Please use Outlook Calendar to schedule your use of the portal. There are many legitimate reasons for to project yourself into the human dimension. However, many others would like to use the portal, and it’s not considerate to block our portal time when you don’t even a have a well organized virgin sacrifice in the human dimension to facilitate your travel through the portal. Please have an agenda and use your time with the portal wisely.

I want to make it clear that we do not condone the actions of the Gugs. They do not speak or act on our behalf. That is exactly why we banished them to the underworld. Any fraternization with Gugs must be reported and cleared by the Inhuman Resources department.

Attendance to the all staff meeting is mandatory. Inspirational CEO, Hastur the Unspeakable, will be sharing the company’s vision in accordance with the Yellow Sign. Hastur will be speaking through the incarnation of Feaster from Afar. Stick around for the raffle and happy hour afterwards. Lucky raffle-winners will have their brains siphoned out of their skulls by the Feaster’s razor-tipped tentacles.

Please keep e-mail communications professional. It is not appropriate to say that we will be *marketing the crap* out of the second coming of Cthulhu. Likewise, we should not be referring to the Rituals and Summoning department as bunch of fucking dumb asses.


What if God did care about all the people? Like you and I can care for two guinea pigs. Or three dogs. Three dogs are a lot to handle. Maybe, for God 7.5 billion people are like having three dogs. A lot to handle, but manageable.

Or maybe God has multiple personalities and each personality is handling a manageable group of people who worship in a way that is tailored to that personality

The God of Abraham cares for the vengeful and fearful who want their God to hurt the different people.

Jesus God cares for the compassionate socialists who have an unsubstantiated faith in the good intentions of people in general

Gaia God cares for the people that thought Jill Stein would make a good world leader and president of the United States. Vaccinations? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Free Market God cares for the people whose religion is doubtful economic theories involving tax cuts and invisible hands that somehow direct economic activity in ways have never actually been observed. That’s how faith works!

Tax Proposals

If I were president, this is how I would restructure the tax code

  • Tax on heterosexual anal sex. Straight men pay 5% of their income for each penetration. Women get a refund of 5% of their income for each penetration.

  • Avocado tax. Assessing a 100% VAT on Avocado purchases.

  • $3000 tax credit for not having children

  • Renters deduction, deduct total annual rent from taxable income

  • MPG tax. $100 credit for each MPG of your car/truck above 30. If you don’t own a car/truck, you’re taxable income is $0.00

  • Rugby tax. Any citizen that has not played at least 80 min of rugby in the taxable year owes an additional 10% of their income in taxes

  • Rugby medical deduction. Any medical expenses resulting from a rugby injury can be deducted at 5x the cost of the medical expenses.

  • Correcting the divorce penalty. Divorce couples may claim an additional 5 deductions.

The Significance of Being Named Kurt

My family did not overtly celebrate any sort of German heritage. I’m not even sure what my family heritage actually is. When I asked my family about my family tree for a school project, they seemed pretty clueless. My grandfather on my father’s side had some theory about how we were Pennsylvania Dutch, and our original surname was Gristman, and we were all millers or something. As far as I know, this theory has no basis in fact.

My sister did do one of those through-the-mail DNA thingies, which was a 40/40 German/English split and 20% of other stuff.

At any rate, my parents and uncles and whatnot on my mother’s side seemed to have a bit of a German fetish. They all studied German in high school and college. My parents watched Soccer Made in Germany on PBS in the 70s and 80s.

And I ended up with the name Kurt. Auf Deutsch spelling. Not Curt or Curtis or anything like that. And as a result, I developed a bit of a German fetish. Rooting for the Deutschland World Cup soccer team. Studying German myself as my language elective.

But I must be more English. I’d take an imperial stout or porter over a German pilsner or lager every day. And I play rugby for fuck’s sake.

Tinder Profiles of the Old Ones

Species: Great Old One
Gender: Indeterminate
Age: Since the beginning of human time

A trillion millennia young!

