Stupid, Drunk, and Fat — With A Smidge Of Korean Pepper Fun Sludge

My wife called me,”the walking anus of the universe.”

I’m not sure what this means, nor am I sure of why she chooses to call me “the walking anus of the universe” instead of her usual: “Self-absorbed, jerk off, butt hook.”

I sense her new description of me does not reflect well on my character. Continue reading

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At Last, The Ideal Job

I’m stretched out on my simulated leather recliner a few nights ago, the first half hour of the Cops marathon complete. I’m spent. I’m a top-tier cultural anthropologist, but I have been bested by information overload, overwhelmed by too much insight into the real America, Trump’s America. Continue reading

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Waiting for the still point, the end of the set

They’re all gone, but me.

 

I have a photo, a black and white pastogram.

 

A group of five young men gather atop a pile of rubble, in front of a single-story brick structure in Boulder, Colorado. A sign fixed to the building indicates the place is occupied by Rolands Beauty Salon.

 

It is late winter, 1966.

 

The photo is of a group of musicians that, with one departure and two arrivals, would become the Pleasant Street Blues Band, taking the name from a street in Boulder. The band would end up playing little blues music and there would be few things pleasant about it. Continue reading

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Christmas is a major buche

 

Six things I’d rather not do:

  1. Have my gums scraped.
  2. Stumble into a nest of Brown Recluse spiders.
  3. Eat a razor blade.
  4. Spend a week in a locked bank vault with Rush Limbaugh and half a pack of Fig Newtons.
  5. Listen to an album of country favorites recorded by The Kingston Trio.
  6. Make a Buche de Noel.

Continue reading

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