Posts Tagged ‘ Nonfiction ’

“An Open Letter to Posh Guys,” by Erin Clune

Jan 16th, 2013 | By

Dear Posh Guys:

I had no idea. I’m not dumb, or uneducated. I’m just American. We shy away from words like “master.” We eat a lot of desserts, but call only one of them pudding. We like tea, but mostly we drink coffee, no variety of which is named after our country, members of our peerage, or our former colonies.



“Rules for Becoming a Writer,” by Lisa Douglass

Dec 26th, 2012 | By

1. Fall in love. It should be noted that there are different versions of love, most of which include one person parasitically sucking off the other, stronger person, but this still can be used to the writer’s benefit. What you do is you label anything love that you can’t figure out, or when a person acts inconsistent—one day happy, one day angry (like father)—and you sleep with that person and you listen to their hopes and dreams and they never ask you about yours and you don’t care because deep inside you know this isn’t the real thing but the sex parts feel good and you really really really like their nose, but inside you know it won’t last.



“From East to West: a Christmas Story,” by Natasha Moni

Dec 12th, 2012 | By

Day 1: My Brother is Pelting Me with Hershey’s Kisses

Each festive chocolate pulled from the candy dish is swung over the living room planter en route for my head, trunk, or at least a limb. With the older sibling advantage, his aim is precise. For years he has practiced his technique, has mastered the maneuver of recon, sweeping up each fallen missile to prevent a return attack. One eye on the target, one eye scanning the carpet. His arms and legs, a unified machine with one purpose: to annoy.



“Calamities and Celibacy, or How I Continued Not Having Sex in University,” by Zachary Abram

Oct 24th, 2012 | By

On January 1 2003, I made my first and only New Year’s resolution. I resolved that this would be the year that I lost my virginity. It wasn’t an American Pie-esque pact with friends. I didn’t tell anyone or write it down. It was just a solemn vow I whispered to myself. I was seventeen years old and my interactions with girls had been pretty limited. This was largely due to the lifestyle my high school friends and I had fallen into, which was not entirely conducive to sexual conquests. It was more conducive to the life of a eunuch.



“Algorithm – Feeding a Dog,” by Carl Foster

Jul 4th, 2012 | By

1. Begin

2. Process – Decide whether dog is hungry or not
If yes, go on
If not, do not feed dog.