Monday, September 1, 2014


the last rose of summer is gone. i'm late for school!

1. are you happy with your job? why (not)? it's pretty good hours, i type when the inspiration hits, there are always more stories to tell, even though i'm currently bone-dry of ideas. a new concept will come to me, it's just a matter of time. time doesn't exist. i'm on a deadline.

2. what do you want? steady sleep. no more busywork. time to breathe. a vacation.

3. who first broke your heart? the publisher who gave me my first form letter, rejecting the Choose Your Own Adventure Book i wrote when i was ten years old. it was about a cat and a monster i called Cat Capturer. i felt my cat protagonist so much as i wrote him that it engendered my lifelong love of cats to this day. y'know, now that i think about it, if i had been published back then, i probably would have ended up like Bieber.

4. what's the biggest mistake you've made in a relationship? hiding the remote-control

5. what did you learn from your last lover/ex-SO? it's okay to share the remote, George Clooney is hot, Megan Fox isn't all that.

6. what novel has been instrumental in shaping your views at any point in your life? how so? The Bible...Of The Star Wars Universe. because not even sex is cooler than being a Jedi.

7. tell us about a current favorite tv show you enjoy. give us a synopsis of the show: Doctor Who. it's about this old dude with two hearts and a screwdriver who travels time and space with a gorgeous woman in a telephone booth, fighting garbage cans...

bonus: what is your current favorite song you have on constant loop? 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall, it's already self-looping.



Wednesday, August 27, 2014


when she went to work, when her feet took her there, it was all autopilot, she didn't need to think. the dangerous stretch of sidewalk that butted up against the raging traffic full of people raging about their lives inside their cars before the beach walkway was part of this trance. despite the fact that the hat completely covered her face, she went along, she ambled, she somehow negotiated the dangerous track each time without incident. there was no time for incidents, injury was certain, she was late and would have to explain herself to Abdiel. she hated unnecessary talking.

a hop skip and a jump through the brick library elevator that served to lift both books and people up and down, and she was there at her morning station. she loved it, it was situated at a far corner of the library where the broken water fountains were, no one came there anymore. she could get away with things her co-workers could not, she was for instance out of view of the cameras. she was the only worker who had a huge comfortable rolling exercise fitness yoga ball as her workstation chair, she hid it with her butt when she was working and rolled it under her desk when the day was done. her desk was strewn with all manner of dog paraphernalia, knicks and knacks and collars and bones both for teeth and of milk. her one framed standee photo was of a dog, not Firstee but the dog that came with the frame who looked like Firstee, and Lassie.

Abdiel happened upon her. he was eating a vanilla ice cream cone.


Abdiel: no, Jil, what for?

Jil: i'm minutes late.

Abdiel laughed out loud with a half-laugh and dripped his ice cream cone everywhere on his mouth and the library carpet.

Abdiel: you are funny, Jil, you should talk more.

Abdiel took off Jil's hat before she noticed.

Abdiel: i will ask you to take off the hat each time, though. it's company policy....(pause with a half-smirk)........i really want the guests to see your pretty face, it will drum up business. wow, your hair is so luscious and i'm sure you haven't washed it in forever.

Jil: forgot the last time.

Abdiel: you don't have to try so hard to prove you're an artist. besides, it's fruitless, no matter how hard you try, you'll always be a beautiful woman with perfect hair that the others are not jealous of but happy for you. i suppose you not acknowledging that makes you even more beautiful. it's a losing game, you might as well embrace it, it's a fact whether or not you admit it. the town loves you, the town just loves you.

Jil: where's my hat?

woman: excuse me, i'm ready to check out.

Abdiel ignored the woman and continued facing Jil and hanging off her workstation. he then realized his point was made. the air was starting to get stale. he hated that. he blew Jil a half-smile and sauntered away, past the woman, ignoring everything and everyone until he reached his own workstation plastered with posters of hot Hollywood babes.

