Recent shockwaves have been radiating through the music world as a not-so-newcomer band transforms themselves into a Top 40 sensation. Once considered an insouciant group of barely-out-of-velcro-shoes hipsters, Contumacious Discombobulations, better known as “C*nt Bob”, has taken on a whole new persona.
“We were a bit kakakainis if you know what I mean,” explained bass guitarist, Flaccid Phil. I didn’t and he extrapolated. “We were really just a mescolanza of meaninglessness.”
“Yeah, fun, but kind of facetious,” adds drummer “Boom Boom” Bill Schlagzeugwh who started his career as a lyricist on Medium. …
It seems rare, when I present writing assignments to my elementary-aged students, to see a blank face staring just over my shoulder at the fly droppings (or is it chocolate pudding?) on the bulletin board. My students are almost never at a loss for what or who to write about.
It’s uncommon to hear these six- and seven-year-olds whisper, “I don’t know what to write!” They always seem to have ideas. Wonky, and wonderful ideas.
Why does the evil entity we know as Writer’s Block pass by these young authors? Is it only adults who encounter Writer’s Block? …
Waking up the next morning, you spy the haiku that is one syllable too long to truly be a haiku, staring at you from beside the empty ramen bowl.
filled with gratitude
for honeybees and hummingbirds
please come & join us.
Your dreams had been extra odd, slicing up your night into teeny bits of restful dozing. Cruise ships with whipped cream-filled hot tubs that boasted nature reserves in the captain’s quarters. Ruby-throated hummingbirds perched on the edge of your crystal tumbler, grotesquely dipping their ruler-length tongue into…
“If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry.”
Some brilliant soul once penned this and who am I to disagree? I could bawl about my role as the hero in these bound-to-be bestsellers of my current life. Or I can choose instead to lighten the mood with a few jokes at my own expense. Which titles will you buy?
Not to be confused with my best-selling colon cleanse novellas, this series looks at the funny and the furious aspects of being a caregiver to someone with Dementia. …
Why does it feel that as soon as spotlights focus anywhere other than hetero men some new form of subtle, or not-so-subtle, bigotry marches onto the scene?
Having teens around means immediate access to new terminology. When a new letter of the alphabet gets added to LGBTQ+my kids are there to school me. So when I heard the term Super Straight bantered about, I asked them.
The explanation infuriates us all. Here’s how Urban Dictionary defines it.
A: “So what´s your sexual preference?” B: “I´m Super Straight”…
Spying the radiation-like glow blasting from the waste paper basket, an unease settles into every bone in your body. You are NOT dreaming despite what Reveille claims.
You can’t leave the house — that would involve hiking past the trash.
You can’t call 911. The last time you telephoned they threatened police action when they claimed your 48 calls in the last 3 days was a tad bit excessive. …
Who sends a letter asking you to meet at 6pm outlining their McDonald’s breakfast of choice? How can you resist meeting such a creative, hungry soul?
But you recall your university self-defense course and you grab the nunchuck from your Wii and call your friend Gail. Built like a dumpster she has more colors on her obi than the Pride flag.
“Hey, Gail, are you free this evening?” you politely ask, trying to soak your words in the sweet sound of manipulation.
“Why, what’s up, Dollface?” She has called you that since you met in grade school. After her brother…
Isn’t it only natural to despise your significant other every once in a while? What about every minute of every hour of every day? Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating. Perhaps it’s only every other minute.
Thanks to our favorite unannounced visitor, Covid, our family hasn’t done much of, well, anything for over a year. This weekend we decided some geocaching in the middle of nowhere would be a safe choice.
Off we headed with my husband at the wheel. Yes, the one who is half a decade into another unannounced visitor named Alzheimer’s. …
Entering the colossally quiet house, the first thing I notice is a string of balloons leading from the front door down the hallway. Like strict punctuation, the rainbow seems to end in front of the master bedroom.
I hate balloons. Doesn’t my husband of twenty years today know that I despise those turtle-killing bulbs of toxic-smelling latex?
Happy anniversary, I think. I’ve forgotten to purchase a gift. But maybe a blow job and a promise of a fishing trip might suffice?
Just as I’m removing sweaty heels my husband pops his salt and pepper head in and out of the…
Screw you, World. What’s the point of living?
I’ve been wondering this for longer than CD players have been a thing. And then I was tagged by this poet Lucy Dan 蛋小姐 (she/her/她) who wanes all philosophical about the future as finite.
“the future” by Lucy Dan 蛋小姐 (she/her/她) https://link.medium.com/2e8Mc8bNtfb
Finite? Doesn’t she know that our souls transfer into the first living creature to touch our rotting corpse?
That’s why there are so many maggots embracing human consciousness, after all. And it’s also why I don’t eat roadkill. …
Christian, Spouse/Caregiver, Mom, Teacher, World Traveler, Coffee Addict, Crack of Dawn Runner, Book Binger