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Pat Cipollone is a terrible person. A terrible person who dreamed of basking in the warmth and glow of the president’s nutsack and got to!  Pat’s terrible because he said, “I’m like, maybe 58 and a prick so I want the united states flag to smell like my ball sweat and asshole. SO, I will cosign the worst lease in American history by defending an oddly hued confidence man slash money changer with fascist undertones and no value for human life.” He said that. Well, he didn’t say it. Not with his wordstuffs. Worse. He said it with his actionstuffs. Pat's greasy palms held up a sign that read, " Will compromise ethics cheap" or "Fuck you, I'm with $". No, Pat Cipollone, Fuck you.

I hold my farts until I can get to a bathroom. It’s just something I’ve always done. I’ve never found it funny to force acquaintances to listen to, smell or actually feel the velocity+thermodynamics of my bodily gasses. And I don’t understand how having gas can be a source of pride. “Hey, buddy! Can you hear me almost   shitting my pants? I'm a filthy animal.” Comedy gold.  I’m not saying farts can’t be funny. Of course they can. In two dimensions they can be funny. That third dimension, where you are in the room with me… So, the next time you are hanging out with your bros (refer to handbook for value in relation to hos), and you feel a little bubbly in-your-testines, just remember, some people carry knives. Play it speedy and slack with your B-hole and you might get cut, Booger Presley.  If yer dog growls at somebody, apologize! If it bites (they smell it), well, that’s an unprovoked gas attack. Biological warfare. And that shit gets answered, son.

Dad and Mom are in their lovely middle class living room. Both in their early 30’s. They are Latino. Dad is watching TV. Mom looks on, seeming a bit dazed. Randy, who is clearly a bit older and caucasian, walks by in a business suit. Dad: Randy, why don’t you come have a seat? Me and your mother would like to speak with you for a moment. And, you know buddy, it’s kind of important. Mom: *Nods, wide eyed, maybe even a little scared.  Randy: Looks quizzical at his parents and sits down slowly. Dad: Now, Randy, I know you think you are a big boy. I mean, look at you, you’re what, 38? Randy: 40, Dad. Dad: Wow, 40. Can you believe it, hon? Our boy is really growing up fast. Isn’t he, honey? Mom: (Eeks out) Uh-huh. Grow? Dad: Yes, “grow”. And that’s what I want to talk to you about, buddy. Growing. Now, I know you take two trains and a bus to get to work everyday but, and your mom agrees, it’s time you start kindergarten. Right honey? Mom : (Stares blankly) ...

This year, the sloping toilet received a bit of press and social media attention. It is meant to "discourage loitering" and looks something like this. Never wanting to miss out on an opportunity to make a buck, I created QUICKPOOZ LLC. What follows are our own toilets designed to "discourage loitering". The Spike Toilet was our first idea and it inspired many great ideas. It challenged what we at QUICKPOOZ LLC thought of as "discomfort" and "pressure". The Electric Toilet's groundbreaking engineering pushed our creative team and soon we added this Nikolai Tesla inspired favorite to the production schedule. And then, a breakthrough. The elements! What else had we been missing?  What is faster than a fear shit? Artists, engineers and marketing, working in concert to bring about a new era of high productivity and high risk BMs. CEOs and regional managers love us. Loyal employees fear genital mutilation while p...

The Curious Fate of Lindsey Graham’s Boy Scout troop Lindsey Graham (R.) was born in the summer of 1955. He joined the Boy Scouts in 1962. This is the story of the 10 deaths in Troop 966 over the next ten years. Every one was an accident. Every one easily explained. Or are they? Sure, Kyle Bottoms drowned in his swimming pool. Children sometimes die in swimming pools. They usually drown. But why were his lungs full of Kool-Aid? And why Cherry? During Lindsey Graham’s first year as a Boy Scout there were three mysterious deaths attributed to “freak accident”. October of 1962, a ferris wheel malfunctions and Tim Kohler is crushed when sword swallower Jim Hicks falls to his death. Freak accident. It is worth noting, this would be the same ferris wheel that assisted in the death of Balaban True when his conjoined twin, Mark, leapt to his death. Mark but not Balaban had been fired from the carnival sideshow. He could not bear the thought of his brother having to do ...