Jil punched up Instagram on her computer. her favorite person she followed was also Abdiel's but for different reasons: Lilienthal, nicknamed Lozzo, an actress who was the current co-star of the global sci-fi phenomenon tv show at the moment. Jil felt so blessed that Lozzo counted her among her 28 million unknown followers, she hadn't blocked Jil yet. Abdiel had been blocked. each day Jil checked out Lozzo's insta for her latest pics and liked each one, i mean, it was Lozzo, what was there not to like, of course she would always produce a fine picture of whatever. sure, Lozzo's selfies got a bit excessive, Jil appreciated the artistic pics more, but it was Lozzo, Lozzo was drop-dead gorgeous and shiny.

Jil called Abdiel on the landline cream phone.

Jil: have you seen her latest instapic?

Abdiel: are you making fun of me? maybe we should cut down on the chatter, this is a library after all.

Jil: Lozzo is sticking her tongue out at her fans on the set of the latest episode. that is ingenious.

Abdiel: hilarious the first time, stale air now. why are you torturing me with this?

Jil: you can always come over to my computer to see her again. why did you get blocked?

Abdiel: i played the game everyone online plays, i typed in the comments of her pics how i thought she was a insert bad name here.

Jil: why? don't you like her?

Abdiel: i'm indifferent. it's to get her attention. you have to insult first, then when the celeb gets hooked by your bait, you ease them out of it, type furiously, comment back how you were just kidding the whole time, she's not really a talentless bitch fame whore, that in fact you are her number 1 fan, and you go from asshole troll to creepy stalker. ain't the internet grand?

Jil: that seems like such a waste of time and space, and a soulless way to live. you should always represent your best self online whenever the opportunity presents itself, show who you are to online strangers with your words, they are all you've got to represent yourself with. i liked her four new pics today...

Abdiel: all in a day's work. wanna grab an early lunch with me?

Jil: not until the best part.

Jil's real work was as a comment writer under instapics. she was a librarian second. Jil would think for a moment but only for a moment, she was quick with the quip and reply, she could riff off anyone's clever comment instantly, she could see an ironic pic and pick up on the pic's irony instantly and provide the perfect rejoinder that was equally as clever. the guests would marvel at Jil's hands on her keyboard, they were so graceful as she would glide her fingers from one end of the keyboard to the other, she was playing an aire on her piano, no, an entire symphony. when she typed on the computer, she was playing her piano back home in private, and it was private, her private thoughts to her celebrity crush, but it wasn't private, for the entire library witnessed her performance, the tapping of the keys, the clicks all arranged and lined up and sounding one after the other in unison to form the bridge then the verse then the bridge again then the chorus. at the end of Jil's thoughts came the applause from the gallery, in golf claps.

Jil: i added a Sartre quote to Lozzo's pic of her in the tunnel with the caption NO EXIT. i commented on Nietzsche's big forehead on her pic where she's on her knees kissing her debonair leading man and the caption reads GOOD HEAD. i think my in-depth analysis of real fame vs. internet fame on her third pic will be appreciated by her, if she ever sees it through the thousands of other comments. i wish Instagram didn't have a character-count limit, i'd write her a novel. i could also tell her what i really want to tell her through clever hashtags, but there's a hashtag limit as well.

Jil scrolled down and saw a photo of a token. the caption underneath it read:

this is my one-month's sobriety token. i am so grateful to have you in my life, my Instagram friends, please like this pic so i know you're out there. i'm lonely, it gets lonely sometimes, this is so hard, i want a sip so badly, but then i think of all my support out there and i bite my lip. i do this for you guys, i stay strong for you. God bless, stay safe, you are in my heart.

the pic had no comments underneath it and only one like, hers, the author of the token pic. Jil scrolled past it to look at the next pic but she returned to the token pic seconds later and looked at it again and read the caption again. lunch was in a few hours.



Monday, August 25, 2014


it's hottest when it's interspecies.

1. think about having sex with your lover. what's the first image that came to your mind? i'm working on this, i've been selfish in the past, i used to think about that website The Art of Blowjob, but ever since i went to that conference i'm reading articles like Make Love Not Porn.

