Hanging Off the Edge of a Cliff

Man, you gotta stop doing that!

What? Pulling up people who are hanging off the edge of a cliff?

Yeah, don't do that.  We'll end up dealing with a ton of people hanging from cliffs.  We won't have any customers. Just people hanging off cliffs.

That's ridiculous, I was just trying to help the guy out.

You're not seeing the big picture here.  If we're nice to people hanging off the edge of a cliff, they'll come back with their friends who are hanging off the edge of a cliff.

But-

Everybody's trying to look cool and hook people up, even people hanging off the edge of a cliff.  Look, if you were a person hanging off the edge of a cliff trying to get some people hanging off the edge of a cliff pussy, wouldn't you tell that edge of a cliff pussy about where she can get pulled up?

First of all, if I was a person hanging off the edge of a cliff, pussy would be the last thing on my mind.  I'd be too worried about the condition of my balls.

When you're hanging off the edge of a cliff, you don't care about your balls.

Anyway, there's nothing we can do to stop people hanging off a cliff from coming here. I mean, they built this shit right by that cliff.  They had to know what they were getting into.  This ain't the Biltmore, yo!

I doubt that cliff was there before they opened the doors here. Or at least it wasn't that high of a cliff.

Man, that same cliff has been here forever. Opening a store on this block is like saying, "Hey! People hanging off the edge of a cliff! Come and ask us for free rope."  Anyway, what else have we got these courtesy ropes for?

They're just gonna end up back on the cliff again anyway.

But they keep the rope, so they can re-use it.

They're just gonna throw the rope out, or lose it when they're like on meth or whatever.  And by the way, you didn't throw him the courtesy rope. You threw him the deluxe rope.  If management starts noticing that the rope inventory is low and I get stuck counting ropes four nights a week, I'm gonna kick your ass.

Man, what you got against people hanging off the edges of cliffs, anyway? People hanging off the edge of a cliff say the funniest shit sometimes, you know?

The State of Pop Music

In the wake of the VMA Miley Cyrus thing, I have overheard a plethora of conversations about "the state of pop music".  What follows are select clips from these conversations, except I replaced "pop music" with "room temperature", and took some creative license with the adjacent factors.


"I don't know, room temperature seems to be out of the hands of the people, it's really all about what 50 year old Jewish men in LA think 15 year olds want the thermostat set at when they go jerk off."

"It's true, it's totally true!  You gotta- if you're on a first date, the best topic of conversation is room temperature.  You gotta work with the shit you got in common, y'know?  You don't want to scare someone off..."

"That's always been the case though... good room temperature is all about gettin' it on.  Room temperature is a safe bet for setting the mood."

"I can't go out anymore.  They just, these places just turn the room temperature up so I can't even talk to someone.  This current room temperature is like, made to be turned up and like, suck the conversation of the room."

"Room temperature was great until around 1994."

"I think people these days, y'know they need their room temperature too warm. I don't want to go into those rooms, y'know? Hahahaha!"

"Oh I let the kids control the room temperature in the car once... it got so cold, I wanted to wear earmuffs."

"All the room temperature feels the same these days. I can't tell if I'm at my girlfriend's house, at work, at the bar, or even in my own room.  I do like me some room temperature!"

"Person 1: All room temperature has always felt the same, relatively I mean.

Person 2: How can you even say that with a straight face? Room temperature meant something back then... I think I'm dating myself a little here, but back when I was into room temperature, it was about 72 degrees Fahrenheit."

"Well now that wasn't really room temperature, was it? That was heat, which would later influence room temperature because it was rebelling against cold. Your typical person back then wasn't comfortable at those temperatures.  (some mumbled rebuttal, I think Velvet Underground was mentioned)  Yeah, I'm sure my dad has never even heard of those temperatures."

"I just shake my head thinking about what room temperature will be like in the future."

NYC Fringe Festival

I was reading the capsule descriptions at NYC Fringe Festival a couple weeks ago, and I noticed certain recurring themes and gimmicks, so I decided to write parody ones and present them to the general public and see if people could tell the difference.  I have provided a list that includes both sincere summaries of plays that are actually being performed in NYC for $18/ticket right now, and shit I made up.  See if you can tell the difference.  Answer key in comments.

1)  SLUT

SIXTEEEN. Pre-gaming. Empty ABSOLUT bottle. Luke, GEORGE, Tim. Back of a CAB. RIPPED underwear. HANDS everywhere. NO! Through the eyes of NYC teen girls, FACE the choices and EXPERIENCE the fallout from ONE life-altering Friday night.

2)  Snakes I Have Known

On my 16th birthday I find myself buck-ass naked and snake-bit outside my front door in Nowhere, TX. There are all kinds of snakes in my life. Some are reptiles. It's my journey from DFW to JFK, y'all.

3)  The Rise and Fall of the Kinky Wizards
Skateboarding. Pop culture references.  Kleptomania. Box after box of hair dye from CVS.  Come witness the tale of Vince and Justin, the skateboarding shoplifters from cult classic film High Fidelity as they nearly redefine the sound of the 90's.

4)  Next

Having lived on a boat for 3 years and published a hit novel inspired by it, Holly struggles to find anybody to deeply relate to. Former Gilmore Girls writer Julie McCullough takes you on a journey into loneliness and confessions over mojitos and explores difference between relief and real passion.

5)  One Way Out
What do you get when you throw a neurotic Jew, a retired Filipino stock trader with high functioning autism, a heart surgeon who is a single mother of three, a Parisian cartographer from 1850, and James Joyce and trap them in an elevator?  Not much, until Friedrich Nietzsche starts speaking through a one-way intercom and reveals that one of them has a gun.

6)  PUSSY

A lesbian couple whose love is on the rocks, their overly curious landlady and one very opinionated cat ... this love triangle is starting to get crowded. 

7)  Stanton
OH NO'S! Looks like the playground has been taken over by bullies!  But not just ordinary bullies, vampire ninja bullies. Stanton has no choice but to team up with a band of warthogs to fight the battle against not only the bullies, but mutants and cultural hegemony.  

8)  The Order of the Cape

From the ashes of a mysterious apocalypse that wiped out most of mankind, a new society forms with comic books as the guiding template. Fanfic is the new Shakespeare, Superman vs Batman is the new holy war in this deep examination of the influence mythology has on society that draws thought-provoking parallels to the world we live in.

9)  HORSE PLAY The Musical 

Horses place the bets as a NYC carriage driver falls in love with a woman intent on banning horses from Central Park. A rock score drives this universal tale about life, freedom and how love of horses brings people together.

10)  Ex Machina

Two Smartphone factory drones must learn to coexist while under threat from fascist anti-union politics, drunk guards, and a sexy anarchist unfettered by the laws of physics. A dystopian dark comedy about dancing, Nekko Wafers, and the thrill of rebellion.

11)  See Jane Give Up Dick
See Jane. See Jane Give Up Dick. A highly sexual Manhattanite attempts to give up ‘giving it up’ for one full year. See Jane discover if putting an end to her slutty ways can be more rewarding than multiple orgasms.

