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I know what you're thinking: But it's the middle of summer! Rum balls are a holiday thing! And that's exactly what makes these suckers so special. They just never see ‘em coming. I whipped up a trayload for my brother's Fourth of July barbecue last year and nearly got the sister in law blackout.
Read MoreThe year is 2040. [Ever since the Great Terrible Thing that Came for Us All and Left Few Things Unobliterated and Few People Unmaimed, even the best calendars have been off by a few months, so it could still be 2039.]
Read More“Mr. K?” I hear a child’s muffled voice say. It sounds like it’s coming from the closet. I
look around to see if everyone is here. Where’s Devin? There he is, in his seat for a change. All
present. “Where do we stop?” the voice persists.”
His penis fell off inside of me.
It could have happened in my mouth. It nearly had.
I noticed before he did. His movements had stayed in rhythm, but the sensation had changed.
Read MoreA hunter green Oldsmobile made its way east on slick state highways across the Texas-Louisiana line. At 15, Billy could’ve driven himself, if Dad was in a fine mood and let him borrow the family car. But his band’s first show called for a family affair.
Read MoreFlakefloconflakefloconflakeflocon. Like a mare’s tail... [Rattle. Clack!] ...then a wing brushing the pane. The snow deepens (now even deeper) in the street below me. On the sidewalk, a transport driver is trying to push my neighbour in her wheelchair from his minivan to her front door. He slips. I worry for a moment but then I see her husband coming out to help.
Read MoreSwami Sukathaya, the holy man and lecturer at the Hindu temple summer camp, lived only fifteen minutes from Pallavi Reddy’s home in Monroeville. Every time he was invited to come for dinner, their Amma would spin slowly out from her tightly wound spool of daily concerns--their homework, their intake of fruit, their teeth and nail grooming. Ravi, stop the bathrooms--go and dust the blinds! Arjun, change the trash quickly! Pallavi, finish chopping the potatoes! Pallavi and her siblings would pound around the house in loud and whiny protest.
Read MoreI am obsessed with my roommate’s cock. If he knew this, I would have to repost my Craigslist ad:
“Male roommate wanted. No previous experience required.”
He emailed me a day later asking, “No previous experience as a male or a roommate?” and, confused by his message, I’d written back, “Yes.” He toured the place and mentioned that the rooftop pool would be a great way to bring girls home. I nodded and wordlessly pointed to a photograph of my girlfriend and I that I’d put on the refrigerator using a magnet from my mother that said, “Your prefrontal cortex is overrated.” She’d sent it to me during the week in 1998 when I’d wanted to be a neurologist but then my pet turtles died and my sister cornered me in the basement, demanding that I perform a brain autopsy on them to practice for my future. I cried then buried Kiko and Josie in the garden, placing a do-it-yourself tombstone above them.
“Is that your girl?” He asked.
“Yeah,” I said. I gave him a head nod to communicate that I was cool and nonchalant then shoveled a handful of Xanax in my mouth when he wasn’t looking.
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