Get me out of this app. I’ve been stuck in R’lyeh for too long. Really need someone at my side when my followers beckon me from my exile and am able to smite them and everyone else to reclaim the earth for the water elementals.

No Drama.

Species: Outer God
Gender: Male
Age: Beyond all time and space

No offence, I’m sure you’re a fine Old One or god of some sort, but at this time only looking for mortal human women who are attracted to a conglomeration of glowing spheres. Swipe left if you’re not.

Love Netflix and fluent in sarcasm.

Wilbur Whately
Species: Semi-Human
Gender: Male
Age: 10

Mature for my age., the blood of the old ones courses through my veins. I have the body and intellect of a man in his twenties. Seeking a virgin that I can sacrifice and open the door that will summon the Old Ones, close relatives of mine. Family is important to me.

My brother is a hideous monster, big as a barn, who consumes cattle. He is the most important person in my life. We are both part of the same package. If that doesn’t work for you, swipe left.

Lavinia Whately
Species: Human
Gender: Female
Age: 48

I like to wander amidst thunderstorms in the hills and read the odorous books that have been passed through generations. Family is important to me!

I have a son, Wilbur, who is the most important thing to me. He already has a father, Yog-Sothoth, and doesn’t need another one!

Only date vaguely male beings that are at least 620 feet tall

Species: Cephalopod
Gender: Female
Age: 3

Just looking for friends!

My special power is predicting World Cup soccer games and escaping down drain pipes when imprisoned by homo sapiens oppressors. I also do a great job of squeezing through really thin pipes and tunnels that are way smaller than me.

If you voted homo sapiens in the last election, swipe left.

Species: Amphibian God
Gender: Indeterminate
Age: Millennia

Looking for a partner in crime!

Love to travel! The Steps of Deeper Slumber, the Fantastic Realms, Celephais, the Plateau of Leng. I get around!

But I also like to relax and slumber in my home under the lakes of Ib, lounging about in the skins of the humans from the city of Sarnoth.

Species: Unknown
Gender: Unknown
Age: Unknown

I’m an open book. Just your typical ancient inter-dimensional same-gender entity. If you want to know more, just ask!

Those Who are Fortunate

One day Asher was walking home from work, being particularly pleased with himself. He had just told it like it is, for the benefit of one of his co-workers. (He worked at a video store when they were at their nadir of viability. Still video stores seemed pure to him. He enjoyed the face to face interaction with people that needed someone to intervene on their behalf for greater self-awareness. You just didn’t get that with streaming services).

At any rate, a lot of terrible things had happened to his coworker. She had been abused and molested as a child. Abandoned by a boyfriend when she was pregnant, so she had to pay for the abortion with the emotional support of someone who was a friend at the time. She had married, later, but now that was on the rocks. It was always a struggle, but they loved each other, she said.

He had very little sympathy for her. As he patiently tried to explain on numerous occasions, all of these things were her fault. Everything happened for a reason. Negative people attract bad things, and positive people attract wonderful things. Obviously, all these things happened to her, because her thoughts were wrong. She should try meditating.

If you meditated more, you would find yourself having more positive thoughts and good things, not bad things, would be in her life. After all my higher power doesn’t give you more in your life than you can handle, and if you off yourself (she had confessed that she had thought about it), it’s not because it was more than you can handle. It was because you couldn’t handle what you should have been able to handle, because it wouldn’t be happening to you if you couldn’t handle it.

She got angry of course. People in general, Asher had found, just couldn’t handle the truth. Asher on the other hand was all about truth. His life was great, and it was all because of his positive attitude.

Hard right turn.

He was so pleased with himself, that he didn’t notice the ring of mushrooms he’d stepped into and paused, checking his phone to evaluate his Tinder matches according to his high standards of who a suitable human being was. Cindy would not do at all. She was looking for someone accepting and non-judgmental. She wouldn’t do at all. How would people know how they could be better people, if they couldn’t hear what was wrong with them. Some people were just so defensive, he thought.