12)  Manic Pixie Dream Girl: A Graphic Novel Play
The darkly comic story of a struggling artist and his mysterious muse, told in the style of a graphic novel. MPDG is a beer-drinking, pop-culture referencing, punch to the theatrical gut—more High Fidelity than Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf

13)  Katie Broke Up With Me       

Guys, Katie broke up with me again, and it's for real this time. So I sold my DJ equipment and wrote a puppet show about our relationship and how bleak my future is without her. I asked Bill Oldham to do the soundtrack, but he didn't get back to me in time. I'd describe the puppets but I'm almost out of sp

14)  The Rufus Equation

Nerd + Math = Sex. What's love got to do with quantum physics? Professor Bert Rufus is awkward with women – especially with the alluring physicist Alys Smith. Bert invents a secret device that will shock the world...and might even get him laid. 

 15)  MONOCULAR MAN

In the era of Viet Nam, Woodstock, and dot-matrix, everyone's making bombs, including our long-haired, short-winded, one-eyed hero. "Explosive," "literary," and "comic," MM travels suburbs from Swampscott to Miami, taking on race, privilege (his), manhood, and fried chicken.

16)  Stretched Thin
Carolina's years working the donkey show are behind her, but the bare spot on her resume has relegated her to lousy retail jobs. Her roommate Julia has a masters degree in comparative lit and has found herself in a similar position.  Join this unlikely pair on their journey of learning what really matters in a tough job market.

17)  Step Three
Floyd is a jaded Vietnam vet who recently came out of the closet and lives with his ex-wife, their unemployable son... And a trampoline that can predict the future. Get rich quick schemes collide with old grudges and the result is hilarity, emotional healing, and the time travel paradox sometimes all at once!

18)  Just a Minute

Freddie Burks is a struggling playwright who is on the verge of a breakthrough that would save his career, his relationship, his credit score, and his dog Muffin. All of this relies on one phone call, but he hasn't paid his bill and may lose service any minute as he argues with his fiancee and his mother keeps calling.  Oh, and there's someone holding a cocked bow and arrow in the background.

19)  A Fallopian Fairy Tale
Maligaya is on a mission "to take the pink out of Princess and put it back in the pussy." With her pitch for a Disney meets "Girls" children's book at stake, stories from her life expose a less charming reality. 

20)  Mind the Gap

Have a seat as a table full of New Yorkers and Londoners hash it out over whose respective countrymen are the more insufferable tourists.  The true setting, however, is the real mystery in this cerebral comedy driven by witty dialogue and geographical minutia. If you can correctly guess the location at the end, prizes include gift certificates to local restaurants.

A Letter From the Atlantic

Dear Ian,

I am writing to humbly request that you stop trying to use me as inspiration for poetry.  Yes, I know that I let you pee in me*, but I have to draw the line somewhere.  It is not that your verse in inherently bad... I mean, it is, but that is not what I take issue with.  Were I to address every line of awful poetry put forth on my account, I would be constantly writing notices and would probably just draft a form letter.  No, yours is especially intolerable because it is fraught with precious concepts ensconced in banal inaccuracies. I would like to point out a few of them.

First of all, you were musing wistfully about whether you were standing in the essentially same water as the Pacific Ocean.  The answer is "No, you're not." Water molecules are all unique, regardless of their similar chemical reactivity.  I am certain that if I heated you to 212 degrees, you would react the same way most people would as well.  I am going to go ahead and anticipate your wanky post-modern rebuttal of "But there is no essence that marks water as 'Atlantic' and 'Pacific', humans made up those handles, all the water is one."  You clearly followed this logic as you spoke your desires underneath waves, as though this "unified water of the world" is your personal messaging system.  Did you receive a response?  No, you did not, so stop reading Buddhist texts summarized on people's blogs.  Or is this that David Foster Wallace graduation speech again?  Ugh, that keeps popping up, and whenever it does I get people staring at me saying "This is water. This is water.", while estimated figures of their student loan debt flash through their mind.

And then, as though completely unaware of how this contradicts the thought you just had, you started trying to phrase the process of how the specific water that heard your words will spread them gradually until all the water carries your message, a thorough display of both narcissism and poor knowledge of geography. Watching you try to weave metaphors from that was like trying to watch someone build a sand castle with an empty soda can.

Also, that butterfly did not land on your head because you were born of the universal salt waters an hour prior and it wanted to grant you new life, and it was not lured by the traces of life-giving sea salt.  It was lured by your shiny bald spot.  If you want to write a poem about that, be my guest, but keep me out of it.

I know that you heard a song called "Dead Sea" last night and you may feel like the Dead Sea or that you are wandering the Dead Sea, but guess what? I consulted the internet and discovered that neither of us are the Dead Sea.  If I was the Dead Sea, then that crab that punctured your toe would not have been there (because, as you acutely observed, very few creatures can live in the Dead Sea), and if you were the Dead Sea, you would be several thousand miles away and full of people with nasty skin conditions who are too cheap to buy ointment.

Your version of "if you love someone, let them go, etc" adapted for the ocean was nothing short of hackneyed, not to mention full of human privilege assumptions.  First of all, way to go for the first and most basic concept of the tide.  Second, do you know who decides whether something returns from the ocean?  Me.  I know that from your perspective, it may appear as though people are acting of their own agency, that is a very carefully performed act.  If the ocean was involved in that saying, it would read "If you love someone, let them go, unless it is in the ocean, in which case you should hold on to them until they are safe on dry land."

In closing, your pathetic meandering thought process is not only amateurish and full of fallacies, it is boring, and that says a lot coming from me, my favorite show is "Continental Drift".  Good luck continuing to compose verse that is a Wes Anderson parody of thought provoking or deep.

Fuck you and suck my balls**,

The Atlantic Ocean

*Actually, that's kind of a turn-on. Oh god, don't tell anyone I said that though.

**Of course I have balls. If you didn't go to a Catholic school, you'd know this.

Documentarian

Rain was visiting old friends at a spot that, if you were keeping track, was the place to be from 8:30PM till around 10, at which point the people to be had branched away from tapas and $15 drinks and into their chosen industry, whether it was designer chemicals, performance art, combative fornication, or professional-grade sleep, the type that people announce via social media like it were a Kickstarter campaign. Nobody with a life cares about basil-infusion after 10PM.  It was 9:15 when Rain arrived; she and her friends have never been here, but her friends brought along a tour guide named Brent, who was anxious to meet Rain.  You could hear every conversation in the room, but not understand a single word anybody was saying.  It seemed designed to allow you to speak and feel like you were heard, and listen the same way people listen at karaoke.  They catch the headline like a song title then return to their own internal dialogue until it’s their turn to sing.

Rain was visiting old friends at a trendy spot in LA, when it occurred to her how much time had gone by since they had spoken.  She walks in and thinks about the past 5 months.  Same job, same apartment, same wardrobe… as she approaches the table and notices a carefully groomed stranger talking to her friends, his messenger bag precariously draped over the round back of his chair, his eyes wandering to meet hers as they have been scheduled to, she realizes “Right! Boyfriend.”  Or rather, committed relationship at least; they haven’t really discussed titles.

