Vegan Is Go


"Take it... take it... TASTE IT ALL!"

Barrio jammed another forkful of sausage through her lips, puncturing her tongue and driving the whole meatful mess to the back of her throat, gagging the girl glorious. He slid the utensil back out, using the back of her teeth to trap the meat in her mouth, and the fork emerged clean.

Sarah- still a bitch- spat. The meat landed on the tile, outrageous, chewed-ugly, and Barrio moved his eyes slow from the pile on the kitchen floor back to her face.

It was wet with tears, and bubbled saliva. Her chin and cheeks were spotted with tine pricks, blood leaking lazy from the pinpoint wounds. Her nose was dripping mucous and snot, her nostrils wide. Her hair was filthy, and matted with meat. But her eyes were still fire.

Barrio was becoming furious.

He reared back to deliver an open-palmed slap to Sarah’s face. The contact was white lightning and Barrio heard an audible “snap” from her jawbone. He shrugged. Something broke.

He sat across from her, beside the table, a makeshift beef buffet. Undercooked lamb and pork shared the bowl across from the bacon, and whatever was left of the veal was starting to turn. By this point, the girl wasn't keeping much down.

A patty sizzled on the grill and Barrio rose for the spatula. His slap had been so brilliant that Sarah was still stunned, petrified, temporarily unable to speak, think or see. Her face was frozen, a ghastly mask of disbelief and contorted muscles. He chuckled as he flipped the fresh burger to platter.

The dog collar around her neck was chained to the back of her chair, and her ankles and wrists secured with telephone cord. She was nude, of course, but that had been an afterthought. The main course was the beef.

"You still a vegan?" he asked, teasing her.

"Yes," she answered, stubborn as ever, "Always."

"You can't help it, can you?" Barrio mocked her.

"No, I can't," spoke Sarah, missing the joke.

"You were born this way, weren't you? It's easier... it's so much more... stylish."

"Yeah, yeah," she nodded, smiling. Did she think he was serious?

“You’re gonna love this little bastard,” Barrio cooed, salting the chuck, “It’s called a McVegan Deluxe. It looks like meat, it tastes like meat... and it's 100% beef!”

He slid his kitchen chair close to hers with his free hand, sitting down again. Sarah was starting to come around. She was blinking at least, and processing... slowly.

“You dumb of the motherfucker...” Her mouth spoke the words but her brain had left the building. She was too deep in shock to converse coherently. “I’m a vegan! I don’t eat, I never will eat the meat.”

She smiled after that, tasting lunacy, beginning to splinter. She stuck her tongue out at Barrio like a toddler taunting his parents.

Barrio smiled warmly. “If you ever do that again… I’ll cut your tongue out and make you eat it raw.”

The smile faded from Sarah’s face, her eyelids fluttering involuntarily.

“Now take your beef.”

The next few moments were quiet, almost romantic, as Barrio spoon-fed Sarah a half pound of USDA-certified, medium-rare hamburger. She chewed and swallowed respectfully, finally falling into line, and Barrio even wiped her face with the oven mitt.

That was when Sarah broke the mood by making hot vomit, spewing a projectile stream of bile and undigested beef bits directly into Barrio’s face, filling his mouth and befouling the air. She laughed, hysterical, overtaken by madness and rage, and spit the last drops of sick in his hair.

Sarah's belly was heaving, and she was laughing uncontrollably, as if this was the funniest thing she’d ever seen. Her laughter was musical, and damned.

Barrio was paralyzed as the chunky spew dripped down his face, patient.

“I’m a vegan,” Sarah giggled, sticking her tongue out at him.

Barrio stood up to get the scissors.


Laurel In Love

When I woke up this morning I knew that I loved him.

I knew it when I saw he wasn’t there. I was worried like a Mother, like a Daughter… I had to have him back. I had to have him back in my life.

I know what you’re thinking. I know that I’m gone. And you’re right. And I don’t care


Because I have been looking for this my whole fucking life. And now it’s here.

So I have what I want, but I’m scared that I’m gonna lose it. I’m afraid that someone’s gonna come and take it away.