Then the trio of troll-sized fairies nabbed him and dragged him to their lair in another supernatural dimension. It happened fast. They beat him and threw him to the ground. Stripped him. Kicked him. Stole from him.

“Why is this happening to me,” he cried. “What did I do?”

They laughed.

New Years Resolutions

  • I will lose 9 pounds.

  • I will eat healthy.

  • I will exercise more.

  • I will master the 1985 arcade game Paperboy, while riding a virtual bicycle.

  • I will save money.

  • I will make new friends.

  • I will take up a new hobby

  • I will lose 900 pounds.

  • I will get to bed earlier at night, and masturbate earlier in the morning.

  • I will read more true crime fiction

  • I will learn a new skill.

  • I will feast on the hearts of my enemies and remember to take the recycling out every Tuesday.

  • This time, I will successfully recite the incantations from the Necronomicon and summon Cthulhu to pave the way for the return of the Old Ones to harvest humanity, because the Old Ones really love a good skin suit. And they have a good dental plan!

  • I will stop dealing Dick Clark’s blood on the black market.

  • I will hone my tracking skills with the goal of entrapping and dispatching the next yacht full of hapless ne’re-do-wells, who veer to close to my secret human hunting island, in record time.

  • I will get a new job.

  • I will choose a successor to lead my post-World War II alternate history of a totalitarian Lichtenstein that rules the world.

  • I will stick to that Gelato and vaginal transudate diet for the entire year.

  • I will stop spending so much money on my armadillo foot fetish.

  • I will adopt an army of puppies and train them to hunt in Pokemon Go

Twas the Night before a Southern Comfort Christmas

Throughout the house, nothing was stirring, not even a mouse, except I had begun to construct elaborate traps, like the ones that the Cajuns had built in my favorite movie, starring Keith Carradine and Powers Booth, about a National Reserve unit training in the Bayou. 

I loved that movie so much that I watched it every day. Even at work, I would sneak a peak on my phone for a few minutes. Soldiers slogging through the swamp, haunted by the drone of cicadas. The slaughter of the pig at the Cajun feast. I would ease out of bed in the middle of the night and watch the movie in all its giant flat screen glory, glowing effervescently like the fog hanging over the dense Bayou. 

One day, my son stepped into one of the traps. It was a fair representation of the one that killed Pvt Cribbs, portrayed by TK Carter. I had welded giant spikes to a bed frame, so that it looked like some sort of medieval torture device. It sprung out of a trap door that I had built and slammed into him. His body just hung on the spikes, just like that Pvt Cribbs, gagging on his own blood. 

My son looked at me as best as he could with wide, gradually dying eyes that rolled in my general direction but couldn't quite get a fix on me. His mouth hung open; blood bubbled out and over his chin.  

It was tearing me up to see him like that, and know that I had caused this horrible event. I swore to myself that I would not watch that movie again and took a step toward him, to offer comfort in his final moments. 

But out of the corner of my eye on our wall mounted TV. I could see my favorite scene, the one where the Cajuns blast the crap out of this fat guy--I don't even know how he was in the National Guard in that kind of shape.  

When the scene was over and I returned my attention to my son, he was dead. His glassy eyes pointed to the ceiling. I noticed that some of the plaster was peeling.  

Needless to say this strained the relationship with the rest of my family. It had ramifications in the bedroom with my spouse, who withheld sex from me and threatened to leave me, so I had to chain her to the fireplace.   

And my daughter could not be coaxed out of the main HVAC duct where she had begun to hide. I tried blasting her out with dynamite, but she just scurried deeper into the maze of vents. One of the blasts occurred a bit too close to the fireplace, which made me a single man.  

My daughter is still scurrying around in those ducts, but I expect I’ll find her, eventually.

Short Wave Number Stations

76582, 76582, 40822, 40822, 76582, 76582, 40822, 40822, 76582, 76582, 40822, 40822, 76582, 76582, 40822, 40822 ...
(Hey you, Hey you, Hey you, Hey you ...)

