“A Guide to Attending Your Twenty-Year Elementary School Reunion Like the Single, Childfree, Badass Bitch that You Are,” by Christina Berchini

Aug 24th, 2016 | By

Breathe. You’ve been jolted. Your heart palpitations and sudden flashbacks to the worst six years of your life are perfectly appropriate responses. After all, you’ve just received a class reunion invitation from a peer whose personality rivaled that of the clown called ‘It.’

Step away from the e-vite. Whether or not this is the first recorded attempt at an elementary school reunion since the founding of the Boston Latin School is irrelevant.

“Sinking Relationship,” by John Branning

Jul 13th, 2016 | By

My wife Carol said something really sweet and profound to me the other day. I wish I’d muted the TV long enough to catch it all.

Carol starts every day by saying, “I love you.” I respond by asking her who she’s on the phone with.

“How To Tell If You’re A Lady In A 1950s Melodrama,” by Joy Lanzendorfer

May 11th, 2016 | By

Everything is your fault. If you were a good girl, you wouldn’t have gotten into that car accident.

You’re life is accompanied by a swelling musical score that sounds like classical music, but it’s not. It’s really, really not.

“Indecent Sexposure,” by Melanie Chartoff

Apr 6th, 2016 | By

I lie back on the table, naked, draped in paper, awaiting my exam. I assume the position, heels in stirrups, exposing my privates to an air conditioned gust. Time crawls by and I’m thinking, “Why didn’t they let me read magazines in the lobby where the light’s so much more flattering?” I hate being alone in this room so prone to ruminating.

My ten year try at true love had turned loveless two years before. Then, I’d rushed into a frantic romance, which ended soon as the guy recognized it as a rebound. This was followed by the realization that my last period had put the period on my menses, and probably put the period on men. Menopause? More like Men-o-stop. My allotment of orgasms had apparently expired with my eggs.

“If You Can’t Stand the Heat, Get Off of the Planet,” by Stephen Starr

Mar 30th, 2016 | By

Last year’s Paris Conference on Climate change has focused the world’s attention on global warming. Especially Canadians, who are wondering when exactly it will get here, already.

Trusted celebrities have issued warnings that we must act now for the sake of our children’s future environment. However, I don’t think the children really care that much, given the condition of their rooms.

“The Step-By-Step Guide To Being A Failed Writer,” by Hasen Hull

Mar 16th, 2016 | By

1. Be born, and given an unremarkable name with some slight variation that makes it difficult to spell or pronounce.

2. Have a birthday party at a young age in which you’re the centre of attention. Crave this attention for the rest of your life.

3. Endure family issues throughout your childhood, preferably with your father.

“Not So Fast, Jesus,” by Leah Senona

Feb 24th, 2016 | By

There was probably a time in my life when I had not yet heard of the Rapture—the miraculous evacuation of Christians to heaven before God unleashes hell on earth—but I cannot remember such ignorance. “If the Lord tarries,” was tagged onto nearly every conversation my fundamentalist parents had about plans more than a week or so in the future. Every which way they looked they discovered signs the end was nigh. From the Gulf War to the “Kids First” Illinois license plates popular during my elementary school years, proof that the world was too corrupt to last much longer was seen everywhere. The most damning evidence that the Jesus’s return was imminent, though, was the utter lack of interest our small-town neighbors had in attending our church and listening to Papa preach at them about the sin of abandoning church in the weeks, maybe years, preceding the end of times.

“The God of Vended Things,” by Damien Galeone

Feb 17th, 2016 | By

It’s lunchtime on Thursday. The university commons room is abuzz. Students mill about, others dart their way to class. Blazer-wearing faculty walk to classes or offices. Administration rush around in an attempt to keep the whole operation from crashing. I weave through them with determination. I have a meeting with a vending machine.

“Footnotes to History,” by Nancy Katt

Feb 3rd, 2016 | By

Footnotes are stupid. They’re superfluous.

“Car-isma” by Melanie Chartoff

Nov 25th, 2015 | By

n 2003, I accidentally dated an alcoholic. He came as an accessory on my Prius. I got to know handsome Johnny O. (not his whole name) while I awaited the delivery he promised in four days. And during the four weeks I was dropping in on the dealership to check on my anticipated Prius, he began courting me in a car man kind of way, demonstrating how his smart key could open my vehicle without even touching it, showing me how to change the oil, change a tire, hot wire a car, skills I’d never use, but I liked the way he was teaching me. He would worry, he said, if I were abandoned along a roadside somewhere: fearful, cheerless, Johnny O.-less. This man rolled the odometer back on my feminism thirty years. Single and celibate, I suddenly got hormonal, helpless and girly.