So I guess I just have to protect it.

But I can’t let anyone see me protecting it.

I know they’re gonna see anyway. Everyone will see. Is this fair?

Do I deserve this? Why does he put me through this?

He better not come back.


If he does.

I’m gonna kill him.”



I just replaced the pine cone with bacon and BAM: the birth of the bacon, egg and cheese!

Men have periods, too... we just have the decency not to complain

If you want to be Governor you have to start acting gubernatorial

There's not a girl on Earth who wouldn't bang the Jolly Green Giant

Bad news, sir: the native girls are beginning to show

I 'm pretty sure that wheelchair people are faking it just for the Drive-Thru privileges

How strenuously would you object to having your daughter join us in bed tonight?

I’m being sued by my attorney, who assures me we have a really good shot at winning

Just a quick heads-up: If you show me pictures of your children I will pretend to be blind

It’s fun to screw with people who have obbsesive-commpulsive disorder

Did You Know? Herpes counts as a birthday present


Saturday Night Scavenger

Little Larry heard the F-bomb, again, softer than before but this time he turned down the volume on The Simpsons and sat straight up on the sofa. He un-muted, and watched for several seconds before-


Now Larry turned the TV off, his finger finding the belt-loop of his blue jeans as he listened. The house was quiet.

“Son of a bitchbaby!”

Little Larry was sure something was wrong. He fell off the couch (on purpose) and walked toward the stairs, standing at the base and looking up. It might be right to go see what’s going on... It might be a good time to eat some cookies.

Larry was halfway to the kitchen to the jar when-


Larry gave up on the Hydrox, pulled a 180 and started up the stairs. His bare feet trudged through deep blue shag, and as he paused on the landing to turn he heard the distinctive "glinx" of glass shattering.

“Applefucking Cockvomit!!!”

Larry hustled up the last five steps and toward the bathroom. He stopped in the open doorway when he saw the scene inside.

Mr. Wyman had his shirt off- maybe torn off- and his hair was wet, and messy. Every drawer in the room was open, and the contents scattered on the floor and in the bathtub: brushes, rollers, cottonballs… band-aids, vitamins, vaseline… The countertop was covered with Q-Tips. A broken hand mirror lay by the toilet, shards of glass on the white tile floor. The water was running, swirling round the sink and down the drain.

“What’s going on, Mr. Wyman?”

“Nothing significant, Larry,” Mr. Wyman said with wide eyes, “you go back downstairs and watch your cartoons.”

“But I want to play with you,” said the boy. Mr. Wyman sighed.

“This isn’t playing, Larry… I’m looking for medicine.”

“Are you sick?”

Mr. Wyman was rummaging through a plastic travel pouch. “Very sick,” he said, “I’ve got a sore nose, goat fever, and a face ache…”

“You don’t LOOK sick,” spoke Larry, but Mr. Wyman wasn’t listening. He pulled open the medicine cabinet and continued his search.

“What time is your Mother coming home?”

“Midnight!” said Larry, the hour unthinkable.

It was only thirty minutes since Ms. Lennok had left, comforted by the warm assurances of good neighbor Julius Wyman: “You go, and have a good time… Little Larry and I will have a boy’s night in. It's gonna be fun- I love the babysit!”

Ms. Lennok had smiled through a sigh, picking up her pocketbook and pulling Larry aside.
“Listen to Mr. Wyman and do what he says. I left you Steak-Umms and grape cola for dinner… you be a good boy or I'll track down your Father.”

“Does your Mother have any valium or xanax? Any Ritalin or Ambien? Soma- has she got Soma?” Larry didn’t know what any of that was and shrugged.

“How about a big bottle of cough syrup?”

“Yuck!” spat Larry.

“You’re dead weight, kid.”

“Do you go to school?”

Julius paused, a brown pill bottle in hs hand. “I attend university. I own my own car, I have a girlfriend, and for what it's worth I eat more burgers in a week than you do all month.” He squinted and read the label on the jar. “Biaxin?!? I didn’t take this gig for antibiotic!”

