Bang. Then buzz. Then clang. Then doom.
A marching band in a tin cocoon.
The table slides. My breath retreats.
My muscles lock. My heart skips beats.
Don’t move, they said. I swore, I won’t,
which means, of course—I might. I don’t.

New issue arriving on August 20th, 2025!

That was Sunday, before the watchman and the dogs chased me out of the landfill. Now it seems as if I have misplaced the Ferrari. I remember leaving the car idling on the street while I stopped in at City Hall to see if the landfill had a lost and found. May have left keys in the car. Don’t see it anywhere. Che sara lieu sara, as Enzio Ferrari might say. At least I didn’t get a parking ticket.

Coming to a theatre near you—as soon as the anti-woke, “Christian,” misogynistic armchair critics finish tanking the ratings and forcing the cast members to quit showbiz!

Dear Kevin in 3C:

Congratulations on the five-day bender. Incredible. How did all those people fit in your apartment? My wife and I thought nothing would ever top your last Labor Day marathon. You’re an inspiration, Kevin. We used to get wild. The baby made us forget. But you’re our reminder, Kevin, that the party’s still out there.