Crazy but true stories, exaggerated tales, short fiction, and poignant reflections, neatly packaged for your enjoyment. Submit an article »
Monday starts like any other Monday for Carolyn: a dead antelope carcass in the bookcase, a vinyl Ludacris album skipping on the stereo, and a Rabbi reciting a fake Torah portion on The Jewish Channel. I nibble on some cold tomato soup as Carolyn emerges from her lair in the laundry room. She mutters something about a Beatles concert she went to in 2002 and then heads to the lavatory. Read More »
The boy did like to party. He went out every night of the week, and if he wasn't hanging out with his friends he was out dancing, drinking, or maybe going to a basketball game. Read More »
Touring and sharing small, intimate spaces with people you don't like being intimate with is tough. Hi, I'm James, guitarist to a rock-band extraordinaire that our lawyers have wisely advised under no circumstance should be affiliated with my writing and all names changed to protect the innocent. Want to know the highs and lows of touring with a top-notch, moderately successful rock outfit? Read More »
"Your mom's so fat... she jumped up in the air and got stuck" "...every time she turns it's her birthday "...she went to the movies and sat next to everyone" Etc etc etc. Read More »
I fear that by the time you read this...it will be too late. Forgive me, Vanessa. I am so sorry. As you are reading this, your fiancé is lost—caught in an act of obsessive compulsion that I, too, have fallen into. There was no malice in my intention—to take him away was not my intention. We were only going to try it once. Read More »
Something awful happened to me today. It was one of the most heart-jolting, soul-wrenching, brain-numbing things I have ever lived through as a human being, and I am still reeling. It called into question everything I thought I knew about the human experience and probed the very fiber of my morality. It was mind-altering, time-halting, existential. Read More »
Last week I was in Starbucks and someone called me a Communist. At first, I was upset because I thought she had called me a "columnist," a jab aimed at insulting the information I was providing to another person in line about the high-fat content of the soy latte. (A soy latte, by the way, is no better than a non-soy latte. Read More »
Before all the sick pedophiles and criminals had to go and ruin the social outlook on internet hookups, there was actually a time when young individuals like me could engage available girls in pithy dialogue and then crudely arrange the subsequent romantic encounters without much of a challenge, pretty much on a regular basis. Read More »
Life decisions were no longer being scrutinized and grudges were done taking root for now; family dinner had ended. Tonight, however, had been tamer than previous dinners. Tonight we had eaten Shake n' Bake and everyone adored Shake n' Bake. Read More »
"Is there a Nathan here?" asked a nurse.
"Yes, that's me," I replied.
"Molly wants to see you."
I was sitting in the waiting room playing Angry Birds on my phone to distract myself, thinking back on how all of this had started: simple goodbye sex. After all, I had needed a proper parting with all of Molly. Read More »
It started with boredom, and it snowballed into an emergency room visit. Well, there weren't snowballs involved, but snow was a definite factor. Read More »
Her name was Shaleen. Not Sha-leen, or Shay-leen, Shhh-leen. "My name is Shaleen." The words poured coldly out of her mouth as she introduced herself during our first shift together at the flagship Sizzler steakhouse in downtown Salt Lake City, Utah. "My name is Anna," I exclaimed in my friendly voice that I'd been practicing for my new Western home. Read More »
Maybe you live in a fine, quiet, suburban neighborhood; a place with money, and but one STD going around from a well-known culprit (hint: it's the hitchhiking hobo just come into town, and it ain't Jack Reacher). Not me. I live in what is termed "a poor man's Brighton." Seeing as Brighton is the gay capital of Europe, a haven for AIDS, thinking about what a poor man's penis must look like where I'm from is a sad state of affairs indeed. It is essentially one enormous genital wart. Nobody sleeps in a poor man's Brighton. Read More »
In my life I strive to avoid two things: inconvenience, and brainless idiots. Yet somehow I managed to find a place that conveniently carries both under the same roof: Oil Can Henry's. It's like some sort of "Teenagers Stricken with Fetal Alcohol Emporium." And they're even ballsy enough to call these people "employees." I think "employees" is used graciously in this context because it implies that they're doing a specified job for a previously agreed upon hourly wage. I assure you they are providing no desired service. Read More »
The number one rule of bullshitting: If you know you don't have the tools or experience, think of someone who does and pretend to be them. So for one evening, I was Laird Hamilton, soul surfer and fitness guru. But let's back up a bit. Read More »