Larry was getting cranky, or maybe he just despised Mr. Wyman. “I want dinner and I wanna watch TV!”

“Aww, shitcake, Larry! Can’t you-”

Julius stopped speaking, his eyes locked on a sight in the cabinet.

Behind the teeth-whitening strips and Neutrogena sat a brown medicine bottle, and Mr. Wyman plucked it from the shelf like Eve picking an apple.

“PERCODAN!!!” he shouted, rattling the pills inside. It sounded like a lot. Larry thought he heard a heavenly choir.

Mr. Wyman popped the cap and poured a bunch of pills in his hand, flipping them into his mouth. He bent over and put his mouth to the running water, drinking it up and swallowing hard. He slipped the bottle into the pocket of his blue jeans.

Larry asked, "Is that medicine gonna make you feel better?"

“Come on, kid,” Mr. Wyman said, putting his arm around Larry's small shoulder, “let’s go watch some cartoons.”


A Boy's Guide To My Changing Body

Good morning sperm donors! Right now you're just a boy but soon you will be a man, or at least a close approximation. For a boy, puberty is a waking nightmare, and the subject of many horror movies, from “Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde” to “Frankenstein Vs. The Succubus from Planet Zero.” You’ll experience an all-consuming desire for women and a squeaking voice that will have them running away from you as fast as they can. (You won't appreciate the irony for years!) Your testes will plump like ballpark franks and prevent you from ever admitting fault, and your penis will stiffen, and gouge the eyes of little people. And the saddest part is that this is the prime of your life!

Him Jam
Puberty starts when your body steps up production of the hormone testosterone: add a little flour and water and you’ve got semen, a powerful adhesive and the essence of life, although entirely unappreciated by women. Semen, commonly known as jizzbah, will force you to grow a beard and make passionate love to every item in the produce section. While your neighbors lock their pets up at night you'll find new, criminal ways to unleash your spunk upon the galaxy. Rubber gloves and a jar of olives? I don't judge.

Penis Power
As you progress through puberty your penis will become a nuclear weapon, so powerful it can demolish a building, knock the sun out of orbit, or force a confession out of a murder suspect. Your penis will become a part of all living things, with its own erratic personality and unpredictable sense of humor. It will surround you, penetrate you, obey your actions, while also giving you commands. Your cock will bind the galaxy together, but you must resist the urge to name him, no matter how much he begs. As your penis grows, so will your appreciation of culture, the arts, and Jennifer Lopez' hindquarters. Get to work- you've got seed to plant!

Masturbation (or self-gratification) is natural, enjoyable, and necessary, so of course a certain segment of society despises it. Everyone masturbates, except for a small group of people known as Liars. At this stage in your life you will be masturbating constantly, and the only time you'll take a break will be to jack off. Don't worry- even if you stop masturbating your body will masturbate for you! While you’re asleep! At this point you’re probably asking if you can trade your body in for a different model. Haha… the answer is no. Your bed sheets will become one giant goo rag, and you can help Mom by burning them every week and buying a fresh set. Meanwhile, whip out your spunk-maker and beat off whenever possible: your dentist will understand.

Skunk Cabbage
Your gonads have been drinking milk, and now they’re bulked up and hanging low between your legs. They will clang audibly as you walk down the hallway, and they'll cool themselves off with a quick dip in the toilet while you’re trying to find an actual article in "ESPN: The Magazine." Your balls will increase in weight from 1/16 ounce to thirty-nine pounds apiece, and before you can say “37th Birthday” you’ll be tripping over them when you get out of the shower. There's nothing that excites a woman more than the lumpy testicle sac and it's rumpled folds of hairy flesh, so don't be afraid to pull your bag out and use it as a conversation starter.

The Meaning Of Life
There is none. But your life from this point forward will be consumed by one thing: women. That’s it. Everything you do, everywhere you go, every word you say from this point forward will be to pursue and obtain women, and the object they possess which you cannot live without. Also vagina.