Brent has a parlor trick where he can take any subject and segue to his effective panty dropper line of “I am an indie documentarian”, in 5 sentences or less.  Rain has read the same book of parlor tricks, so she replies, “So, please forgive my ignorance, what makes you an indie documentarian… are there corporate documentarians?” Just as Rain’s curt dismissal caused Brent’s scarcely contained rape fantasy to surface, the waiter approached the table and announced, “I’m sorry everybody, but the excessive narration of this story has sucked all of the oxygen from this room.  Please put on these masks or you will die.”  Nobody could talk for the rest of the night, so they survived. The end.

Phoenix Passive-Aggressive Art Criticism Interpretation Guide

It's fairly universal, but written based on local observations.

“Hey, I meant to ask, how did your opening go last night?”

1. Sorry, I didn’t go because your art bores me but I like you as a person, or 2. Sorry, I decided not to go to your opening but instead to hang out at a bar where other people who didn’t go to your opening talk about what might be going on there.

“It was an intimate crowd at last night’s opening.”

Nobody showed up, motherfucker!

“It’s very abstract!”

What the fuck is this crap? Did you even try? Or did you assume we’d all think “Well, the artist clearly meant to do something ambitious but it was too fucking hot out to actually put thought into it.”

“Clearly, you have found your wheel-house.” 

This is basically the same thing you’ve been doing for the past 6 years.

“The titles and captions really add a new element to the experience.”

Why do artists try speaking? Forget you ever learned what words are, they don’t serve you at all

“You have a great sense of composition.”

Oh no! Your parents spent $130K on art school and all it did was teach you how to frame an image, but you still don’t have any imagination.

“This is really nice. I wish I had enough free time to paint like this...”

I have no concept whatsoever of how much time and effort goes into developing a craft.

“Your process is intriguing.”

Ah yes, very commonly used around sculptures and metal work.  It could mean, “How the fuck did you make something this awful?” or in less extreme cases, “It looks awful, but I’d like to reserve judgment. Who knows, maybe part of your process involves wearing a bag of wrenches around your balls whenever you're sculpting, that would explain the complete lack of attention to detail.

“I don’t give out compliments easily, but… “

I say this at every gallery I visit. I also probably wear this fucking hat to bed at night.

“I feel like people give too many insincere compliments, so I always try to point out at least one thing I don’t like or I think needs improvement about a piece.”

Don’t worry, I am just going to find something really minute about your piece that will not challenge you at all, so you can continue making shitty art and I can continue complaining about your shitty art to our mutual friends, that way we both still have something to do.

"There's a sense of urgency, I like it."

You obviously rushed through this between bouts of going to bars and talking about yourself, I hate it.

"That’d make a cool tattoo!"  

"Couldn’t find somebody who wants that permanently on their skin? Weird!"  Or "That looks like it belongs on a crappy t-shirt."

“Huh. Zombie... Ninja... Steampunk... Kitten robots. That's... really random!”

Ran out of ideas, didn’t you?

Said The Dentures to the Peach...

I always knew my parents were strange as a child, but it wasn't until adulthood that I realized how truly bizarre my upbringing was. See, both of my parents had an oppressively conservative upbringing where wholesome family values were maintained with an iron fist. They ate dinner as a family unit every night, no TV past 7:30, and under no circumstance would they ever discuss anything remotely unpleasant. Well my parents' believe that this practice stunted their development, so they decided to do the exact opposite when they raised me and my sister. While they did enforce certain ground rules, I was always more than encouraged to learn about and then discuss my views on sex, drugs, violent movies, the concept of mortality, and anything else that pre-adolescents like specifically because their parents don't want them to know these things even exist. So when I turned twelve, of course they started leaving porno magazines in the bathroom. At the time I thought it was just a coincidence, until my parents, BOTH of them, lectured me on masturbation technique.  The lecture seemed planned, like they wanted it to introduce the concept, let that sink in, then maybe a quick anatomy lesson, a few basic motions to get me started, and proper sperm disposal.  But they kept arguing over details that were at the time completely over my head, like "If he always uses lotion it's gonna train him to get off too fast and he won't be able to hold down a relationship and he's gonna wind up committing hate crimes" or "That's gonna make it so he can only do girl on top"...  I noticed they were always quietly hovering outside the bathroom door.  Over the course of the next month or two, they repeatedly assured me that the magazines were in the basket next to the toilet for my enjoyment. My dad would wink at me and say, "Hey, I like the articles too, son!" like I was supposed to know what the fuck that meant! Most parents treat their kids like dogs or drunkards they are placating until they sober up into adulthood, my parents treated me like I was their buddy.

All the kids in school would make jokes about jerking off.  Admitting it to their friends was a relief, the relief of admitting something they were made to feel ashamed of.  Oh what I would give to know what it was to be ashamed of something natural! One kid said that the skin was bunched up in folds at the base of his dick like a Shar Pei because he was jerking off so much. Whenever he came back from the bathroom, a few of his friends would make this gushy sound with their lower lips and fingers that I assumed was what it sounded like when people jerked off. This gave me an idea. So whenever I was alone and I knew my parents were standing outside the door, I would make sure my door was locked and I'd sit on my bed and make those gushy fake masturbation sounds with my mouth.  It must have worked because the questions stopped, and soon I found a shelf unit sound system in my bedroom that I never asked for, ostensibly so my parents wouldn't need to hear me "jerking off" anymore.  It was the closest thing to shame I had ever felt, and I loved it!

As far as actual masturbation goes, I remember thinking how gross the whole thing seemed, and wondering why it is such a big deal. I was already freaked out by my new pubic hair, so the thought of anything other than pee coming out of there made my blood run cold.