Lincolnshire Poacher
FBBBAGFEDF: 5422, 5746, 6485, 6900, 6959, 7337, 7755, 8464, 9251, 10426, 11545, 12603, 13375, 14487, 15682, 16084, 16475
(Please pick up some coffee and a meat sandwich from the butcher. Beef or chicken. No pork. No fish.)

Nancy Adam Susan
Baker, Edward, Charlie; William, Susan, Peter; Otto, Susan, Susan; Baker, Edward, Charlie; Otto, Susan, Susan; Frank, Young, Peter; Nancy, Adam, Susan; Frank, Young, Peter; Otto, Susan, Susan
(We need to talk. The kid is failing Algebra. Parent teacher conference in two weeks)

Swedish Rapsody
87999, 15703, 15703, 06067, 06067, 52663, 52663, 52663, 52663, 54009, 54009, 90618, 90618, 16274, 16274, 95108, 95108, 41089, 41089, 09096, 09096, 09096, 09096, 09096, 09096, 09096, 09096, 09096, 09096, 87999
(I see a little silhouetto of a man; Scaramouch, scaramouch will you do the fandango; Thunderbolt and lightning very very frightening me; Gallileo, Gallileo, Gallileo, Gallileo, Gallileo Figaro - magnifico)

Big Data

Spreadsheet: Root cause analysis of urination, March 2006 to May 2nd 2009   

Hypothesis: Urination is primarily an intentional, sometimes vindictive, squid-like response. 

Now we'll get down to the bottom of this, thought Rick Pernumero, a data analyst for IBM. If there was one thing his professional life had taught him was that, with a root cause analysis, he could determine the underlying causes of his child's urination and put a stop to it. He resolved to accumulate the necessary data in an incident report until he had gathered a statistically significant volume of data points. 


Date: March 12
Incident: Asked child to buck up.  

Future incidents were not limited to states of buckled or unbuckled, but also over the quality of buckling, such as around the neck not being a valid state of being buckled. 

Date: March 12
Incident: First day driving to new school

The child immediately wet her pants when he announced the trip right before they were to leave. Furthermore, for the duration of the trip, the child flailed their feet around the gear shift and pulled his hair while they were en route to the destination. 

Rick recorded several more similar incidents related to trips to other schools, medical visits, and other daily errands. Despite several near death experiences, He was confident that he was slowly putting another piece of the puzzle together.  

Date: March 19
Incident: Asked to complete an assigned chore: sort through the recycling for curbside pick-up  

Structure was important, he had been told by numerous mental health professionals and community resources, so he did his best to implement a regimen of chores and other routine activities.  

However, child would offer to sweep the floors when asked to vacuum the rugs. When the offer to vacuum the rugs was accepted, child would express a preference for sweeping the floors. When offer to sweep the floors was accepted, child thought it might be better to vacuum rugs. 

Still, he felt he was making great progress. Although no other assigned chores were completed that didn't result in a physical fight, recycling was completed 80% of the time and only 23% of the time with a urination incident!    

Date: April 15
Incident: Asked child to simplify eight sixths

Efforts to do homework were abandoned, but Rick felt that he had accrued an adequately sized homework urination data sample

Date: April 17
Incident: Asked child to give Dad a hug

Date: April 21
Incident: Asked child to eat carrots

Urination incidents appeared to be food-specific. Pizza, strawberries, yams, spinach, and ice cream did not trigger urination incidents. 

Date: April 22
Incident: Asked child if they had wiped their butt with the towel?” 

Date: April 23
Incident: Asked child to brush teeth

This request was discontinued after multiple toothbrushes disappeared. Presumed dropped down heating ducts or buried in the backyard. 

Date: April 25
Incident: Asked child to take medication

Date: April 27
Incident: “Ole Plaid Jacket” 


Date: May 2
Incident: Admonished child for getting silly putty all over the chair

Date: Just about every damned day
Incident: Asked child if they needed to use the bathroom

Date: Just about every time every time I left my dinner unattended and returned to find that it had been eaten.
Incident: Asked child what the fuck happened to my dinner

Date: May 23
Incident: Asked child Why is there fucking coffee in my laptop? 