Slang Guide
A boy’s penis is also referred to as:
Schlong: The Motion Picture
Jam Handy
Barnaby the Luv Wurm
The Pulper
Sensitive Timothy


How do I get rid of this constant throbbing erection?
You’ll spend the first twenty years of your life trying to get rid of that erection and the next sixty trying to get it back. Don’t be angry at Nature’s cruelty… it’s all part of life, which is really about suffering and agonizing pain. And for you it's just beginning!

No, seriously, how do I get rid of this constant throbbing erection?
The best method is masturbation, but if that is not an option just poke your aching stinger into a box of rainbow sherbet. The colors!

How do I ask a girl out on a date?
This question has plagued adolescent boys since rape became illegal nearly twenty years ago. By asking a girl out she will know that you are interested in her, at which point she will treat you as if you don’t exist. If you don’t ask her out, however, she will genuinely never know you exist. The solution is a massive collection of awe-inspiring pornography and a ten-gallon drum of Vaseline.

My face is breaking out and I just killed my parents and my thoughts are all messed up and stuff. How do I ask a girl out on a date?
Please see above.

What comes after puberty?
Just the slow march to the grave, but the scenery is nice. Now that you’ve reached manhood you’re ready to procreate and fall asleep in your easy chair watching televised golf… mazel tov!

A Girl's Guide To My Changing Body

So right now you're at that awkward age... you're experiencing some changes and new emotions... there’s fuzziness where it used to be smooth, and your armpits smell like a garbage strike. There's no need to worry: those budding bumps on your chest are just love-pillows, designed to entertain men while you chatter endlessly, and the red stuff between your legs is just Nature’s way of saying “strawberry jam.” This is puberty- your time to celebrate your changing body, which by your mid-forties will be completely useless.

New Snoobs
By now your chest has probably started blooming. With curves come responsibility, but you won’t understand that until the damage is done. Right now it’s time to show off your goodies and drive the boys nutty-nutty cuckoo. Your breasts will soon explode into mammoth sacks of joy that cannot be hidden no matter how hard you try to show them off. Go ahead and squeeze them… it’s healthy and they won’t break! [If you experience breast breakage please contact your Mammologist]

Your Period
Menstruation is a beautiful, natural process of the female body, and as such it should never be discussed in public. You’ll experience a monthly bleeding, known as your period, which will turn you from a sweetheart into a flesh-eating succubus from the Planet Zero. It will also get you out of a good number of meetings at work. As your hormones increase, so will your ability to find the flaws in everyone other than you. Luckily this lasts only 3-5 days a month, which will happen to coincide with your husband working late.

Your Vagina
Your vagina is where God pulled all your skin together and forgot to tie you off. As a result your vagina makes you vulnerable, and serves as the only doorway into the miracle of creation. It also resembles pink roast beef drooling cheddar cheese, but don’t worry: boys will risk their lives and buy you offensively-priced entrees just for the chance to get a peek at your sacred hoo-hah. Now would be a good time to find your clitoris, because no man ever will. Your clitoris- also known as the fun button- is the pearl shaped nub at the crest of your labia majora. Memorize the location and destroy any maps that might exist. Take the secret with you to your grave and into the afterlife.

Where Do Babies Come From?
Babies are made through the process of sexual intercourse, which consists of a man and woman mashing genitals and then being baffled by the fact that the stick is blue. Don’t worry: unwanted babies can be aborted, adopted, or sold for Amazon gift cards.

Slang Guide
A girl’s vulva is also referred to as:

A girl’s breasts are also referred to as:
Dutchess Lucinda and her twin sister Penelope
Milk Melons
Diet Dr. Pepper
Nipple Blimps


When am I ready to… you know, do it with a boy?
If you can read this sentence you’re most likely old enough.

My breasts are too big/not big enough… what should I do?
Congratulations! By finding fault with your own perfect body you have learned to complain about Everything, and you have finally become a woman!

When I get my period I feel so… bleghxhgh! What should I do?
Poetically stated, and here’s a little secret for conquering the monthly marinara: snorting heroin will give you a clean, crisp buzz, and paralyze your body from the nose down. In your haze you might imagine you're a dinosaur, or a superhero, or a superhero fighting dinosaurs. One thing's for sure: you can kiss your cramps goodbye!