Third grade. I was playing four square. Chip, Mickey, Thomas faced me as I prepared to serve to one of their respective squares. Rusty. I could see Rusty exit the building  then, seemingly, head straight for me. He looked angry. For an eight year old he looked incredibly angry. And focused. Focused on me. The kickball we were using bounced off my knees, I could sense Mickey’s and the other’s confusion. Closer now, Rusty was fuming. His cheeks red and puffed out from his heavy breathing, perspiration forming on his lip. Marching, clenched fists, and his fly down. He looked so serious and there he was, barn door open. I think I may have smiled a little. I certainly chuckled. “Shut up!” He half-yelled, half squeaked, at my silence and held up his fist. “Just us!” And grabbed me by the belt like he intended to carry me off like a suitcase. Then I thought, “wedgie!” But, no, no wedgie. In the two seconds it lasted I felt just slightly, weirdly, ro...

He has found himself beneath a beautiful lover. Rising and swelling in perfect unity with him So much touching, kissing, he is hypnotized by the perfection of the moment. The lover never sighs or pauses to have a cigarette. Lover eternal knows only desire.  He looks down. Spying the sweat coated stomach.  Oh, sweat. How he loves it. sHe is somehow tickling his back as his lips press to his but what he feels most is the one drop of sweat that just landed on his right nipple.  Sweat. The taste and smell has always driven him wild. Maybe he’s earned that one peculiarity. He never made it with girls much. Not all the way at least. Maybe all that pent up desire inside of us always has one trigger. One main trigger. One that turns you animal. Has you growling at your partner as you bite their neck. Three more drops and legs close tightly, tongues dip into mouths. He reaches out with both hands to steady his floating body, hands slap against cool...

WHITE TILE ON CANVAS (Curtain opens, a young Ben Shapiro, seemingly moping, with bad posture has his hands in his pockets.  He is lightly kicking at the snow) (Enter Dad Cheerily) Hey son, young Ben Shapiro! Whatcha doin’ champ? YBS Just playin’ in the snow, Pa. You know me, young Ben Shapiro, if I’m not practicing my violin I’m playin’. Dad Well, sure don’t look very playful to me son…young Ben Shapiro YBS Dad, thing is, I love playing the violin. Playing the theme from Schindler’s list on the violin over and over is exactly what a young boy, a young Ben Shapiro, needs. But…But… Dad (Understanding) Oh, I see. I think I know what this is about. I think I understand. YBS You do, Pa? Dad This is about the little dicks, isn’t it, my son, the young Ben Shapiro? YBS (Looks up relieved) Yeah, Dad. It is. It is about the little dicks. Dad Well, it’s no secret. Us Shapiros love drawing little dicks. YBS (Excited...

(We hear elevator music Tom joins Greg in the elevator) (Enter Tom) Hey Greg! Howya doin’ there buddy? You getting settled in to the new city alright? Greg (trying to be cheerful Yeah, I guesso, man. Tom Well, I know it can be hard, moving to a new place, knowing no one, just being pathetic in general. Greg That’s right Tom. Wendy and I used to have the most exciting life. We’d go to concerts or just pack the car and head off down the highway. But, nowadays we just don’t get out. We just don’t have as many friends. TOM Wow, Greg. That really does sound tough. You know, me and Marsha hit a little rough weather a few months ago. Greg Oh yeah? So, what didya do about it? Tom Cocaine. Greg What? Tom Cocaine! Great for making friends and keeping them! Party goes as long as you say it does. Greg I dunno Tom. We tried that before Tom Greg, something tells me that was crank. Greg Crank? Tom That’s right bud...