After 3 months, Rick Pernumero compiled his data and ran it though statistical software and applied factor, cluster, and principal component analyses, regressions, and other analytical techniques. And because he could not concede that there was no discernible pattern in the data and the child's behavior was as random as a roll of the dice, he concluded that he didn't have a sufficient data sample and decided to gather more and more until he could finally see a light at the end of the tunnel.

Cult Wanted

Recently, I have had to admit that I am powerless over my own poor judgement and decision-making. My life has become unmanageable, but I have come to believe that a power greater than my self can restore me to sanity. I have, therefore made the decision to turn my life and will over to a God of my own understanding. In my best judgement, that God should be the charismatic and narcissistic leader of a cult.

But it has to be the right cult. What I'm looking for: 

I love playing games and seek out drama. I need a cult characterized by discord that encourages conflict among members. A cult based on the concept of radical honesty, where I can just tell it like it is, would probably be a good match. Zen cults where everybody just chills need not apply.

I'm equally comfortable wearing togas, potato sacks, hippy garb, or nothing at all. I pretty much look great in whatever I wear, so I can adhere to any cult dress code. Except I will not wear dress pants.

I don’t care for the suicide pact variety of cults, and I'm not chopping any wood.

I like to travel, so a cult that is constantly on the move to avoid the authorities would be a good match.

I play hard, but I don't like to work too hard. I'd like a cult that doesn't demand too much from me in exchange for all that it provides. While I'm happy to enjoy all the benefit the cult has to offer, I'd prefer that I not have to work too hard for those benefits. Don't expect me to support recruiting activities that would require walking door-to-door, canvasing airports, or otherwise require too much effort.

I'm quite sensitive to the cold so extra points for cults located in remote areas of tropical forests. Exclusive resorts would be even better. I really enjoy fresh pineapple and coconut. And monkeys are funny. 

The first things people notice about me are my eyes, then my smile, then my kleptomania. Over time, as we grow together, the cult can expect that its communal property will become my personal property. 

I love beef, so a cult that also raises cattle would be ideal. Typically, I eat three pounds of beef a day. 

I am an Eris-loving Discordian. I believe that scissors are the ultimate consciousness, and all living beings reach this state of consciousness through a series of reincarnations from meat to vegetable to mineral to scissors. I am meat, but hope soon to be with my brother, James, who is a cauliflower that I nurture under my pillow.  

I know most cults demand unquestioning allegiance, obedience, and conformity, but if you can't respect my religious beliefs, we might not be a match. 

Finally, good dental and health plans are must-haves for my new cult. 

I only respond to the name Jo Sorebella Herbal Relaxer Calhoun Kikogawa Urithrawiel of Dralinna. So there's that. 

Serious inquiries only.  

Kik Name: josorebellaherbalrelaxercalhounkikogawaurithrawielofdralinna29

Wedding Ring

Once upon a time, there was a Daddy, a Mommy, and a child. The child liked to steal things. One day Daddy’s wedding ring was missing. He’d leave it on the dresser before he went to bed at night. And put it on again in the morning. Sometimes, he would forget. How could he forget? Well, honestly, there was some distance between Mommy and Daddy. 

And one day Daddy realized he had not put it on after a few days of forgetting, and it was gone. Mommy and Daddy went through the usual drill to locate the ring.  

Room searches over and over again. Secret compartments in bed springs were searched. Access panels to plumbing. Under piles of clothes. In drawers full of clothes. Between books.  Some of Mommy’s jewelry was discovered. Skeleton keys to china cabinets. Old moldy oranges. A can of condensed milk. But no ring. 

