By David Himmel

• At camp, my kid drew the same tattoos as me on his arms, plus a few more. It’s sweet. He wants to have the same tattoos I have. And I want to have his perfect, unscarred skin. The grass is always greener, as they say. Or, as this instance calls for, the skin is always better.

• Thank God got guilt or the good people would have killed themselves years ago.

• Everyone has a favorite pore. The one they love to pick. The one that when you leave it alone for a week or so, it fills up and gives you a solid string of blackhead squiggle to squeeze out. And you are as excited about it as if it were pay day. Every two weeks, you’re flush again. Time to blow it all… all over your mirror.

• My great hope is that this disaster of a presidential campaign will finally, fully expose the flaws in our political system, the whole thing will crumble and we can begin again with true democracy. But this is America. And America is stubborn. So, yeah, we’re probably just fucked. Batten the hatches, y’all.

• If “the road is life” like Kerouac said, then why does traffic make me suicidal?