Posts Tagged ‘ Prose ’

“Karentown,” by Sisi Carroll

Apr 20th, 2024 | By

I apologized for arriving almost on the dot of the scheduled arrival time. “People never arrive when they say they’re gonna,” Karen agreed ominously. “There’s another guest who’s supposed to be arriving tonight too. Let me show you around.” I followed Karen down the path shorn through the high grass. We passed the schoolhouse bell, a lone beacon hovering above us.

To our right, as soon as we entered the property was a tiny, gated area. Excuse me. The area that was enclosed by the gate was expansive. It was the gate that was tiny. The gate was six inches high. This six inch high fence ran around the perimeter of shorter, mown, bright green grass. Inside the enclosure were four guinea pigs. The fancy kind, with bangs.

“Remote Meeting Re: Presentation,” by Will Willoughby

Apr 20th, 2024 | By

“Don’t get me wrong, Davey. It’s a nice slide deck. Ginormous graphs. Crushing overall length. It’s the verbiage itself. It’s too—what’s the word?—too comprehensible.”

“It’s Dave, actually.”

“It’s a good first stab, David. But to be candid? The language is limp, sort of undynamic, like it’s obsessed with being plain. Borderline scrutable. What you want is to build a thick wall of text that’s so baffling it can’t be questioned. Your ideal end goal is a cognitive load heavy enough to smother any chance of cross-examination. It should fly right over everybody’s heads! And then you take your bow. And they’re like, Wowsers! Where’s this guy been my whole life?”

“The Witness at a Loss for Words, Briefly,” by Ray Agostinelli

Apr 20th, 2024 | By

“If I remember rightly the neighbor’s lawn was being watered by a sprinkler.”

“Which sounded like… what?”

“Mr. Prosecutor, it sounded like a defibrillator.”

“Out of This World,” by Brooksie C. Fontaine

Apr 20th, 2024 | By

I am Michelangelo. The bridezilla is the Pope. That’s how I choose to look at it.

Is it pleasant to be the unfortunate baker tasked with making her wedding cake? No.

“We need to talk about Slug Simulator,” by Conor Sneyd

Apr 20th, 2024 | By

Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed members of the PTA, please lend me your rapt attention. I know you’ve already taken in a range of different issues tonight, some of which will no doubt have shocked you. Boys caught smoking in the toilet. Office staff siphoning off donations from deceased alumni. The rowing team recruiting local beggars into a bare-knuckle boxing league. But believe me when I tell you—none of that matters. Because the issue I’m about to raise with you is something infinitely graver.