Gary Thompson, The Great American Drifter
I felt a kinship to this guy. I, too, had always felt that without the trappings of relationships — the weight of accountability to someone else — I could do much more. Yet, there I was, afraid to be by myself for two weeks on a chicken run to the fray of a new life unknown. Riding shotgun was a guy who also preferred solitude but would still be stuck on a Great Falls road if it weren’t for other people offering up a little bit of their company.
Notes from the Post-it Wall — Week of August 19, 2018
If you don’t apologize for acting like an asshole, you weren’t acting in the first place.
Keeping My Bed Sheets Clean
I’m an evangelical of crisp, clean, smooth bed sheets. Trust me when I tell you that getting into freshly washed and pressed sheets is the second greatest feeling you can feel in your bed. And sometimes, it’s a very close second, depending on the company you’re keeping.
Notes from the Post-it Wall — Week of August 12, 2018
Most of my college friends have kids starting school this week. First graders, fifth graders, kindergartners… Seeing their First Day of School photos is just a reminder that most of my college friends were having sex way before I was.
Notes from the Post-it Wall — Week of August 5, 2018
I bet the best part of a customer service representative’s job is picking their American name. “Hey, Aarushi, who you going to be today?”
“Today, I’m Stephanie. Tomorrow… I’m thinking I’ll be a Jill! No, Jillian! Definitely Jillian.”
Conversations with Whores
Old men with cheap cigars talking to half naked women, who can’t waste too much time with one guy because it’s all about turnover. Beyoncé was playing on the jukebox and it sounded out of place. Hip-Hop didn’t belong there. It was too cool for what was really going on.
Notes from the Post-it Wall — Week of July 22, 2018
• The body wash I use in my showers has “Enviro-Friendly Microbeads.” What? I don’t care about the environment right now. I care if this soap is going to clean off the dookie that’s made its way halfway up my tailbone.
Saying “I Love You to the Moon and Back” is an Empty Sentiment
“I love you to the moon and back.” Doesn’t sound very sincere. Sounds like hyperbole — the kind of thing you’d say to someone you don’t really like but really want to go down on you.
Notes from the Post-it Wall — Week of July 15, 2018
I would prefer to do the work of a long-haul truck driver or a Great Lakes shipping captain or a bellhop or a plumber than whatever the fuck it is that I think do for a living now.
Notes from the Post-it Wall — Week of July 8, 2018
• If you take seriously anything FOX News or Huffington Post report, you have also probably bought a time share.
America’s Distaste for Mommy’s Milk
I don’t know a lot about a lot. I’m only four months old, after all. My understanding of the world revolves around one thing: milk. I love milk. I love my mommy’s milk. Really, like there’s no form of measurement grand enough to represent how much I absolutely love my mommy’s milk. It is my breakfast, lunch, dinner and snack. I love it so much that I often drink too much of it, which makes me vomit. And when I do, I always vomit on myself so that none of that sweet, sweet goodness goes to waste. Because my mommy’s milk is so good that it not only fills my tummy with vitamins and protein, but it also helps keep my skin healthy. Incredible, right?
Yeah, my mom’s boobs are awesome.
Notes from the Post-it Wall — Week of July 1, 2018
Christians are not the most persecuted group in the world. However, Christians who are assholes are being prosecuted in the court of public opinion. And that’s a good thing for everyone, especially Christians.
Debate is Dead; Long Live Debate
The problem is that healthy debate appears to be dead. Or, at best, on life support in a hospice bed providing infected bed sores rather than rational thought.
Notes from the Post-it Wall — Week of June 24, 2018
I’m not gay. Not even bi-curious. But I think Gene Kelly is the sexiest man to have ever lived, and without question or pause, I would dig up his bones and dry hump them to full completion.
How to End America’s Cold Civil War
You could feel the chill sprint down your spine and tear through your bones the moment the frontrunners became Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump. The rift, the wildly apparent chasm between countrymen had already occurred. The end of the 2016 United States Presidential Primaries was the official beginning of America’s Cold Civil War.
Historical Ignorance and the Slow March to a Great (Fascist) America
We’ve seen all of this before. It begins with a grievance.
We’re marching along toward our inevitable fascist, totalitarian end. And we’re marching either because we’re lying to ourselves that it’s OK or we’re too stupid to know better. I’m betting it’s the latter. Because Americans aren’t stupid. Americans are mighty and supreme. Americans are pure and good. That is, until we’re not.
And perhaps we never were. Look at history. We were never that New Colossus.
This is not hyperbole. This is history.
Notes from the Post-it Wall — Week of June 16, 2018
If you don’t know the difference between Fake News and an egregious journalistic error, you are too stupid to read the news. Instead, turn on HGTV, subscribe to The Pioneer Woman Magazine and keep your head up your ass.
To My Son, I’m Sorry You’re Reading This
Boy, that headline sounds like the first line in a suicide note. No, no, Harrison, my son, this is not a suicide note. It’s an apology letter. Or an explanation. Maybe a clarification. I’m not sure what your mother has told you, or what you’ve already heard or read, but I feel it is imperative that you have some background, context really, on what you may have already heard or read, or undoubtedly will.It's only right that a son knows who his father is — the kind of man his father is.
Notes from the Post-it Wall — Father's Day Edition
Seeing your infant son play Slap the Bag with your wife’s breast is pretty damn funny.
Why Worry When You can Sail or do Whatever Makes You Happy
And I realize that not everyone is as fortunate or privileged as I am. Not everyone has a Boat Rich daddy. But everyone should find the thing that gives them the kind of calm joy sailing gives me. It doesn’t matter what it is.
How do you want to be defined? By one action? By some opinion that could evolve? By a mistake, regrettable only with hindsight? Or by the sum of your parts? Okay, do that for other people. Start the trend.