Is it okay for a girl to kiss another girl?
Of course not, you filthy pervert.

Being a woman sounds like an impossible curse, full of heartbreak and suffering and pain, and being at odds with my own body... are there ANY advantages?

Free cocktails.

Hurricane Boy


Tom Cruise is a fuckup. I know this as a absolute fact. How do I know? Because I learned it firsthand. I’m probably the smartest guy you’ll ever meet most likely so if I tell you something you can take it to the bank and cash it no problem. Thing is, even smart guys make mistakes… just look at that fuckup Tom Cruise.

See, it all started when the girlfriend and I were watching “Rain Man.” Her husband comes home in the middle of the movie so I have to sneak out through the doggy-door. But as I’m squirming I get this idea from that scene where Cruise takes his retard brother to Las Vegas to count cards and cheat the casino out of millions. My idea was simple: take MY retard brother to Las Vegas to count cards and cheat the casino out of millions. I’m crafty like that.

The only problem was I couldn’t afford a trip to Vegas. Also I didn’t have a retard brother. Or any brother. I have a sister who once put out a grease fire with her face, but that’s a story for another day. Since I don’t give up easy I drove over to the State School for the Criminally Retarded and snatched a supertard off the playground and threw him in the backseat of my car. I told him we were going for soft-serve ice cream and he said “Vanilla,” so I figured that must be his name. (No wonder he’s retarded.)

So Vanilla and I get to the local casino- Foxcrotch or something like that- and right away the trouble begins. One of the floor men spots Vanilla at the entrance and tells me that pets are not allowed on the premises. I assured the guy that Vanilla was housebroke but of course the idiot instantly proves me wrong. After housekeeping shows up with the wet/dry vac I explain to the floor man that Vanilla is my brother and that we were only here to count cards, cheat the casino out of millions, and then be on our way. The guy seemed cool with this.

Vanilla and I finally get to the Blackjack table and I explain to him that this is his time to crank up the freakgenius and earn us some dollars. Fucker just stared straight ahead and said “bieber,” whatever the hell that means. If he thinks I’m buying him a bieber he’s out his mind.

So the dealer starts dealing and we get 19, with the dealer showing a three. I ask Vanilla if we should hit or stick and the kid goes cowshit, throwing cards and chips into the air, spilling people’s drinks and running around the casino snorting and barking. By the time I find Petting Zoo he's at the roulette table, trying to catch the marble with his mouth. I strained my neck just watching him.

When I drag him back to Blackjack there are six security guards waiting for us and the floor man from before: betrayal, I know. Vanilla’s putting the aces down his pants, and these goons use their cattle prods and tasers to get us to leave- I spasm to this day. Van and I find ourselves out on the front curb, penniless and loveless, and at least one of us had thrown up the entire box of Double-Stuf Oreos I forced him to eat on the drive.

I was just about to slap him again when Vanilla looked at me and said something I never expected, something I’ll never forget. I sensed something inside him I never sensed before- a soul- and with a smile on his face and a true awareness he looked me in the eyes and said, “Brother.”

I had him back on the playground in less than twenty minutes. Oh and PS- go fuck yourself Tom Cruise.


Prologue (The Trophy)


Clay, rifle by his side, mind in the mud, was twenty foot up a tree lounge, a Texas live oak, waiting to kill so he could feel alive again. This was no pretentious metaphor- it was the way of the world, and Clay had reconciled long before you and I arrived. Deer hunting was legal and helpful, and it was alright, it was a holy thing- not that Clay had ever been one for reflection. Whichever way you worked it the man understood that death was part of life, and whether you’re bringing it or it’s brought to you… it’s there just the same.

He had been still for hours, waiting, praying, looking down upon the forest clearing from his perch, a self-constructed tree stand for the bird’s-eye view of the action. There hadn’t been a deer all freezing day, not until this moment, until a pretty fawn emerged from the V of a double-trunked elm, tentative, in heels, treading light over needles and pine cones, out without her Mother for maybe the very first time. Clay smiled and raised his Browning A-bolt like it was liquid, a third arm extending beyond the frame of his stand and gently drawn back to rest on his shoulder, his eye peeking through the scope at this gorgeous creature before him.

