Bog Bodies
In ancient times, people were sacrificed to the bog. Now, the souls trapped within bog demand more sacrifices. And if they don’t get them, they will rise, and they will find souls themselves.
Boner
When the pandemic hit, the world crashed. Lockdowns, quarantines, masks. Stay-at-home orders. It was nuts. It affected everyone's business, their mental health, and, most important, Ted's dick.
Keeping The Faith—Part 2
The massive Gothic structure appeared behind the trees as they drove up the quarter mile private roadway. Five stories tall and taking up half of the three acre property just south of the park, the mansion was an imposing sight.
The Ballerino
“Change the goddamn ballet recital just for you?” Her voice rose. She thrust her hip sideways and firmly planted a hand on it. “Johnny, that’s how you operate! Change it for me.” Melinda turned and walked out of the room. “Jesus Christ.” The door slammed behind her.
Keeping The Faith
Blind adherence to tradition does not help one make new friends. Faith in the goodness of people may stem that tide.
Red Brick Door - A Fiction
A yellow jail issue scrub shirt, her hands, the deft fingers lithe with clean short nails, were cuffed in front- my mind recalled a christ-like figure.
Innocence Ends in Avondale - A Chicago Story
That’s it. That word, it pulls up like a tub stopper in her, letting all the old dirty waters drain out. It upsets her deep in her gut where she buries her heart. The Elston house feels disgusting, suddenly, as if she’s been swallowed by a beast. Doomed to dwell in a place where “utopia” is the exact furthest thing from reality.
The Clincher
At first the team was just a bunch of burnt-out baseball guys looking for a reason to get out of the house. Then it got serious. The trophies, the fights, the bets. Sixteen-inch no-mitt softball became an obsession. Nothing got in the way. That’s how it went when guys had too much of what they didn’t want in life.
Fair is Fair
"Father?"
The old man sitting on the bench was eating pistachio nuts and carefully placing the shells in a ball cap to his left. He looked Jack's way.
"Ah! Jack. Not any more. Not in long time."
The First Call
The ringing of the phone reverberated throughout the office. You can tell who’s calling by the ring, whether it’s a good call or one which foretells disaster. The phone knows. Its voice sends you a message. You have to be smart enough, open enough, to understand its language.
Carpe
His dad used to tell him (when the man was sober) that life gave you three choices: fail and wallow in it, coast and be unfulfilled, or swing for the fences and maybe—MAYBE—do something notable.
Dad seemed to be OK with the first.
Swing for the fences. Seize the day.
Loony
He awoke in a panic with a piss boner bursting through his boxers. He sprung from his bed, legs crossed, praying to God to help him make it in time.
Short Spring, Or: Leaving Los Angeles
When I returned home later my roommate informed me of something going on the following weekend in WeHo that sounded quite obviously like an orgy.
Smooth
Eddie played short. He had what the scouts called the quick twitch. It made him a natural. He could pick anything behind the bag, go deep in the hole, jump turn and throw mid-air to first, in a freakin’ blur. On a pop fly, he’d go out hard, back to the infield, make the grab over the shoulder–no problem.
The Donation
“Thank you, sir,” Dr. Carton replied. “No one likes to be held hostage, but the size of your donation and the good it will do for the University, faculty and students is just too overwhelming.”
Night Out, 2025
Is it Friday? A day hazing over fast into the good long while of night. Both are so happy to have had themselves. To have been connected.
This was an age after the rooftop days were over. Removed and exposed from the vantage of twenty-or-more stories.
Sixty Bucks a Week
The phone on the wall rang. The long, knotted cord dragged on the floor as she listened carefully to the distant voice. He had collapsed. She stared out the window where he’d usually park, the space empty. It was 95°, but it wasn’t the heat. Not a heart attack, a stroke, or a seizure.
Hell in a Handbasket
Before she was Jane Hadley, the rock ’n’ roll singer/songwriter—the Goddess of Rock, bigger than Taylor, Adele, and Beyoncé combined, she was Jane Hadley, the folk ’n’ roll singer/songwriter who never sold more than a thousand albums and a few hundred t-shirts. Before she had a #1 album flying off the shelves and being downloaded to the Cloud by millions, and an entire merchandising department, she was just a girl who played in a few bands: the Stargazers, Rosie’s Dream Catcher, Jane and the Jaded Cowboys.
He Served
The guy had a silver chain that dangled from his left front pocket to his right, perfectly outlining his brief-less testicles. He looked at The Buff, smiled, and yanked out a pocket watch the size of a hockey puck from his faded Levis and said, “ten… p.m., fat boy.” His droopy white walrus mustache did a lousy job of concealing his shit-eating grin.
Three Graces At Beggar's Monument
A cigarette appeared in Cy’s mouth like a jump cut.
“I’m like Peter Pan and ya’ll are my misfit toys.” He scratched his gut over the smoothed down 4x t-shirt.
“The lost boys.” Jetta corrected him thru her own cigarette. “This is what we do when we come back from running away.”
She sat and bolted one from the freshly opened bottle.
Christmas is a time for giving, being with family and friends, and hating every other asshole out there in the shops and on the roads also trying to spread joy and share in the Christmas spirit. Similarly, Hanukkah is a time for Jewish people to desperately try to feel relevant during Christmastime.