2. what is the most memorable thing you or your partner said immediately after sex? we made it past a minute!

3. a body part of yours is to be shown on a huge billboard in the heart of town. punishment? reward? unclear. which body part do you choose? i show some skin, it's my largest organ.

4. you are about to lose your power of speech, what's the one thing you tell someone before that happens? olive juice. i mouth the words olive juice to her...

5. you are stricken with a disorder in which you blurt out the same single phrase every time you orgasm. what is this phrase? oh God, get me to a doctor, i blurt out this same single phrase every time i orgasm.

bonus: if you had to make out with a friend (same or opposite sex) to save the world from mass destruction, whom would you pick? okay, so he can't be imaginary, right? then i'd choose the only friend who has lasted with me this long since we were kids, my one and only BFF, the Italian guy, the one who moved to Italy, or maybe he's moved back here now, i hope that's the case, we lost touch. one thing's for sure, i do love the guy.



Wednesday, August 20, 2014


she lived on that patch of isle far enough removed from the annoying filled streets but close enough to be able to walk the unspoiled part of the beach to the brick library. her house was always complimented upon by the tourists but especially by the locals during the summer when the red poppies would bloom in the patch of land between her rusty car and the cobblestone driveway. oh how they marveled at the rich, sobering beauty of those poppies, the red which spoke of past trials, their fingers shook as they tried to capture the perfect angle with their clumsy ipad minis. blue forget-me-nots spoke of blue times during the winter. the gardeners did all the work, not her, she never talked to the gardeners when they did their secret work, she was always asleep. she never talked to her neighbors or to anyone in the community unless it was an absolute necessity to continue moving, that was why she was so liked in the community. part of it was curiosity as to her thoughts and stances on things, the other half appreciated the quiet in a world of everlasting noise. the locals named her house Still Waters, for they were sure still waters ran deep in her case. she didn't give her house a name, it wasn't home to her.

the alarm rang at 7 and


she tossed and turned trying to remember a dream to analyze, but before she could blink, her pen fell from her hand and onto the green notebook on the floor and she dozed off again. she regained awareness again at 7:30. she hated that. it happened every time, her body could never quite get up at 7, it always needed an extra 30 to fully recover. her body was teasing her.

no time for a shower and only time for a quick banana. at the kitchen, the howls began, the plaintive howls of a poor soul left alone while their owners played. it sounded again, the howl, the howls which entered her mind and festered there as a constant reminder, erasing any silly dream analysis, this was real life, a real-life problem that wailed for a solution, real life is what matters, not dreams.

"oh how i love that dog, that poor dog, always left alone, he's so lonely, he doesn't know i'm here right next door to him," she said to herself as she peeled an orange, "i wish that dog was mine, i'd take care of him better than those people."

there was a reason why she never spoke to her neighbors.

with the orange in her gob, she left the trap of her enclosure and went outside into the searing heat. she opened the first gate and then the second and made her way to the fence separating the two properties. the fence had a gaping opening where the slit used to be, and the dog was handsomely sticking his nose through it. it was cute not just cos of that but because the dog wasn't really stuck or anything, the opening of the empty slit was big enough that he could fit himself through and enter her backyard. it was as if the dog was testing her, seeing what she was all about first, she had to earn his trust, but he was willing and curious like a cat, and anyone was better than his owners.

she approached the pooch lovingly and petted his wet nose. so desperate was the dog for attention he nibbled her fingers up and down, slobbering his heavy tongue all over her newly-cut fingernails and fingers, whimpering and half-barking and almost eating her fingers like they were candy dog bones.

"there, there, my precious pet," she comforted, "you can visit me anytime you like, go on, run free in my backyard, it's big enough to get some exercise but not too big that you'll get lost and lonely again. know that i am always here, right here next door, to help you through your dry spells and howling fits, i am here to relax you and guide you, aid you through this troubling life, i love you more than anyone else, more than myself, more than life itself!"

she pressed her face against the animal's, which he found rather curious but continued licking and caking with his spit. she reverted to animal form, laying there on her back, rolling over, not caring whether she dirtied her skirt, aware in the moment, not thinking about today or tomorrow in the world outside her house. but that glass moment passed as all moments do, and with a heavy sigh, she returned to the schedule that was placed on her, the burden she never asked for.

there was only 5 minutes left.

