“She ground her pelvis against John’s thigh and sang ‘I Wanna Sex You Up’ with a mouthful of toothpaste. And when he frowned down at her, she only laughed harder.” By Heidi Bell
Fiction
Asperger’s: A Chronology, an excerpt from FATHERMUCKER
“Roland has invented a game. He pokes you in the eye with his index finger, Three Stooges’ style, and yells, ‘Boook!'” By Greg Olear
The Underwater Room
“He slides his finger up the shaft to catch the trickle of red sap oozing down the damp inner skin of the bark, studies his finger, then shoves his hand into the crowd for them to see.
Obama Appoints Kevin McCallister
“Several unnamed White House officials have confirmed that President Obama has appointed fellow Chicagoan, Kevin McCallister, as Special Consultant to the Secret Service’s detail.” By Katharine Gingrich
Cherry Tomatoes
He looked at me, and I sensed trouble. Like he was checking my distance, like he might try and run off with you.
The Disappearing Boy
“Nathan!” Chris said. “What the fuck’s wrong with you? This isn’t a game anymore.” By David James Poissant
Insurance
“When I pulled into my father’s driveway, the car’s headlights illuminated him standing behind his work table, his Labrador, Scotty, stretched across the table’s surface.” By John Warner
The Caramel Macchiato
Excuse me miss. I would like one of those fantastic … one of those … oh you know. There’s the coffee and the milk, sometimes a leaf drawn in the foam? Yes of course, a latte. Latte us pray, ha! Isn’t that a latte to ask for? Ha! No no, strictly an amateur funny man.…
Where You Live
“My mother—68 years old, known for her marble sponge cake and Zen-like bridge skills, a rabid fan of movie musicals—was missing. Missing.” By Andrew Roe
Emily: Leading from the heart
The problem with sex scandals, at least in Emily’s opinion, was that, no matter how many shoes dropped, there was always a stinking boot still suspended. It was like a goddamn Payless in here, and as much as Emily appreciated Airwalk-brand sneakers at guaranteed low prices, she wanted more from life. So it made perfect…
Crossing Guard
“But Nick was the first to hit Mr. Nelfin, a glancing shot off of his knee that caused his head to tilt slightly as if his muscles had been removed.” By Josh Denslow
A Badbadbad Love Story
A lot can happen in four dates between two highly-sexed and scarred new lovers. Fiction by Jesus Angel Garcia.
Close
My father always used to say, “Close only counts in horseshoes and golf.” What about life? In this weekend’s story, a man still in love with his ex-wife drops in on her at a bar.
Ludwig III, Part 2: this I or he or it (the thing) which thinks
Professor Edgarstein squealed. A perfect paper. William Gibson meets Mel Gibson. Umberto Eco meets Marc Ecko. It was gritty and mean and dystopian and weirdly urban. A freshman wrote it? Not some rarefied tract in “Fibonacci Journ.”, not an illuminated scrap of analytic hand-wringing gracing the onion-skin pages of the “Denotational Biennial.” Jesus. Co-authored by…
Ludwig III Part I
A ball rolled across the floor like a baseball rolling across a diamond. The whole thing was pregnant with meaning. The curvilinear path decanted volumes about the Zimbickis’ Swiffer habits, the damned degradation in rubber quality since that South American brouhaha and, most of all, gravity. In this droll commonplace, you were supposed to infer…
Ludwig II
Children deliquescing into toddler soup, violent sexual dismemberment, four-page folio spreads of third-degree burn victims, the Poop Boys Macarena, Ludwig Wittgenstein receiving enough self-abuse to bring him within an inch of his life, Princess Di’s moribund breasts. All topics that the modern man embraces. All topics that the World Acadamie of Lit-rat-ture deemed inappropriate. Inappropriate…