She was a little doe, old enough for solo, maybe a year, eyes wide and wet with confidence. No, it wasn't confidence… trust? Faith. It was faith. She was long and proud, tall for her size- a lesser hunter might have mistaken her for older but Clay knew… by the way she stepped, by her posturing... he knew she was a babe.

She paused, young hoof on dead leaves, one-quarter turn into a two-step, and Clay thought to himself, “May I have this dance?” because he was hilarious like that. She bent down to lick from the stream and as her tongue scooped the water to her lips Clay named her: Sarah. He’d never done that before- it was insane- but at this minute it was automatic. He waited, watching Sarah sip from the water fountain, completely unaware, his for the asking. She took a breath, batting her eyes and flirting with the galaxy at large. Her graceful neck stretched then to catch a clean pocket of drink, and Clay cocked his head, feeling her, feeling for her at the very least: Sarah was a beauty.

He snapped back to day courtesy of his calf muscle seizing. He'd been up here too long, his muscles atrophied and pooling lactic acid. A man has to hunt… Sarah might be sweet but she was still legal, and Clay cross-haired her, just about to fire when something else happened that never had before: he sneezed, the baritone vocal resounding through the woods.

Sarah, neck bolting vertical, eyes of indignation, stood straight up and huffed, drops of water still falling from her mouth. Big eyes blinking, “Don’t you want me?” before scampering off in the opposite direction, hydraulic hindquarters powering her over rock and stump and tangle of branches. Then, like leaving, she was gone. Clay watched her run off, humiliated, petrified, his muscles tied in cramping knots, his Browning falling useless from his hands. Why did he do that? What was wrong with him?

Is this the way to spend a Saturday? Suddenly he wanted out of that tree, out of the lounge, out of the forest, as if the animals had seen what happened and were just now starting to talk.

He climbed down- bark crumble under his feet- and packed up, thinking of Sarah, saying fuck and visibly shook at what had just happened: He wondered if he had lost something today. Fuck again. Clay walked back to his pickup, red-faced and mortified. On his way back he’d grab a burger, and put today behind him.

Funniest Home Videos [Closed Captioned]

[Testicle Bash]

[Kitchen Mishap]

[Testicle Bash]

[Life Ruined]

[Neuters Sibling]

[Blind Dog Adventure]

[Uncle Ha-Ha]

[Testicle Bash]

[Silent Stroke]

[Moral Crossroads]

[Gouges Eyes Out]

[Testicle Bash]

[Surrenders dignity]

[That Cat!]

[No Winners]

[Meth Mom]

[Genital Melt]

[Shuttle Disaster]

[Baby Stun Gun]

[Testicle Bash]

[Global Humiliation]

[Angry Doberman]


[Birthday Stroke]

[RIP Gonads]

Blood On The French Fries


At this moment Clay would have popped his Mama for a char-broiled hamburger sammich and some French-fried potatoes. He was way past starving- he was hungry. He pulled into the restaurant parking lot, lowering his boot onto the brake, his 02 Ram pickup squeaking to a soft stop. 4:30 now on a Saturday afternoon and the people’s cars were cruising the miracle mile, buying it and selling it, rushing to get home and put it all together. Clay noted the bitter whine from the wheels, knew what it meant, that the brake pads were going, that it was only a matter of time.

He would see Jack on Monday.

“Can I help you?” said the voice, AM static from the box outside his window, and Clay turned to the menu board, impossibly complicated, glowing backlit with photos of fictional food, with Value Combinations that defied the laws of economics. He needed time. He needed time to think.

“Can I help you?” said the voice, with predictable impatience.

Clay pictured the boy on the other end. Teenager. Pants around his knees. Skinny, face like a Meat Lover’s pizza. His stomach growled.

“What’s your name, boy?” Clay asked the speaker.