Midway through that summer, the family packed into a van and drove up to the mountains for a family re-union at my grandparents' house. It was several days full of idyllic memories chasing crayfish under rocks, eating burnt diner pancakes at 6 AM before spending the day hiking, etc... by Sunday I was completely spent lying in the guest room full of aches and bruises as I looked at the old picture framed advertisements hanging on the walls. I was sharing a room with my dad. He comes in and after a few pleasantries brings up a subject I thought had been dropped long ago. "So you haven't been alone this whole trip, bet you must be jonesing for some privacy, eh?" I told him I already "took care of" what he was referring to, as though I took out the trash or mowed the lawn. "Oh, ok. You didn't use one of your socks, did you? I think you're all out of clean ones..." I told him I used a few tissues. "I don't see any tissues boxes in here." I was getting annoyed now, I told him I got them from the bathroom. "I don't see any tissues in the waste basket, either... are you lying to me?" I was tired, achey, and probably itchy from where my armpit hair was starting to grow. So I snapped. "Well... fuck you, dad, leave me alone! Maybe I'm just not in the mood!" My parents had a fairly traditional stance on swearing, especially when directed toward them. He used to stutter when he was this mad, but now he just adds unnecessary pauses and closes his eyes: "What did... you ... just ... say?" My dad tends to dole out impulsive and random punishments when he looses his temper. When my older sister was 15, he made her go on two dates with a guy she'd just broken up with because she went over her texting limit while they were dating that month. He calmed down and said, "You are going to stay in this room and masturbate, and you are going to give me the tissues when you're done. I'll come back here in half an hour and you had better produce something for me or else." I could barely make a fist from skipping rocks all day, and there were no magazines around for me to even try using for "inspiration". I thought about spitting into the tissues and handing that to him, but I didn't know if that would work. I started stroking myself and thinking of girls from TV and movies, girls I liked in school, girls with proportions I had imagined... but none of it was connecting to any real immediate sexual feeling. Then I looked at the old advertisements on the wall. Sure, the photos were black and white, but there were a few post cards with cute island girls wearing straw skirts... a magazine cover with a woman who was sorta pretty but was making a goofy face that I guess was sexy in 1957... and then there was a more elaborately framed dress ad with a woman who was giving me a very welcome stare. Her face was so approachable, as though I could meet her in real life and we could fool around or whatever. Her breasts were full and less pointy than the other breasts on the wall, so I could actually imagine what the nipples would look like in the context of the whole tit... I could see them shimmy gently as I pushed her legs apart and eased my cock inside of her... I had no idea how that would feel in real life, but I realized at that moment it must be some powerful stuff because I immediately ejaculated right over the one tissue I was holding, all over the side of the bed into my dad's open suitcase. I just stared at the mess as my posture deflated, thinking, "Wow, that's a lot! Did all that come from me? That's... awesome!"  I used the tissue to clean up my mess and once my dad approved, it was time for dinner, which I planned to rush through and then go masturbate again while the room was still unoccupied. I sit at the table and take very little from each dish that passes by. It may not be an official rule, but it is implied that I am only to contribute to the dinner conversation when directed to do so. Maybe I'm a gentleman or maybe I just wanted to enrich my first consummated sexual fantasy with some details, but I wanted to get more information about the woman in the old dress ad. I didn't want to ask directly though, so I just talked about how much I liked those old ads hanging on the walls. My grandmother laughed and said, "Oh yeah, when you get old you tend to accumulate a lot of junk," and she paused to glare at my grandfather, then continued "I had such a hard time getting him to throw out any of those old magazines, so we compromised: he got to decide which clips we keep and I'd frame them and send the rest to recycling! Of course, that's why they're mostly pictures of pretty girls!" The old man was a shameless lech who went to great lengths to check out and make crass comments at anything, even girls in TV commercials. When I was little I used to say "She can't hear you, grandpa!", before I realized it didn't matter. My grandmother continued, "Oh, except for that old dress ad in the golden frame. That was from my short-lived modeling career, year before I met your grandfather." I gave my dad an unmistakable panicked look, and he interjected, "Uhh, you mean the one in the guest room that we're staying in? In the golden frame? Closest to the door? Polka-dot dress? That one?" My grandfather slouched in his seat and with a proud guttural groan he said, "Yep. That one."

Minutes of Weekly Meeting of the Conspire Collective

Minutes of Weekly Meeting of the Conspire Collective

I'd like to say that I didn't use real names out of respect, but sadly, as often as I go there I just don't know anybody's name from the Conspire Collective. Besides, if I used real names it would just become even more of a big inside joke.



At 8:15 PM, Trevor Star called to order the week's meeting of the minds of Conspire Collective and asked where members Val, Ernie, & Carlos "The Yucca" Tanner acquired the Nutella they were eating with plastic spoons.

They replied that they bought it from ...the store.

Trevor Star reminded them that they can't keep stealing Nutella from Jobot, it is wrong and they're eventually going to catch on.

Ernie reminded Trevor Star that "Property is theft", which Trevor Star agreed with but suggested that that the quote should not be used to justify actual theft.

Val requested that Trevor Star define "should" and "actual theft".

Former Chairman Mr. Horse addressed Ernie and said that Karl Marx would disagree with him using Proudhon's quote,. He reminded everyone that Karl Marx took it a step further and said that 'theft' as a forcible violation of property presupposes the existence of property in the first place.

Mr. Horse was advised to get the fuck off Wikipedia and pay attention.

Trevor introduced the first order of business: A letter of complaint was received two days prior. A customer entered the building at 8:30 in the morning and nobody was around to help him. In a letter he left sticking out of the cash register, the customer said that he could have done and taken whatever he pleased, but he looked around felt sorry for "whoever runs this dump" and left $20 for the muffin he took. Trevor addressed Val, who is in charge of the morning shift, asking how she plans to prevent this from happening in the future.

Val's first suggested solution is to set all the clocks at Conspire and in her bedroom ahead by twenty minutes in order to trick herself.

Carlos gave a rebuttal, saying that that was her solution last time, and it doesn't seem to be helping. It seems that she just subtracts "20" from whatever time is showing on her clocks, and sometimes she doesn't even have her clock set ahead twenty minutes at all.

Val's second suggested solution is to try setting her clock forty seven minutes ahead of time, that way it is an awkward number so when she looks at the clock to see if she is running late, she won't feel like doing the difficult calculation to figure out what the real time is.

Carlos said that she would probably just round up and subtract "fifty" from whatever time is showing.

Val admitted that was probably what she would do, so she agreed to change all of the clocks in her room and at Conspire to be random increments of time away from the real time.

Gus commented that time is an arbitrary mental construct, and Ernie added that we should always be striving to transcend its confines.

Trevor Star moved on to the next agenda item: upcoming projects and promotions outside of the gallery. Carlos suggested that they hit this new development near the US Airways Center, with all the lights and chain stores and ugly architecture.

Val proposed that they mock the establishment by pushing Slinkies down the excessive stairways to highlight the fact that nobody is interested in the development and it is a failure and a waste of resources.

Carlos moved to initiate a fund drive for the purchase of Slinkies and to design drop boxes for Slinky donations.

Ernie suggested that they not provide the Slinky corporation with free publicity. He proposed that they use an independently produced children’s toy to make their point.

Mr. Horse started searching for local independently produced toys to push down the steps, when Gus pointed out the conflicting symbolism of pushing independently produced toys down the steps as part of a demonstration.

Val refuted that, suggesting that there is an extra layer of symbolism that nobody was considering; symbolism regarding the destructive relationship between the proliferation of large national retail chains and the smaller local businesses.

Carlos and Trevor Star vetoed the suggestion as it would be wasteful and disrespectful to push local independently produced toys down the steps. Several comparisons to Al Gore using a private jet to travel to climate change summits were made.

Ernie suggested they find a bunch of independently produced toys that they don't like, and push those down the steps.

After many disagreements that were stricken from the records about which toys they don't like, they decided to intentionally build toys that they don't like and push them down the stairs.

Mr. Horse brought to everyone's attention that the flights of stairs in the new downtown shopping center aren't long/high enough to accommodate everybody at once. He suggested that they stagger the toy pushing runs into half-hour increments, two pushers at a time making loops up and down the steps with one box at the top full of toys they made that they don’t like and they aren’t done until they fill the box at the bottom, and on their last turn they carry that box up to the top.

Val reminded Mr. Horse that not everybody dislikes the same toys, and that she didn’t want to push any toys that she actually liked down the corporate stairs.

