Defenestration
My Dinner with Annie
I’ve been slowly adding to Annie’s strange family dynamic ever since I blessed her with insanity way back when. Dinners like this can only happen in the winter, when Annie’s parents are around. She throws open all the windows, piles snow along the walls, and cooks a nice spaghetti dinner. Luckily, the cold also helps Robot Ben operate at maximum efficiency, and his conversations are a lot better than his usual repertoire of quotations from John C. Reilly movies and early episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
“Yes—I AM Getting a New Mailbox!” by Erin Clune
Have you ever been so excited it hurts? Then I guess you understand how I feel right now. Because my husband just told me we’re getting a new mailbox. That’s right, freaks. I said MAILBOX. As in, that philatelic hot spot in front of your house where the letters come and go. Six days a week. Rain or shine. And not just letters but other mail too. Like utility bills. And pre-approved credit card offers. And random flyers from guys who paint. Sometimes a fat wad of Valpak coupons even creeps up in there. Hell yes it does!
Ponycidal Christmas
Dear Jonathan, I’m still pissed off I didn’t get an iPad for Christmas. What are some things you wanted for Christmas that your parents didn’t get you because they were bastards? There were three things I consistently asked for Christmas when I was growing up: a good book, a pony and a cape. I [...]
The Skirts of Winter
We’ve had some bitter cold days here in the DC area (not as many as I would like, and certainly not enough snow, but whatever). What boggles my mind is all the professional women around here that wait for buses and subways in skirts. Short skirts. And not skirts with stockings or boots or anything else that would come between their skin and the weather. I don’t know how they do it. I don’t know why they do it. But it just seems like madness.
“Sonata non grata,” by Jason Abdelhadi
The term “barbarian” is bandied about a lot these days. Of course, everyone knows it comes from the Greek term “bararoi”, which originally referred to a species of talking pumpkin. Only gradually and through the sedimentation of linguistic geology did the term come to embrace its modern idiom; that is, anybody who, coming across in a thrift store the Collected Works of Geoffrey Chaucer on the one hand, and, on the other, a questionably pasty stack of Busty magazines, picks up the latter, in a full, though erroneous, confidence that he has made the dirtier choice. Real culture knows the juicy bits.
You Stink–In A Good Way
Encoded deep within our DNA is the desire to have our genitals meet with those of another that ends in either joy or disappointment. Because of that desire, we tend to put ourselves on display, however, our attempts at mimicking mating rituals in the wild kingdom come off as forced and desperate. We wear bright [...]
Anatomy of a Humorous Conversation
I didn’t feel like writing a strip with actual dialogue for today. So instead of dialogue, I’ve inserted the basic idea of what the characters are saying. Feel free to imagine them talking about whatever the hell you want. It’s my Friday gift to you, gentle viewers.
“Here, it is Bieber,” by Patrick Haas
Here, it’s all Bieber. During week one in Daegu, “Korea’s most colorful city,” which is actually, “Korea’s card catalogue of faded gray sky scrapers, overcast skies and endless stream of black Hyundai’s,” I digress into the infantilization that occurs when relocating to a new country. Neon signs are everywhere: small dashes and zeroes mixed into an array of disfigurement as if someone has jumbled the shapes together in a felt bag and then blindly arranged them into miniature squares. My rationalized excuse for not yet enrolling in Korean lessons is that I’m afraid Korean words might lose their beauty. What are probably cell phone adverts and other mindless billboard messages look like oversized scrabble pieces, as if the whole, uniform city is actually a playing board being used to somehow score points in life.
Web MD
Happy Friday the 13th, everyone! Not only that, but I believe today is the first of several Friday the 13ths happening this year. I for one am glad that 2012 is the Year of the Dragon, because we’ll need that good luck to counteract all the bad luck.
“The Saving Grace of Guineas,” by Hugh Burgess
It was quite a wedding, Aunt Tilley being fifty-three and as independent as a horned owl although that’s the wrong bird for this story because the whole day revolved around guinea hens, especially Maud, about whom later. They couldn’t find a church that would accept the guinea hens—there were six of them—as part of the ceremony, even when Tilley explained that each bird would be wrapped in bridal lace to protect the carpeting. Yes, they said, but what if one gets away and flies up into the croft and sets there, surely some poop will fall and all that. So they used the old bandstand next to the skate park beside the Y and that was fine, with the wedding party up in the middle and the guinea hens being carried by the bridesmaids and the Unitarian minister losing his place every time a hen let out a squawk.
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