"damn. if only i could capture those 30 minutes in the morning. i hate feeling rushed, i need time to think and plan my responses."

but she decided there was just enough time to soothe the dog with a short passage on the piano. the piano room was conveniently located just off the location of the fence opening, so opening the window would allow the pooch to hear anything played fairly well. dogs had great hearing anyway. she tickled those ivories with love and compassion, it was short but sweet, and the lovely melody swallowed up the surrounding air, connecting man and machine and man's best friend for another glorious glass moment. the flowers in the front even swayed at the sound. this time, the dog howled out of pleasure, he was adding his dulcet tones to the overall melody.

she was so happy at this vignette playing out, at the concept of it, her big beaming radiant smile forced her to go back outside and pet the pooch again.

"oh my beautiful bae, my furry friend, my bestest, my Firstie, you look like Lassie but you are the first and the best, i'll be right back after work, Firstie, i promise."

she scratched under Firstie's chin and patted his patches. his fur was a palette of brown and black and beige and white patches. Patchy would have been too ordinary a name, though, too much of a mutt's name, he was too good for that, too regal, he needed a name at least on par with someone noble like Lassie.

she couldn't move as the moment ended, she tried to break through the glass but couldn't, she was stuck in invisible mud, in a sand trap of her body's doing. she couldn't muster up enough strength to take the next steps to the second gate then the first gate then the inside entrance then across the hall past the piano room and the brand-new laptop computer still with the packing wrapping on it to the front entrance, to the cobblestone driveway and along the beach walkway to her job. she couldn't move. her body was willing but her spirit was not having it. she froze there stuck in time. depression was one thing, but this was immovability.

a few dog barks snapped her out of the coma, but she was still in a trance. she hazily forced one foot in front of the other until she found herself by the hat rack near the front door. she touched her white hat and the dream state lifted. she chose the only hat on the rack, a white hat the kind you see on Kentucky Derby Saturday. not as fancy as a fascinator, but enough of a hat to be fashionable and fascinating, fashionating. she plopped it on her head and turned it the wrong angle. instead of having it be mysterious by turning the hat to the left and down so only her lips and not her eyes would be visible, she turned it the opposite direction down so it literally covered her entire face. it was a miracle she could see where she was going right in front of her. dangerous, too, the walkway on the beach does make a detour into the traffic of the streets at some point, you have to traverse those sidewalks carefully.

"damn. i'm already late. i hate being late. it means i have to talk to explain myself."



Monday, August 18, 2014


"you are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug..."---Trent Reznor in "The Perfect Drug" and when he's at the drug store.

guys, i'm planning the perfect date with my special someone, my perfect drug. no, not Hell Dust, YOU, yes you, my girlfriend. i'm willing to do everything and go everywhere in one day, i have my schedule cleared of busywork just for this one day, so let's get it.

for each of the following, imagine a new place has opened up on your block. tell us whether or not you would attend, and would you go alone, with friends of the same gender, or with your significant other/lover:

1. sports bar: with my girlfriend and a bunch of guy friends, she says she loves them, but only if they show tennis, specifically that match between Sampras and Federer at Wimbledon that seemed to form an invisible link between the two eras. do not show any French Open finals except that one with Soderling and Fed's tears. Fed's tears cure cancer.

2. brew pub/beer hall: with my girlfriend and a bunch of her girlfriends, i love them all. i've never been to a bonafide authentic pub, i want to ring that little bell when the home team gets one in the back of the ol' onion bag. Tommy Smyth just left with all of my girlfriend's girlfriends...

3. wine festival: alone. i don't do alcohol, i just want to stomp the grapes barefoot the way Lucy did on I Love Lucy.