After arbitrating which toys can be used by whom, Trevor Star begun to develop a schedule. The first shift was to start at 11AM and end at 11:30, but Ernie and Gus reminded him that they no longer acknowledge time.

Trevor Star dismissed everyone for a food break while he figured out a solution.

As the food was passed around, Trevor Star explained the plan of action after clicking his pen and repeating "Not a problem, no big deal" several times. Everybody will take turns pushing the toys that they made that they don't like down the steps in line formation, two at a time, until Ernie and Gus decide to take their shifts, whenever and for however long they turn out to be. At that point they will adjust the rest of the schedule accordingly.

Trevor Star then asked Carlos why he bought Burger King double cheeseburgers.

Carlos explained that he read an article about how Burger King started offering the dollar menu double cheeseburger to compete with McDonalds, and that the offer was poorly planned and executed, so BK actually loses money every time someone buys a dollar menu double cheeseburger. So Carlos has been spending every cent he can find on BK double cheeseburgers, and then smearing them all over the windows of SUVs and any store that leaves its lights on at night when they're closed.

The meeting was adjourned at 11:12 PM, just as the nearest Starbucks closed for the night.

Most Unappealing Conversations in History Part 5: Cluelessness Breeds

Cam went to see a musical theater production with his friend Melissa, who was in the other cast of the production. In case you don't know, theater productions (especially at the college level) are often "double cast" to serve the dual purpose of offering the performance opportunity to more candidates and to give those with more prominent roles time to rest (especially when there are multiple shows on certain days). Cam and Melissa dated for several years and it seemed they are in the preliminary stages of a rekindling. To continue the fire analogy, they have both admitted that they are "cold", but neither will yet acknowledge the nearby fireplace and ample supply of logs. Tonight's venture, however, is not considered a date. After they watched the show, rather than wait with the crowd, Melissa runs into the dressing room to pay her obligatory compliments, which are a form of currency meticulously documented in the minds of every performer. Cam is considering the options of what to do with the rest of the night, browsing his iPhone on a bench behind the somewhat polished crowd of people waiting facing the door nearest to the dressing room for their performer friends and family to emerge. Cam may have a loose affiliation with some people in the crowd, but he keeps a low profile in the force-field of being preoccupied. As the crowd dwindles he peers off the screen periodically to see if Melissa has returned yet. Eventually the last few people wander off and he lets the light dim on his phone. The janitor pushes the door open with great mirth, having completed his duties early. He walks halfway out the doorway and holds it open with the left side of his gut, which protrudes at least 12 inches from probably more gut. He looks at Cam and goes back inside and vanishes down a flight of steps. Cam thinks to himself, "Melissa is so loquacious. It is wonderful when I benefit from that, but I can't stand it when she loses track of time..." The janitor pops back out the door and Cam unlocks his phone and starts once again "occupying" himself as he approaches, clearly about to start a conversation. Here is how that exchange went:

Janitor: Y'know there's nobody down there in either dressing room.

Cam: Oh I'm just waiting for a friend, she should be here any minute.

Janitor: I just looked down there, I didn't see anybody. Is she in the cast?

Cam: Well she's in the other cast, we were just watching tonight. See she went down there to congratulate her cast mates...

Janitor: It's ok, I understand. So she didn't get cast. So what! It's no big deal.

Cam: No see, they had a split cast. She performs on Friday, Saturday and Sunday matinee.

Janitor: Are you sure you have the right show?

Cam: It's ok, I know she's coming and I'll just wait.

Janitor: OK.

Janitor: Does she know you're here?

Cam: Of course she does, she was my date. Err...

Janitor: Heheh, you don't look too sure of that. It seems like a simple thing to ask yourself, really. Was she or wasn't she?

Cam: I guess not technically. It's complicated.

Cam: We used to date, but now we're just friends who hang out a lot.

Cam: It's complicated!

Janitor: I get it, it must be complicated. You know a few months ago there was some kid who got the cops called on him. He overheard a certain young lady he was interested in tell some friends that she was going to a piano concert, so he just waited outside of the building for her. Turns out he had been stalking her for months, and once she saw him waiting outside she finally had enough and called campus security.

Janitor: You don't seem like that guy though.

Cam: Then why say anything?

Janitor: Just in case you are.

Janitor: So if you don't mind me asking what did you have planned for after the show?

Cam: What do you mean "if you don't mind me asking"? You just basically accused me of being a stalker!

Janitor: A lot of the students go to Schmidt's.

Cam: Yeah, we're not part of that crowd... We're thinking of somewhere more quiet.

Janitor: Man, she's really making you wait. I think it's time for plan B.

Janitor: If you know what I mean.

Cam: Nah, she'll be here, maybe she's in the restrooms.

Janitor: If you insist. I don't think you should put up with this disrespect.


It is at this point Melissa returns and they walk away.

Melissa: God, sorry that took so long. Bridget and I agreed that the conductor can't hold a tempo to save his life, so yeah we were talking about that for a while. Glad you made a friend, is he gonna come with us?

Cam: Y'know, I wouldn't mind that. After being surrounded by all the pretentious theater people, it is nice to have a simple conversation with someone without secret agendas.

And etc. Cam's humble act of philanthropy, augmented by alcohol, set the relationship ablaze once again that night.

Monopoly: Political Commentary Edition

Congratulations on your purchase of Monopoly: Political Commentary Edition. Please select your characters from the following: CEO, Liberal Party Member, Tea Bagger, Green Party Member. Player one, you have selected Tea Bagger. You own utilities and one of the four railroads. You are almost out of money, but the CEO was kind enough to buy two of your railroad properties at face value in exchange for unlimited usage and executive power over those and all of your other assets. Players two and three, you have selected: Liberal Party Member. You will each own one or two of every property color, but neither one of you will own all three of any colour because you can't come to an agreement about what you would do afterwards. Player four, you have selected: CEO. You own Boardwalk and Park Place with hotels as well as funds generated by all of Tea Bagger's property. You are also in the seat nearest to the bank. You try to convince the liberal party players to remove regulations that prevent you from being able to forcibly purchase their assets, but promise not to use it. You argue on the grounds that, y'know, in a truly free market that sort of thing would be allowed. Player 5, you have selected Green Party Member. You will make a delicious burrito out of this board game. Enjoy it.

Ventilation

Person 1) Hi! I heard you had an awkward conversation earlier with someone who wasn't very sure of themselves.

Person 2) Ah yes, I remember not feeling that a follow-up was necessary, but I will pretend to not remember anything about it so we can have something to talk about.

Person 1) I would like to have a more in-depth and specific awkward conversation based on the awkward conversation you had earlier.

Person 2) For whatever reason, I am ok with this. Please continue!

Person 1) Right! So you know that minutial aspect of the complicated thing you were talking about in a broad general way during the awkward conversation from earlier, the cost of which is most likely forwarded on directly to your customer? How would you like to discuss that in a little more detail and possibly save $.50 on the unit cost?

Person 2) That isn't terribly exciting of an offer at all, but I'm too polite to abruptly end this conversation.