“MY name?” came the reply, and Clay waited.

The speaker eventually spoke. “Jeff.”

Clay took off his cap and itched at his thinning hair. He was unshaven, the nostrils of his bulbous nose thick with hair. “You hang on now, Jeff,” he said, “I ain’t never been here before and I’m gonna need a minute to decide.” Clay added: “Over and out,” because he was hilarious that way.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” crackled Jeff, a Value Combination of disinterest and pity in his voice.

Clay was reading the menu board now, really reading. There were double-decker bacon burgers, or triple-stacked patty melts of indeterminate fish. There were Curly Fries, Iced Yumbles (van/choc/straw), there were Chicken Picketts and Barbecue Doublers. Cheese was always Extra.

Clay had been in the woods all day, twenty feet up a live oak, hunting deer from a lounge. Nine hours crouched in stillness had put the stiff in his legs, and the five ibuprofen he swallowed were taking their time. He had no trophy to show for his patience, hadn’t seen a goddamn thing except for the squirrels and a single fawn, strolling through the clearing between the trees, lingering to sip from a dirty stream, but Clay had no clear shot to-

“Helloooo...” Jeff’s sarcasm came clear through the speaker, and Clay opened his eyes, not realizing they had been closed.

“Is anybody there?” Now the kid was being smartass. “It’s been like... a long time. Are you almost ready?”

“Yes, Jeff, I’m ready. Are you ready?” Clay felt the surge of adrenaline he’d been saving all day, and he swallowed.

At the touch screen, watching Clay from the camera, Jeff adjusted his headset and leaned out the window. He could see the front of this moron’s car. It was a pickup, and ugly, studded with crud.

“I’ll have a hamburger with cheese, a French Fry and a large Coke. And I’m only going to pay one dollar.”

The customer spoke so fast that Jeff forgot to listen. He was thinking if Stephanie got his text and about the History report he had yet to start. He was fixing his odds of getting the car tonight. He was trying to remember where he left his name tag.

Jeff found his finger floating dumb above the keypad until he realized he would have to ask.

“Wait- what?” He clicked his belt box to Listen.

A noisy silence. Clay began again. “This is my order: A hamburger with cheese, a French Fry and a large Coke. And I’m only going to pay ONE DOLLAR.”

Now Jeff was awake. This was brand new.

“One dollar?”

“One dollar,” Clay said, disabling his social safeties, “Now hurry up, boy, before you piss me off.”

“Do you want a Number Two?”

Clay stuck his head out the window and spoke directly to the box, red-faced. “You heard my order. Now make my lunch.” This was no game, this was Clay hitting his limit. He threw on the radio, some ancient AC/DC.

“That will be $5.79- drive up.” AC/DC powered down.

“I said one dollar. ONE BUCK. That’s all I feel like spending today, goddammit! Now don’t fuck with me, boy!”

Clay waited, about to get out of his car when the static returned: “That will be one dollar. Drive up.”

He pulled to the next window, the beer-bottled backseat clanking over every bump. And there was Jeff near to what he’d pictured. Teenager, skinny, eyes a For Rent sign. Dark hair and acne furious, like he’d laid his face in the fryer. It didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered anymore. After lunch it would be the pharmacy for the prescription, and then maybe Shannon’s. Maybe. Maybe this would be the day.

Inside the building Jeff removed the patty from a burger, wrapping the two empty bun halves in foil, slipping it in the to-go bag, around the counter, where the guy couldn’t see shit. The soda cup was dark enough to disguise the ice water, and he lifted a single small French Fry- exactly as Clay had ordered- and dropped it into the sack. A baked potato as ballast, and he had to smile to himself. It might be miles before his artwork was appreciated, maybe not until the expressway. Maybe the left lane.

Clay threw a soiled single on the counter as he snatched the sack and soda.

“And some ketchup,” Clay demanded.

“It’s in there,” Jeff politely lied.

Clay smiled. “Keep the change, kid.”

And then the pickup sped out of the lot, brakes straining loud against the rotor.