4. tanning salon: i'm goth...

5. sex/kink event: i'm not into all that fetish stuff at all. my already-skinny legs would look ridiculous in leather pants. however, i wouldn't mind going with my girlfriend to one of these things to get inspired with new ideas for future use in our bed, and of course the inevitable run-in with your high-school religion teacher whipping her new boy toy.

6. strip club: alone. that's not weird or anything, is it?

7. sex toy store: with my high-school religion teacher, she wants to buy a new whip, her old one is worn out.

8. upscale spa: by upscale, do you mean there are two sets of jets in the jacuzzi, one for relaxing in and one for that other thing?

9. adult sex education conference: alone. i want to study hard, ace the final exam, and surprise my girlfriend in the bedroom and when we talk afterwards, showing her how cultured and enlightened i am about various authors and theories and practices. sure, i first learned about sex by reading Mad Magazine, but i've grown since then, i've grown many inches, and i can now as a fine country gentleman of letters say with confidence that i do in fact subscribe to Playboy only for the articles.



Wednesday, August 13, 2014


the nails started to throb again, the fingers hurt, Maghie knew this was pain that just wouldn't go away, at least not soon. the bus landed on the spot, the mysterious place, the city, her new home, new hometown, she was a stranger in a strange land, knew no one, especially her daughter. actually, she knew of this place, but she always drove by it, like the monastery. she was in it now, down in it.

Maghie made the gesture again, hovering her hands right by her face, covering her face, she was nervous, and this was her silly go-to instinctual defense mechanism. actually, she just didn't want to see outside, maybe if she didn't see her new city through the bus windows it wouldn't exist, wouldn't be made real and final. final destination comes for us all.

the bus halted to a stop loudly and proudly. all the passengers scurried off like mice to their various smelly cheeses out the bus door, so comfortable was everyone with these streets. alone stood the one uncomfortable, sticking out like a sore thumb. Maghie's thumbs hurt especially. the bus driver, who happened to be Maghie's daughter's soon-to-be husband Weldon, extended his hand in Maghie's general direction.

Maghie: thank you, you may take my suitcase.

but actually Weldon was offering his hand to pick up Maghie's daughter Algina from her bus seat to dance with her in the empty bus aisle. the two rubbed shoulders and danced a slow waltz. he rubbed Algina's pregnant belly as he lay cheek-to-cheek with his betrothed, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as Algina whispered about their son that would soon join their family in his ear. this was a level of smarmy cuteness which clearly wouldn't happen in the presence of a full busload of cynical people. Weldon had a badass karate-man reputation to keep. this was a private moment meant to be shared with family. baby bump. Maghie was suddenly thrust into this family now after so many years of estrangement.

after the impromptu planned dance which was so slow it seemed to slow time itself, the two lovebirds disembarked the lonely bus but not before Weldon extended his hand to Maghie.

Maghie: yes, you may have this dance.

Weldon: no, i was just offering to take your suitcase.

never had Maghie's fingers hurt so much from cutting her fingernails too finely. Maghie quickly threw her purse over herself, shoved the suitcase in Weldon's general direction, and scampered off the bus to avoid living in this moment anymore. she entered the cold unknown air of the city as a lost rat.

Weldon had some repairs or some karate to do so he quickly disappeared into the day. Maghie kept walking forward as her mother always taught her to do whenever she found herself in a rut, and soon she and her beautiful daughter Algina were walking side by side toward the bookstore along a beautiful cobblestone street in the heart of downtown. the first half of this walk and talk was decidedly silent. it would be beautifully made symmetrical by a bridge. the two women said not a word to each other until they crossed a bridge overlooking a babbling brook in the middle of the city. that's when they started babbling.

