While cleaning a funerary vase from Queen Nefertiti’s tomb, a dweeb of an Egyptologist named Ikky gets some dirt on his collar which ends up on his paleontologist girlfriend’s lips. Interesting things happen between the two of them, but when Ikky suggests that it might have something to do with the dirt, his girlfriend laughs it off. Rubbish! And to prove how ridiculous Ikky’s theory is, she puts some dirt on his lips that comes from an Allosaurus she’s preparing for exhibit. The moral? Sometimes you need to listen to dweeb Egyptologists.

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John Henry is a legend that pits humanity against the dehumanizing forces of technology – in this case the dehumanizing forces of a fancy schmancy lawn mower. Rick and John square off in a suburban lawn-mowing competition to see whether muscle and a good push mower can even come close to the efficiency of a top-of-the-line gas-powered mower.

• John Henry ::

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Ever get one of those scam letters or emails from Nigeria? Who hasn’t? They’re the ones that ask for money to help administer the estate of some dead general who has millions locked up in a Swiss bank account. But what if … ? Here’s a story about someone who answers one of those scam letters – with unexpected results.

• Letter from Nigeria ::

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Ever run into someone who has difficulty distinguishing fact from fiction? Like the guy who believes everything an advertiser says about a product. “It’s the real thing. For a fresh clean scent. There’s no life like it.” Here’s a story about an encounter with such a person.

• A Model Abuser ::

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Can political correctness go too far? Or are some people just such assholes that extraordinary measures are justified? Read a tale where special measures are used to deal with just such an asshole.

• Metro Police, PCU ::

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Here’s the story behind unexplained crop circles – as told by a redneck from a farm in the American midwest.

• Alien Rednecks ::

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People who come late in life to the internet should proceed with caution. Terrible things can happen.

• My Name is URL ::

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What if you woke up one day and discovered that your obituary had been published in the newspaper? How would you deal with it? What about the person who was responsible for the mistake? How would he deal with it? This is a story about saving face.

• The Obituary ::

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we the implicated
we the intricated
we the strand and
bolt of fabric
woven tight like
mother's love and
screaming child
...
(listen to the whole poem)

• shock and awe ::

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Nowadays we live in a global economy, which means we also share one another’s insects. Bugs from one part of the world sometimes aren’t suited to other parts of the world. This is a story about how things go wrong with the Asian Long-Horned Beetle. Keep a close watch on your children.

• The Beetles ::

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Environmentalism is a huge issue – perhaps THE issue. Certainly it’s a huge issue from the environment’s point of view. We should be careful; the environment might be plotting its revenge.

• The Book ::

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The ceiling fan above doesn't turn.
It waits on a switch that never trips.
The snow outside sits cold and white.
It waits on a sun that never shines.
The world is a head with empty sockets
spinning itself into nothing and nothing
stirs me as I lie on my bed and see how
the ceiling fan above doesn't turn.
...
(listen to the whole poem)

• Unmoved ::

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Ever have to pee when you’re riding the subway? What happens if the train gets stuck in a tunnel when you’re sitting desperately holding it in? This is one person’s account of a bladder emergency.

• The Green Pill ::

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Do you wonder what I do
now I'm gone away from you?
Do you imagine how I live
with the freedom that you give?
Do you stand alone and gaze
at the brightly whorled haze
from my spackled palette knife
that paints a lustrous life?
Or do you look with clearer eye
past the colour-dappled lie
to the worn concrete greys
of my empty days?
Or do you call me back to you
in a soft and pastel hue
arguing the virtue of
what passed for love?
Though I wish to lie with you
it is the lie I must undo.
Only when I am untrue
will I show good faith to you.

• The colour-dappled lie ::

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When I was a teen
it was inconceivable
that I might find radical
tucked in the folds
of an old man's face.
Now in my forties
(though with a boy's libido)
I see in the mirror
how the first lines crack
my youthful veneer.
From mid-day the dawn light
looks the same as the dusk.
Which explains why old fogies
spend so much time counting change
at the check out:
they're protesting something.

• Age of Radicals ::

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The thing about a pike
that makes it doubly cruel
is the way its shaft can sway
when it's blown by ridicule.
...
(listen to the whole poem)

• The Pike ::

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Do not speak
I cannot listen
Do not beckon
I cannot watch
Do not summon
I cannot answer
Do not rail
I cannot wince
I want only to
curl myself on the floor
and feel my ribs
pressed to the tiles.
I wish I had their hardness.
I wish I were ceramic.

• Do Not Speak ::

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My standard poodle ate Walt Whitman
(Leaves of Grass in ropey coils on the lawn)
I stoop and wrap my fingers around
warm Song-Of-My-Self turds.
She winces at the stanza
that she squeezes from her anus.
Do I constipate myself?
Very well then
I constipate myself.
I am large.
I contain multitudes.
And I wonder if Whitman
had to work so hard
to get his words out
in the first place.

• Shitting Whitman ::

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columbines betray last year's scattering of seed
by straying from the well-kept bed and
springing unruly from the lawn
i want to tear them out and
bring order to my jealous yard

maybe I should collect crystals and
arrange them neatly on a shelf but
the suggestion prompts your laughter
bursting through the spring air

the columbines are beautiful with
downcast gaze and slender neck
they have their infidelities but
i will tend them still

• columbine ::

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sometimes we desire what we cannot have
but unable to extinguish the desire
we fan ourselves into a roaring flame

and so we rage
and we flare
but consume nothing

from this
god utters forth
the usual useless shit

then
obedience comes
not from love
but from its failure

we draw on god's teat
like sucklings on an ashen nub

• The 7th Commandment ::

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