Person 1) Wonderful! Also! Do you like receiving impersonal form letters merged into emails with generic high-def images, large file attachments, and other thinks that will take even your high-speed connection a few extra seconds to open?

Person 2) Sure! My email address is first initial, last name at company name.com.

Person 1) Great! One more thing: Rather than just say "good bye", can we end the conversation with a volley of roundabout pleasantries to make it seem like this conversation wasn't tedious and annoying to both of us?

Person 2) You read my mind!

Most Unappealing Conversations in History Part 4: Canned Fruit & Other Secret Agendas

Scene: Subway train. Enough space so that people can have one empty seat to each side, but not much more. It helps to imagine Person 1 with the voice of Coach McGirk from Home Movies.

Person 1) "What ever happened to canned fruit cocktail, anyway?"

Person 2) "Excuse me?"

P1) "Sorry, I know I'm being that guy who just starts talking without considering your agenda. God forbid you have your own thoughts. I know, I hate it when people do that too. Whatever. I just noticed the Del Monte can through your plastic bag there and felt nostalgic for a second, that's all. I'll let you alone."

P2) "Oh no that's alright, I was just startled, that's all. You aroused me unexpectedly from my public transit coma, I suppose."

P1) "Yeah"



P2) "You said you'll 'let' me alone instead of 'leave'... my grandmother used to say that."

P1) "I mean, it's probably not even fruit cocktail, right?"

P2) "Huh?"

P1) "In your bag. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want. I can read a little bit of the label, is it mandarin orange slices?"

P2) "Uh, peaches."

P1) "Ahhh yeah... they were part of it, though. The fruit cocktail, I mean. Let's see, it was... peaches, pears, pineapple, green grapes, and cherries."

P2) "Yeah... and syrup."



P1) "What was your favorite?"

P2) "My favorite? The pears, I guess..."

P1) "Really? Not the cherries?"

P2) "Well everybody chooses the cherries."

P1) "Look, we're not talking about your hypothetical 'rooting for the underdog' opinion here. You're not a social worker for neglected canned goods, are you? Which do you actually like?"

P2) "Alright, cherries, obviously. What are you getting at?"

P1) "Nothing! I'm not getting at anything! Does there have to be something to get at? I just noticed your fruit can and it reminded me of my childhood, that's all. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

P2) "I don't mind talking about it at all. I'm bored and honestly I wish there were more spontaneous conversations like this on the subway... but I feel like there's like an inside joke I'm missing or something. Does "canned fruit cocktail with cherries" have another meaning I'm unaware of?"

P1) "Nope. At least not as far as this conversation is concerned."

P2) "Well supposing that is true... it is just an especially random topic. I know that subway conversation is generally about unexpected and unlikely topics, but this just doesn't strike me as-"

P1) "Doesn't having a 'list' of unexpected topics kinda defeat the purpose? Fruit cups are exactly something that would be subway discussion."

P2) "I was thinking more like why do books still have quotes from articles written about the book printed on the cover when everybody assumes the quotes are taken out of context or are from a questionable source... or old video game systems perhaps. Something other than this subway ride that we all have in common."



P1) "Yeah, I haven't read any books in a while..."

P2) "I haven't read as much as I'd like to. I always say that with all this time taking public transit, I should read more than I do. When I first moved into the city, I easily was reading a book every week, but I've slowed down in the past year or two."

P1) "My younger brother used to steal the cherries. I mean, whatever, he was only like 6 or 7, but y'know... if habits like that aren't ever confronted it could snowball into some pretty serious stuff."

P2) "I know what you mean, I live with my brother and we get in each other's hair sometimes. He's the one who recommended I try this short series of thrillers by this Swedish author, and I think that maybe a little honesty on the back cover about how slowly the story progresses in the beginning wouldn't deter anybody, as long as we know there's a payoff."

P1) "My brother is very successful and I'm proud of him."

P2) "Oh that's good. I wonder why they can't just tell us that sometimes the amount of detail the author gives is discouraging. I mean, I would still buy it!"

P1) "My roommate reminds me of my brother when he sneaks into my leftovers in the fridge at night and takes out the best parts of my food. I don't know how he guesses that the broccoli is my favorite part of any dish I make. I mean, I guess it's pretty obvious that I like broccoli, I always have it around, you think he'd guess that I like it and just leave it alone."

P2) "Maybe he just thinks that because you have so much of it, you wouldn't mind sparing some."

P1) "What? ... ... No."

P2)"This is my stop"

Lorimer's Reality

Lorimer was innocently preparing for work when a spirit with no sense of purpose possessed his mind and body. In order to differentiate this new being from old Lorimer, we will call him Lorimer Prime, or LP for short. All that LP is guided by are the primal urges of Lorimer's body, tempered by what he was able to understand of a philosophical conversation he overheard on the subway about the concept of "want" and "self" in the context of Buddhism and Freud's psychoanalyic theory. All he heard was the most basic principles, that the goal of Buddhism is to experience no feelings of want, and that according to Freud, our lives are an ongoing cycle of pain caused by want, mostly spurred by the desire to procreate, and eventually you die and stop wanting. This is what LP has to work with as he wandered through the city following his first natural urge: procreation. In these socially liberated times this is not a challenge at all, especially for an someone capable of possessing the minds and bodies of others. Once LP had his fill of sex, he felt a sense of equilibrium, which he interpreted as the cue to end his life. So he hopped into a cab and went to the nearest bridge... he left the cab and approached the bridge in full stride, but when he caught a whiff of a nearby pizzeria, he discovered a new shade of want. He devoured one slice of every topping configuration available behind the authentic Italian plexiglass, unsure of when his hunger impulse would subside. Once he finished vomiting in the alley, he found himself once again without want, so he picked up a long shard of glass with intent to plunge it into his neck. While searching for a place to sit down and efficiently off himself, he noticed how uncomfortable his pants were. Why would somebody wear such tight pants? He decided this qualified as a want and began a new mission: to find a pair of pants that fit. Once this want was satisfied, he decided to find an office building in the financial district to jump off of, so there would be no food or anything else desirable nearby to distract him. As he entered the cab, a girl tapped his back. Apparently she recognizes him from a "relationship" she must have had with Lorimer. Her name is Trish. LP decides to play along, as his sexual want had returned. Several weeks passed in this manner and LP was still active. Trish is talking to mutual friends and asks, "You guys notice anything different about Lorimer lately?" Sherry, another one of Lorimer's exes said, "Yeah... he got new pants."

The Most Unappealing Conversations in History, Part 1: What are you

"I haven't seen the movie in a while, but I thought that his role in the film was to provide a revealing contrast to the admirable humility of the rest of the troop. To be honest I was tripping on acid when I saw it, so who knows!"

"What are you, one of those people who go out of their way to insert little tales about their experiences with mind-expanding drugs during a normal conversation just to seem cooler than everybody else?"

"Well what are you, one of those people who tries to call everybody out on things that they only notice because they know they've done exactly the same thing before?"

"Dude, I was kidding. What are you, one of those people whose unrestrained ego only allows them to detect sarcasm when it isn't at their expense?"