Jeff found his name tag. It was behind the stack of cups Maria brought for him to stack. He clipped it to his chest and checked his cell phone- no answer from Stephanie yet. It was becoming a pattern: she’d keep him off-balance, playing a classic game of hide & seek that Jeff was too young to identify and counter. He couldn't understand it, wondered what was going wrong, why couldn’t she just give him the assurance that he desperately-

Clay pulled the pickup back to Jeff’s window, double-barrel shotgun already raised. He took just a moment to aim before firing, Jeff’s head exploding like a coconut completely. The brain was undeniable- pink pudding sprang like a cranial piƱata- and the blood was liberated throughout the kitchen. There were specks and flecks everywhere- the cooks, the clerks, the customers... the window glass, the napkin stacks- even splattered on the basket of cooling French Fries, even now delicious like ketchup.

Jeff’s headless corpse stood at attention for a good thirty seconds, long after Clay had peeled off, long after the boy’s heart had stopped beating, and somehow, against every known law, there was consciousness enough for a final thought, one last “Stephanie” before the drop, before his next and final customer pulled up to the box.

“Hello?” said the angry female as the boy collapsed to the tiles.

“Is anyone there?”


Caught my grandmother masturbating… obviously I’ll have to kill us both

The Lord works in hilarious ways

Just boiled my dog and ate him. And I wasn't even hungry

I accuse my parents

Was Mr. Rogers the world's first tele-pedophile?

I’m in such a good mood today I might even aim for the bowl

Currently messing with Texas...

Luckily for me, “Nymphomaniac” is too long to fit on my daughter’s license plate

Surprisingly, Edward Scissorhands is a very gentle lover

The only mail I ever get is bills and poison cupcakes from the neighborhood kids

Why do you think this guy holding us at gunpoint is forcing us to dig a grave?

Fairy Tale

“And the Village Elders did declare that Anger was a crime…”

The children laughed and mumble-fussed, tumbling down the steps of the iBrary, rubbing their bellies, thinking it was just a joke…

“It’s true!” I said, pivoting in my power chair,  "It happened!"

P3nelope pulled out her iFoot, chess app in progress, and looked up at me, smiling, before checkmating her opponent in Seoul. Twelve teeth in her five year-old head and P3nelope said: “Mediating emotions is absurd!”

“Hear, hear,” called one of the African kids, crawling toward the Digi-Bank terminal.

Mar1na & Mari0, exchanging eye-rolls, shrugging shoulders…

“Back then we thought we could mandate!” I needed a sip.

The kids, chubby, giggling at the folly of their elders and sharing some kind of pre-teen private joke. I would have slapped them if they weren’t so adorable.

The other toddlers were toddling, downing non-alcoholic toddies and tattling on their siblings, but all of them laughing uproariously at the idea.

The idea that Bullying was outlawed in 2012, Adultery in 2016, and how Bad Ideas had become a Federal Crime at some point in the early 20’s…

“So when did we see the light?” I asked in earnest. The kids were catching their breath.

“In ’43, when one Bully bullied the other Bully into ending Bullying as a crime,” Sa$ha19, laughing hysterically, and showing off her photographic memory.

“And are we free today?” I asked.

“Nope,” said Nevan4.2, “we’re still trying to end the oppression and achieve equality.”

I closed the book and lied, smiling in their open eyes, “We’ll get there someday.”



I guess that's why they call it ejaculation

That woman in our bedroom dressed like a cowgirl...? Um, she's a nurse

Did you ever notice how Chinese guys HATE having their houses burnt down?

"I’m sorry, Your Honor, but Community Service sounds like a real drag..."

If you would die for me why don’t you?

Turns out “Take Your Daughter To Work Day” is not a good idea for wardens

I enjoy dining al fresco in Little Italy, and not just because of the possibility of getting whacked

The good news is you're the world's first blind neurosurgeon... the bad news is that's a meatloaf

Bad news, Captain- the machine is beginning to expect the cream

I hate to wake you, Grandma, but it's a sin to waste a Viagra

There’s a lion in the tent but I’ll be goddamned if he gets my Fig Newtons