1428 0 0
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Captain Zeep came to Earth at last century's end to help pave the way for a Zorkian takeover by 2012 at the latest. Key to the game plan: Earthlings had to get dumber than eggplants. When George Bush stole the White House, Zeep figured, Bingo, dumb…
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142822
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Jason, the obnoxious host, thrusts his microphone against my nose.
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142897
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142811
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Her cash. It smelled like seven-dollar-a-quart gardenia perfume and cave aged cheese—like hope overgrown with mildew.
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142894
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142800
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“They’re not gonna shoot him?” Rick cried.
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14281811
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For a few/
vivid weeks, deciduous shrubs and trees/
will seem to glow like flames and embers
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142865
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What a nation!
First we lost our money
Now we’ve lost our funny
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142896
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Erased. Like chalk across my body,
a fine powder of forgetfulness,
with a few swipes --- all those names
and faces, gone. The letters burned.
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142832
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They watched the seven o'clock news.
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1428109
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He just up and dropped dead one day, Charles said. Pretty tough on Karen, I opined. Charles looked the other way.
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142842
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You want to get laid talking socks
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142821
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It was all things considered a particularly odd sight, which Annalise did not know how to handle.
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142861
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When the sex that is new and promising in its awkward moments is over, you turn to him. You expect that he’s figuring out a way to leave; the parts of you that know wait for him to stand up and put his clothes back on, quicker and with more eagerness than
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14271210
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142785
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—Mazel tov, schmazel tov!
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142765
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This writers' conference (sponsored by VQR, which had run its banner ad atop the Fictionaut home page in the summer of 2014, which begins to explain both my attendance and this essay) revealed itself as an apt subject . . .
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142740
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“I’m making a dress,” she said, feeding the pages through the sewing machine.
He didn’t know how to answer. “Are those my books?”
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142743
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“106 more miles,” she said.
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142753
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under your skin the moon is alive
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142700
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Warranties are what made America great, although hers has expired and the mailbox will remain empty for another fifteen days.
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142753
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Buyers of freelance writing have a well-deserved reputation for responding slowly, thereby increasing your pleasure in much the same way that the Pointer Sisters longed for a slow hand.
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142700
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This story is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental and unintentional and should not be inferred. (Really!)
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14271513
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I asked the hospice nurse about maggots.
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1427179
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Words darken with smut and irony over time.
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14271311
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Enough, Trump. We've had it my dear, with your pink ties, your hairs, your swagger, your towers, your money, tempers, walls, bombs, smarts, snarls, pouts and doubts, bigotty bile, and once again, style. We just…
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142641
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At a rest stop in Montpelier, they stopped to buy Cokes and gum from the vending machines. He was showing off, trying to jimmy one of the locks with a safety pin but it stayed locked and she laughed at him and he said goddamn, look at all a them Milkyways
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142622
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1426146
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He hates this body no less now/
than he did at 14 for its pudginess/
and the hair that can’t conform
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142644
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Francesca is a sweet girl and everything, but her incessant doting on Paolo is best left private . . .
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