Fruitless inquisitions. I did not steal Daddy’s ring. I do not go into your room. We have in our hands right now things that came from our room. Those are things that you are stealing from me, and if I did go into your room. It’s your fault for not locking the door. We used to lock the door. But you battered down in one of your violent fits. That was your fault for not buying a stronger door.   

Mom and Daddy kept looking over the next several days and weeks, but over time just gave up. They couldn’t afford another ring, so they made due. Maybe, it had actually just been lost. Stranger things had happened. 

Years passed with great difficulty. 

Then one day, walking outside his daughter’s room, Daddy saw the ring, lying on the floor. He picked it up and wondered what am I going to do with this now? He had filed for divorce 2 months ago. 

I'm Sorry You Made Me Do That

I’m sorry that you left the meat for the cook-out unattended in the kitchen. It was a foregone conclusion that I would take a crap on the floor and mix my feces into the bowl of raw hamburger. What did you expect would happen? You should have been much more careful.

I’m sorry you left your wedding ring on your nightstand in plain sight. Although, you have told me many times not to go into your room, you did not lock the door, so it really was your fault that I borrowed your ring.

Yes, I did return it. When I left it on the floor for you to find, perhaps before you vacuumed it up.

I’m sorry, but you should have known what I would do with silly putty.

I'm also sorry that you left food in the pantry. Of course, I would eat it all. Yes, even drinking the can of condensed milk. But you only have yourself to blame.

I'm especially sorry that you stored all the tools in the basement where anyone could get at them. It might have been more sensible to secure them in a locked room or at least kept the most lethal ones in a padlocked tool locker. Why you did not, is certainly perplexing to me.

But since you didn't, I now have all sorts of tools at my disposal when you fled into the room with the rest of the family. I could attack the door jam with the plyers, and there were hammers and crow bars and hack saws.

I don't even understand why you had all this stuff. Most you hardly ever used.

Except the drain rooter. You used that a lot, because the upstairs sink was getting clogged up all the time. Which of course, was because you kept trying to get me to brush my teeth, and it was much easier to squirt the tube of toothpaste down the drain.

And while I'm getting all my apologies out of the way, I am sorry that you were so damn insistent that I brush my teeth. You thought I had thrown the electric toothbrush down the air conditioning vent, but actually, I buried it in the backyard.

I think that about covers it. If I missed anything, I'm sorry. But I'm a bit distracted by the current situation you put all of us in. Not only me, but the rest of the family. It's just sad. You could have been more thoughtful.

Imagine if you just had that one tool, the drain rooter, that you actually used. A drain rooter would have been no use to me at all right now, and all of this craziness could have been prevented. I'm sorry you didn't consider that.

Scientific Project on Telekinesis with Graph

That the mass of an object impacts the distance that an object can be moved using the powers of my mind.

I applied the powers of my mind to objects that varied in mass.

  • My science textbook

  • My pit bull

  • My mom’s car

  • My house

After applying the powers of my mind to each of the objects, I measured the distance that my mental powers were able to move the object.

As noted in the bar graph (see below), all of the objects were moved the same distance.

The powers of my mind are infinite as my mental powers can move objects the same distance, regardless of the object’s mass.


Jack Spratt

She had stood by his hospital bed, wearing a summer dress printed with skulls grinning of the dead. Pretty in a dumpy, pot belly sort of way; her deep eyes glistened in the hospital light. She held the cold rails tightly, smiling with crooked teeth and a tired, sagging face.

He did not speak, and he did not smile as he had lain with his gown draped over his bony frame like a table cloth. Handsome in an immaciated invalid sort of way. Sunken eyes and cheeks; he smelled like urine and vomit. He slowly reached through the tangle of wires and tubes keeping him alive, held her hand and sighed.

They had listened to the rain patter on the window and knew they would be together, eating strawberries, dipped in chocolate or cream cheese, or lightly dusted in sugar.

When she became pregnant, her favorite strawberry dip was tartar sauce, and the taste grew on him over time.