Maghie and Algina simultaneously went to the center of the bridge, then to the edge of the bridge and looked down into the brook. first Maghie saw her reflection in the water, the brook was babbling but still still. then Algina saw her reflection next to her mother's. as the brook started to pick up again, creating waves from banging against the huge rock in the middle, the two reflections became glassy and hard to distinguish, the two reflections merged together as one face, one spot of water, one wave crashing and spitting out white foam, the merged face spoke of generations united, family line, as the water quickly flowed from its ebb and lost its shape, becoming formless again ready to repeat the cycle.


though nothing was said of or about this incident, the conversation which followed surely flowed from this incident. inspiration hit both women like a crashing wave. Maghie was dying to tell her story that she just remembered.

Maghie: Algina, lately i've been noticing that the simple things in life really matter, they feed your soul.

Algina: you're dying to tell me a story, huh mom? we got time, we're halfway there. but please make it better than the greeting cards we sell.

Maghie: one day i was out of orange candy. there was only fruit. i was forced to eat healthy for the first time in my life. i looked around for my orange juice, but there was none. if i wanted orange this day, i had to pick up from the bowl, wash, and peel an orange, an actual orange, the fruit itself, and the only one left in the bowl was a particularly huge misshapen green orange. your dad never knew how to shop for things.

Algina: he gave me a football for Christmas. i've loved soccer ever since.

Maghie: i'm telling you, the experience of peeling that orange was existential.

Algina: as long as it wasn't Deconstructionist.

Maghie: i hadn't peeled an orange by hand in ages. people of the world, throw out your plastic orange peelers, get rid of lifeless machines which disconnect your touch to nature, feel your fruit with your own hand. i felt the slimy skin of the orange. this one would not reliquish its inner core easily, that rind was rough, it was put on there tight as a motherfucker. i pushed in my nails, my fingers, as hard through fast rough as i could, matching the orange's rough, until my hurt fingers caught an opening, an edge, and the first peel of rind came off, exposing the juicy white interior. the poor guy was crying, the juicedrops which came out of the orange were teardrops, the spritz of juice which flew in my face every time i removed another piece of rind made me all sticky. this, when combined with my sweat, made me feel like a farmer after a hard day's work in the beating sun. i earned this orange, i could taste it with pride. i savored it at first, licked it, then examined it in the beating sun with the light from my kitchen window. there was no more orange to this orange, it was a white ball of interior goodness. its white matched the sun's white. i bit into the heart of it feverishly, its juices branched into rivers all over my lips and tongue, washing me away like a steady brook. that was the greatest meat i've ever tasted, it was so good, so refreshing, so rewarding. it was sweet but not, naturally sweet, nature's perfect ration of sweet allowed for each human at each sitting of fruit intake, just enough to tease but never to drown. i gobbled it all up in seconds, but i do think i also relished each bite. glorious, i hadn't eaten an orange in ages...

Algina smiled.

Maghie: your turn.

Algina: i've got it. i've got you beat. i love sandwiches, rich, hearty sandwiches like they make at The Store across from our bookshop. the more layers, the better: meat, cheese, olives, cucumbers, more cheese, smelly cheese, peppers, lettuce, tomato, olive spread, juices, juices like rivers, and of course kicked up by various healthy slatherings of sauces: mayonnaise, ketchup, mustard, chipotle, red-pepper mayonnaise, thousand-island dressing. i love the particular way Gus makes my sandwiches every lunch break, he knows what i want, knows what to do, knows i'm in a time crunch, does it fast. i love watching his hands attack the bread and meat and toppings. like cards, he shuffles the focaccia and the meat together masterfully, sprinkling in salt and pepper to taste, my taste, a few sides, and plants that sucker in the oven. when it comes out of the oven, the aroma is overpowering, delicious, it whets my taste buds and i can't wait. stack upon stack, layer upon layer of food, until the damn sandwich is as tall as the ceiling. my favorite part is when he smashes all the layers down into a smushed rectangle with those strong fingers, i can see my sandwich, all the tiny hidden layers in it, the red and green and yellow lines pinched together like a fossil waiting to be discovered. i've already orgasmed at the making of the sandwich, the actual eating of it is afterplay.

Algina smiled at her mother again.

Algina: okay, you win.