"What are you, one of those people who try to get out of looking like a dick by saying they were joking even though they totally were not?"

"What are you, one of those people who try to change the subject so they don't have to admit that they were caught exhibiting an undesirable personality trait that they themselves know they need to stop doing, and even though nobody was actually accusing them of the said undesirable trait they get defensive when somebody makes a joke about it, which they also know makes them appear completely out of touch with how people perceive them?"

"Well what are you, one of those people who use pop psychology as a mode of clandestine social combat in order to make yourself appear enlightened and confident while making your randomly selected victim look like a pathetic quivering slave to their own ego?"

"What are you, somebody who tries to confuse everyone by accusing somebody of resorting unnecessarily to polemics and describe their mode of attack using words with a universally negative connotation like "pop psychology"?

"What are you, that guy who thinks that just because somebody is standing up for themselves that they are on the defensive and that just being defensive by itself proves that they feel guilty about something; and furthermore you assume that whatever it is they feel guilty about must be exactly what you think they should feel guilty about?"

"Wh- What are you, gay?"

Yes I am.

Will you go out with me?

Sorry, I really don't find you attractive.

Oh. Ok well, bye...

The Plowmen

When reading this story, please consider these popular traits of people with Asperger's Syndrome. Sources include WebMD and a few sites dedicated to awareness of Asperger's Syndrome.

-Obsessions / focused on one subject

-Sensitivity to noise / touch / feel of clothing

-Craves routine

-Communication problems or motor skills problems

-Not able to pick up on social cues and may lack inborn social skills, such as being able to read others' body language, start or maintain a conversation, and take turns talking.

-Internal thoughts are verbalized

-Obsessed with certain parts of a whole but not others

-Inability to understand or relate to others



When I was a freshman in college, I worked part-time for the Department of Public Works in a small town. On paper, it was my job to assist the crew with the maintenance of township-owned property. In reality, I was a place holder in the DPW budget, ie if they didn't hire part-time help every season, they would lose the funding for future use. I was reminded of this whenever someone was about to have me do their work for them. It was supposed to make me feel expendable and replaceable, but all it did was elucidate the real situation: if they fired me, it would draw attention to the DPW payroll, which would be to nobody's benefit (except maybe tax payers). I still did their work for them, mostly because I felt bad for them. At least that's what I tell myself while I'm doing the task, but any other time I know I'm just avoiding dissonance and confrontation. Right now it is late January and there is nothing for me to do except ride shotgun on the snow plow and make noise if any children or dogs cross the street in front of us. John the driver and I participate in long bouts of seemingly competitive silence, which gives me time to devote to my hobby: composing seductive dialog. My recent binge of John Cusack movies has lead me to believe that young women crave playfully neurotic intellectual banter and find occasional instances of awkward silence to be cute or dangerous or something. My "Abnormal Psychology" course should be a goldmine, but alas two weeks into the semester and I don't have any pasty dark haired dames pouting in my dorm room wearing my spare boxers as they thumb through the last few chapters of Siddhartha or whatever liberal arts majors read. I even keep an over-sized kashmir sweater and a box of Cheez-its sitting in my dorm, just to be prepared. My insides caress themselves as I imagine that kiss that didn't happen this morning... the one where I run off to work and she rummages through her messy backpack for her textbooks so she can study in the residual warmth of my bed before going to class, and maybe we'll meet later on... I'm holding onto this thought because I can feel the silence getting to John the Driver. He pulls at the front of his shirt, which has settled sickeningly into the crevices of his fat rolls. Sure enough, he breaks it with, "Fuckin' deer are taking over the whole fucking area." I look outside and I am pulled in all directions by the folds of nature exaggerated by layers of snow, pine trees resembling crashing waves because the snow storm was preceded by freezing rain that humbled any tree daring to hold onto its foliage. Oblivious to all of this beauty, John notices three deer and has to go off on a tangent. My coworkers joke about his obsession, about how when he invites them over his house to watch the game or whatever he shows them charts and articles describing how the overpopulation of deer is slowly affecting the local ecosystem... not to mention the room full of his mounted conquests. He launches right into a put on earnest tone with me; I guess he's assuming that I am young and idealistic and don't approve of slaughtering deer for no reason so he wants me to know that he really is helping the environment and I should learn the value of such activities. I'm ignoring him and thinking of my Abnormal Psychology course and what it would be like to discuss it with imaginary girl who for several reasons I have decided to stop trying to come up with a name for. Yesterday we learned about Asperger's Syndrome, which I couldn't help but be reminded of John the Driver. My mind checks in on the conversation. Yep, still talking about white-tailed deer and the before and after photos he has of foliage ruined by their voracious appetite.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any more annoying, the radio coughs out some static that sounds like the wind outside with a few James Brown-esque staccato notes. John's ability to decipher what comes out of that thing is a talent I hope to never acquire. He tells me Dave is nearby and his truck is stalled, so we are going to pick him up and return to the shop since we're approaching blizzard conditions. Dave and John seem to make a game out of excluding me from every conversation they have, but as soon as I've officially tuned them out, they ask me a question and when I don't respond immediately John does his best to patronize me with his "Fucking kid smokin' too much pot" or "You're just in your own fuckin' little world, aren't you?", sometimes followed by "I'm just fuckin' with you, kid. You got a girlfriend yet? Somebody's gotta get this kid some strange pussy!" I'm well past that phase where I would think "How dare he refer to women using such derogatory nomenclature", but I can't help but wonder what type of haggard train wreck John the Driver would find for me. It feels festive in the truck for a moment as Dave swings open the door and peers in like "Woah, imagine seeing you here!". I tried to slide my way to the window seat so as to not be stuck between them, but Dave illustrates the difference between a shudder and a wince as he does both in reaction. He scoots as far from me and close to the door as possible. Given the tapered edge of the bucket seat (an abnormal feature for a pick-up truck), his upper half is leaning towards me so I have to smell his breath which reeked unambiguously of USA Gold 100's and stale cream from convenience store coffee. John recaps what he and I were discussing about the white-tailed deer. Then he starts rattling off familiar details about the specific ways he kills them and the advantages of using a bow vs a gun. After one sentence that would wind a pearl diver (let alone John, who always keeps an extra pack of smokes on him in case he gets stuck in traffic or something), he does one of my pet peeves and asks if he's boring us. Only two types of people answer that question honestly: my dad, and people like Dave, who says, "Yeah you're rambling a little. I don't go hunting much, but you know I'm all about bass fishing. A little bass fishing and Metallica, don't get any better than that." John says, "Well it's hard to hunt with music playing, but can't go wrong with Eric Clapton at night. Keeps the fuckin' bears away..." So it begins... Dave continues his side of the story, "Yeah, I meant that I play 'tallica when the boat's moving and it don't matter as much. Of course if I'm shore fishin' that's a different story..." His voice becomes deeper and more gravely as the details become more technical. I just keep watching the scenery as I indulge in thoughts of imaginary girl. Would she play in the snow? She probably didn't during her teen angst years, but since she's over that phase I lend her a few layers and we trudge away from campus through the strip mall parking lot whose innocence is restored by the accumulation of frozen precipitation. During such a storm, the snow is undeterred even by all the leaked surfactants and motor oils and their lower freezing points. Beyond the parking lot is a wooded pathway that leads to a shelter of coniferous trees that the wind can't penetrate and your eyes can follow the individual snow flakes on their journey to the ground. I would pull a small bag of Bugles from my coat pocket and we would talk about how silly and harmless everything looks when covered in snow. We'd probably talk about how snow seems like a prank played by God and about God's other pranks while we unabashedly rub the Bugle salt off our lips so we can make out. In these conditions we could probably fool around and nobody would be see, but I am careful to avoid those thoughts when shoehorned between two likely homophobes.