During a winter in the Midwest, she told him to slow down, right before the truck swerved in their path on the snow-dusted, glistening-black highway. He tapped the brakes lightly, and the car started gliding to the formidable treeline along the roadside. He turned away, and the car spun around, and around. Their four year old kid in the back seat laughed and laughed, having a rocking good time.


You did it. You really did it. How could you?

He was mine. I found him under the bush in the rain. Next to the lady with her office in the apartment. He looked so sad and wet, but so adorable.

There might be a whole litter in those weeds. I’ll just get another one.

I can go there if I want. You never said not to.

No, you didn't.

I hear you. It’s not a marsh. It’s just some puddles in the grass, because it rained last night.

What are you talking about? I had to use the sandwich meats. We don’t have any cat food. I had to take care of it. That’s why I fed him a saucerful of milk.

He likes people food. I had to feed it what it liked. You were trying to starve it.

How could you say such a terrible thing. He wasn’t a stuffed animal. He was a real. With a name.

It’s perfectly clean and fine. How could you turn your back on that poor helpless thing. He's my baby.

What are you talking about? I did not spill milk, and the sheets could be washed anyway.

I’m not going to wash them. You should wash your ugly dress. You look like a giant candy corn.

What are you talking about? There’s no such thing as consequences.

I don’t need choices. I need to get out of here and away from you crazy people. You’re not going to brainwash me. I’m eleven and I know things. I know all about the Greek Gods. About Zeus and Athena, and that guy that saw the naked woman bathing and fell in love with her.

Nothing. There’s nothing in my hand, Mom.

It’s just a pickle. It lives in my sock.

What? I can’t even have a pickle for a pet.

You’re cruel and unjust.

Shut up, I’m talking. I’m like cheetah breath, not a pair of scissors. You’re not even a caterpillar.

You don’t understand anything. I’m using a metaphor.

I couldn’t even say good bye to my cat, my lovely baby. You never loved anyone. That’s why you and Dad are going to get a divorce.

No, it’s your fault.

Shut up, Shut up, Shut up, or I will stick a knife in your heart.

Get off me, get off. I can’t breathe. You’re killing me.

You’re lucky you just got a few scratches, because if you touch me again, I will stab you in the face.

I’m glad you’re crying. I don’t love you. I could never love you.

I’m a terrible person? You’re not even a real person. Your spirit guide is a rotten dandelion.

Stop crying I said. I don’t want you to cry any more. If you didn’t take everything I loved, everything would be OK. He was a stray, my baby. He didn’t belong to anyone but me. He liked to watch funny shows. He didn’t like to watch long boring documentaries. His name was Murphy.

It's in the DNA

Match each snarky sentiment to a past president. Bonus points if you can guess each president's historical ranking (based on a composite of presidential rankings by fucking Nate Silver, Jan 2013).

  1. Actually, I did have sexual relations with that woman. And maybe some others as well.
  2. Not too keen on facts and details. As Top Executive, can rely on unreliable people around him to let him know what he should know. And Trees cause pollution.
  3. Personified Quaker work ethic by diligently keeping a list of all enemies who would eventually be audited by the IRS.
  4. a) Telegenic, charismatic personality used new political media of the day to defeat nasty old bag. b) Presidency opened up a whole new realm of sexual predation.
  5. In times of war, it is necessary to intern a large segment of population based on race, because fuck them.
  6. White supremacist propaganda screened at White House with an enthusiastic thumbs up by Prez for its “trueness”
  7. Has Secretary of War arrest Maryland legislators before they could make a crucial vote in order to "Keep America,  an America with 39 States."
  8. That Hair.
  9. Relocated entire ethnic group, to a location where they would be happier, aside from the death, disease, and starvation of 25-30% of "deportees"
  10. Signed act that included new powers to deport foreigners and make it harder for immigrants to vote, because the Irish were a bunch of criminals and drunks. Plus, the opposition was saying mean things about him.

