I was born to be an artist. When I was in the womb, my mother listened to classical music. She claims my conducting gave her bruises. She also loved the oldies station. I did the twist until fluid filled my lungs, causing pneumonia. My natal constitution was made for La Vie Bohème. Although my parents were not very creative, my mother had anxiety. I am grateful for her contributions to my artistic temperament. With inherited neuroses and a weak immune system, I was destined for greatness.

Much to the chagrin of the faux white mustache set at the American Dairy Association, the US Food and Drug Administration recently ruled that plant-based milk alternatives now may be labeled as milk, ending once and for all the “almond doesn’t lactate” era at America’s nutritional policing agency.

The following memos, exchanged between fall 2023 and spring 2029, document the choices that lead to the total destruction of American Community College. The first party in this exchange is the Center for Academic Excellence, a faction within ACC’s sprawling marketing division charged with “supporting student success.” At the time they branded themselves “CaX!” and referred to their own memos as “CaXbLaSts!.” The other party is Sisyphina Jones, a tenured philosophy instructor who appears to be the only faculty member ever to reply to a CaXbLaSt!.

People have accused me of publishing essays that are too intimate. How dare I, they say, write about my orgasms, massive therapy failures, or unsuccessful attempt to break up with myself?

What they fail to appreciate are all the experiences I have refrained from writing about. My restraint, ladylike deportment, and diplomacy deserve to be universally celebrated, as noted in the following inventory of true (and shocking!) events I have never breathed a word of to anyone.

Don’t let just the tip of the melting iceberg of the already begun and by every conceivable method of analysis only getting a lot worse in the near future global climate apocalypse stop you from having children. But since there’s a pretty good chance they’ll die from a climate-induced calamity, why not give them a better chance of survival in the Mad Maxwellian near future by bestowing on them a name fit for the head of a cannibalistic death cult that almost certainty awaits them!