We are barely moving, mostly because of the blizzard but also because John the Driver is heavily invested in talking at Dave. If you try to consider their individual contributions as forming a conversation, it would seem like a constant non sequitur, basically the exact opposite of the synergy that a conversation is supposed to exhibit. John talks about how the 1994-95 Eric Clapton tour was the last time he could afford to go, and Dave responds with, "Some headbangers stopped listening when they cut their hair short and changed their sound a little for Load in 1995, but I still supported them... though I do prefer their earlier stuff." John responded to that with, "Sometimes other fuckin' legendary guitarists will make... show up onstage without sayin' shit. I'm not really into any other blues guitarists so I don't know who it is until I hear the people say fuckin' 'Hey that's Buddy Guy on the white fuckin' Stratocaster'." Dave continues, "People want to say Metallica is just a brutal heavy metal band, but in 1999 they put out a live album with the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra, which shows their... it's got some slower stuff... it's good for... it's good chill music. He definitely wants to say that he and his girlfriend Linda listen to that album when they have sex. I take a moment to think about how horrible that image is. Dave has a bulbous propane tank belly and a goatee like a tornado carrying too much debris, and he always smells of Cheetos. His girlfriend drops him off sometimes, she is obese and her chin is flat and wider than the top of her head, which is shingled with brittle straight hair dyed red with a perpetual inch of mouse brown roots at the part near the middle, and it probably doesn't move at all when they are fucking. Without much transition I give in to my snowy meadow fantasy. After a few seconds spent thinking of where I would warm my hands on imaginary girl, something occurs to me. I can learn a lot by comparing myself with my coworkers at this job. The eagerness and inappropriateness of this transition reminds me that going to college isn't the only way I should try to differentiate myself from these people. From that point forward I listened attentively to what John and Dave were talking about.

How the Flu Can Save Christmas

Christmas season was laying into everybody as they tried to trudge through an honest days work, which has been made all the more intolerable by the people who think they're the first to recognize that stores are putting up their decorations and playing the music earlier every year. If there's anything more annoying and tiresome than seeing windows sprayed with fake snow the day after Halloween, it's having to endure people complaining about it. To make matters worse, there is a particularly nasty flu going around. Nobody had really witnessed or experienced the particular nastiness of it, but anybody referring to it was specifically using the words "particularly" and "nasty" to describe it. So at the first sign of infection, everybody was going to their doctor to get their prescription for Z-Pak antibiotics for a quick recovery time so they can get back to not enjoying themselves. As could be predicted, however, cases of an antibiotic-resistant strain of the flu started to breach 10 OClock news special reports across the country. Scientists kept up with the evolving flu for a while, but eventually the flu became self-aware and started sprouting limbs until it looked vaguely humanoid. Like everything that is man-made and loathed, the flu monsters bare a few indelible traits of its creator. When they aren't devouring people alive, the flu monsters enjoy watching reality TV and buying consumer electronics online. There were also a few isolated incidences where groups of flu monsters were turned away from Chili's and the Cheesecake Factory.

In the meantime, panic has taken over as people search frantically for a way to continue their normal lives without worrying about these walking flu monsters. It is quickly discovered that the flu monsters won't harm anybody who either has or already had the flu. Soon after this revelation, the original flu becomes a hot item. People begin to exaggerate their flu symptoms or even fabricate them altogether as a status symbol. Women in BMWs will roll down the window and launch a dark yellow phlegm ball towards the crosswalk while stopped at a traffic light. Men in chic clubs will go through several tissues amplifying every acutely angled nose cleanse while making eye contact with an attractive woman. It is especially popular to use this tactic on dates as incentive to seize the opportunity to obtain the flu as a result of spending the night together.

Amidst all the excitement, nobody cares to be annoyed at repetitive Christmas music, and nobody can be bothered with Christmas shopping or anything else other than their own safety. Parents are trying to make sure their kids catch a proper flu, and then taking care of them once they have it. Soon, everybody has the flu, and all the single people in the world are now in the bountifully snot-caked arms of a new romance. Come Christmas eve, everybody was anticipating a sound sleep without having purchased a single Christmas gift, fully satisfied in their Nyquil haze. Except for all the coughing. And then the nagging thoughts of preparing an explaination to their family and friends that being safe from the flu monsters is sufficient as a gift... not to mention concocting a plausible, G-rated reason that Santa Clause could not defeat the Flu Monsters (having left that to last minute), and that he plans to make up for it next year. News coverage has been mostly focused on the war on flu monsters, and very few have noticed the lack of reporting about economic concerns during this crucial time of the year, which given the lack of activity people assumed must be dismal.

The entire country was trying to conquer their restlessness as they allowed bumping, creeking, and other abnormal sounds pass by during the unwholesome hours of the night when even the Christmas movies have extended ads during commercial breaks that bad stand-up comedians poke fun at. Eventually, people give in and get up as the morning glow hits the last of the 5 grieving phases. Parents are preparing their surprised disappointment voices, and couples are winding up for their sheepish apologetic tone as they approach their Christmas tree/living room focal area/marijuana bush/wherever the exchange of gifts takes place when the nation is in for a shock. An unquantifiable mound decadently wrapped presents are piled up with great feng shui and grace. Actually, some people still begin giving their apologies and excuses as planned because they are too fucking jaded to notice something this amazing at first glance. Once the elation subsided enough to ask questions, people discovered that the presents were from the Flu Monsters, who had compuslively purchased trendy gadgets and indulgent food items and, unable to find a use for it themselves, gave it to those who had earned their brotherhood by overcoming the unevolved flu.


To make things even better, family gatherings were significantly less painful than normal! Not one conversation was reduced to "I read on Yahoo news that a survey found that iTunes gift cards are easier to use than amazon.com gift cards." or "You know what dad? Life isn't about things that can be said during job interviews and placed on resumes. I'm gonna live my own life!" Nor were there any outbursts of, "You don't have to whisper, I know that I got fat this year. Maybe it wouldn't seem so sudden if somebody would visit me every now and then!" People were just content to see eachother, and where there may have usually been awkward silence to be filled with passive aggressive comments or bland filler was replaced by tales of surviving the flu monsters. After Christmas, the flu monsters were nowhere to be found. But there was news that Apple, Verizon Wireless, and Williams-Sonoma had all purchased large shares of Pfizer, manufacturer of Z-Pak antibiotics.