Maghie: i was gonna say. are you sure you don't want to marry Gus instead?

Algina: Weldon can chop my sandwiches in two without a knife. Gus needs a knife.

Maghie: i look at the food channels on tv and am aghast. what is with this trend of making Frankenfood? humans are trying to come up with the craziest combinations of foods, we are desperate to try something new. we humans are so bored, there's nothing left for us to discover, so we force newness and originality by smushing old things together like a sandwich. i'm sorry, but i don't need to try hot beer, that drink that's a mixture of coffee and tea, or bacon-ice-cream scoops on top of pepperoni pizza. classics are classics for a reason, nature will never let us down, we must all see and feel the simplicity of peeling and eating an orange. what's old is new again.

the two women arrived at the front entrance to the book store, a giant sheet of glass divided into a big glass door and glass windows. Algina rummaged around for her keys and opened the door and let her mother into her home. also in that rummaging she took out two nameplates, one which read:


and the other which read:


Algina handed the nameplate to her mother, showing Maghie where to pin it on the blouse part of Maghie's ripped dress.

Algina: ready for your first day of work, rookie?

Maghie: no, but it's okay, i'll figure it out myself. i know you're busy.

the next couple of days did not make things easier. Maghie was smart but she found it hard to keep up with the system of cataloguing books Algina had created. on Tuesday, Algina's soon-to-be husband found a day off from his bus to come visit his bride. Maghie distinctly saw Weldon make Maghie's hands-covering-the-face gesture while in conversation with Algina. Algina smiled and looked at Maghie, then looked at Weldon who looked at Maghie and smiled and looked back to Algina, who was looking at Maghie again and smiling.

the weekend came. Algina spotted Maghie working the shelves on Saturday, or was it Sunday?

Algina: mom, are you okay here alone today?

Maghie: yes, thank you, i've discovered that if i put some of the books in my purse as i stack them, it makes the job easier, it saves time, i get done sooner.

Maghie looked at the pile of books she needed to organize and stack up and place on the shelves. it was up to the ceiling, a huge, towering pile cluster made up of smaller piles, a mountain with branches slithering down like a snake, filling up every corner of the bookshop, forking out, rivers of books stacked, smushed together into pile upon pile upon pile. at the mountaintop peak was the book The Little Prince. this would take all day. Maghie's fingers throbbed at the prospect, her nailbed areas trembled in pain. Maghie is in pain, she doesn't know what to do or say next.

Maghie: have fun at your wedding.


Monday, August 11, 2014


i don't drink, but i'm still at the TMIT Bar ready for some cheesy pick-up lines. this is so exciting! i've never been picked up before, which is strange given i'm so skinny. this is how i would respond to the following lines thrown at me:

1. would you like to fake an orgasm with me tonight? sure, i'm an actor, my whole life is fake.

2. did you just fart? cos you're blowing me away. yes, my favorite food is Taco Bell. there's gonna be a lot of farting during our lovemaking. when we simultaneously orgasm, i might fart also, but know that i'm thinking of you, during the orgasm, not the fart.

3. you're hot. i'm ugly. let's make average babies. there are no average babies, all life is precious. do you believe in God?

4. i'd like to kiss you passionately on the lips, then move up to your belly button. wait, what? i'm an alien? fuck me, that explains a lot.

5. you must work at Subway cos you just gave me a footlong. no. Jason Biggs was a Subway sandwich artist, now look at his twitter.

6. you look like a hard worker, i have an opening you can fill. me, too. my mangina. i'm Old Gregg.

7. i don't feel good, i think i need a shot of penis-illin. you have a sore throat you say? chicken soup works for me.

8. if i told you i worked for UPS, would you let me handle your package? okay, but here are the rules in bed: you can't take off my UPS brown-uniform shorts.

bonus: belly up to the bar. what's your pleasure? which one drink would you order and why?:

Slippery Nipple, After Sex, Leg Spreader, All Night Long, Sloe Comfortable Screw


why? because the world would be a better place if cops twirled their batons instead of using them on people.