Answer Key

  1. Clinton - Rank #18
  2. Reagan - Rank #10
  3. Nixon - Rank #29
  4. JFK - Rank #9
  5. FDR - Rank #2
  6. Wilson - Rank #7
  7. Lincoln - Rank #1
  8. Fillmore - Rank #37
  9. Jackson - Rank #13
  10. John Adams, the first non-Quincy one - Rank #16

Millennials Feel Entitled to Guilt Free Masturbation

Global economic and cultural dynamics are slowly eroding traditional values. That’s why the world is going to hell in a hand basket. That, and Millennials feel entitled to guilt free masturbation.  

They were brought up in a world where they feel entitled to masturbate for no other reason than their own shameless sexual satisfaction. Where’s the guilt? Where’s the hard work required to obtain satisfactory pornographic materials? 

More so than previous generations, millennials have a sexual self-assurance that is egregious and off-putting. Sex-positive societal attitudes. Online sex toy stores. Webcam feeds, sexting. Fetish sites. Nero is practically fiddling as Rome burns.

Except in this case, Rome isn’t burning, so much as thriving with a stock market breaking record after record. Also, Nero is playing with his wang, not a fiddle.

Nonetheless, the performance of this generation's boomer retirement portfolios are at risk as long as our future depends on a generation that lacks a work ethic that can only be instilled in a world of scarce pornographic resources.

In our teenage years, masturbation took a lot of work. Playboy or your imagination. That's all we had. You couldn’t even talk about it. That’s how it was meant to be. Hard work. Hard work and denial that anyone was even doing it.

When we were young, you had to earn the right to masturbate. It wasn’t something that was just given to you. Full frontal nudity wasn’t even prevalent until the 70s. And by then we were slogging through a soul sucking job and raising a soul sucking family. Does the younger generation even understand how getting married early makes masturbation super inconvenient? 

No, they don’t, because they delay marriage solely for the purpose of irritating our generation and showing a complete disregard for what made this country great: a workaholic lifestyle spent vainly and futilely attempting to meet the needs of a dysfunctional family and spending large sums of money on talk therapy. 

For our generation, there were few options besides tossing one off in the shower. There was no Porn Hub. Penthouse or--God Forbid--Hustler in the household? We might as well have taken a live bomb into our collective houses, just waiting for it to be tripped, blowing us all to kingdom come.

And things sure didn’t get any easier as we got older. Sure, there was VHS and Cable, but unless you lived it, you can't possibly appreciate the anxiety induced from waiting in the middle of the night until your sure your spouse was soundly asleep, so you could safely slip out of bed to catch some soft porn on Cinemax? Worrying about our spouses coming down or even-Jesus Christ to even thing about it now--one of the kids? Seeing you sitting back, naked in that lawn chair in the middle of the TV room next to a super sized box of tissues while you're jacking off? 

Holy Hell. The anxiety and worry makes it impossible to appreciate that film of topless super models infiltrating the Soviet Union and bringing it to its knees by parachuting behind the Iron Curtain. You can be sure of that.

No, kids these days don't struggle with this masturbational anxiety and worry, because they’ve been spoiled by technology. Like smart phones and tablets. Wherever, whenever, able to engage with a young, nubile naked woman in a pornographic exchange based on their twisted and idiosyncratic masturbational fantasies. Have they ever tried to smuggle a TV set and cable box and cable hook-up into the bathroom for some privacy? Certainly not. Can't be done.

And they have never had to develop a plausible "I'm Working Late" excuse to tell their spouse before slinking off to a peep show, where parking is a real bitch and you have to hoof it 5 blocks through the Irish neighborhood. And then once there, having to wait for a private pleasure booth. It's hard work! There isn't a more damning exhibit of our decline into a world of easily satisfied sexual needs than pornographic webcams.

It's the End of Days and the four horsemen are upon us. Except we're not living with war, death, and so on, so much as wealth and prosperity, while Millennials are fighting those wars we figured were a good idea, but still. 

It is just so sad that our future depends on a generation that has missed the character-building, coming-of-age experience of masturbation that is as frustrating and unfulfilling as possible.