 
#

LIES I HAVE TOLD

# ___________

### a short story collection by

### Curtis Edmonds

### Scary Hippopotamus Books  
Trenton, NJ  
http://www.scaryhippopotamus.com

Copyright © 2015, 2019 by Curtis Edmonds.

All Rights Reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-9889163-2-6

Cover art by Curtis Edmonds.

All events in this collection are fictitious. Many of them are outright lies. All characters are invented except for public figures such as Gordon Ramsay (who has never been in my kitchen) and Michael Kay (who deserves worse). Any other resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

The short story "Debating the Real Issues" originally appeared on the Liberty Island Magazine website.

The short story "Llanwyn the Unforgiving Seeks Vengeance at a Strip Mall Starbucks" originally appeared in  McSweeney's Internet Tendency on March 31, 2011.

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

Smashwords edition, November 2019.

# Table of Contents

Advice for Young Writers

Agents of T.A.L.O.N.

A Brief History of the Diet Pepsi Eradication Society

Big Game Hunter

Brief Recaps of "Low Bandwidth", an Imaginary Reality Television Show About Media Addiction

Clayton Delaney, RIP

Consider the Red Lobster

Contest Rules for Aluminum Ticket Promotion

Debating the Real Issues

Eat This, Not That – Interplanetary Version

Fact Check

Gordon Ramsay Spends a Week In My Kitchen

Guys, Can We Maybe Not Invite Hank Williams, Jr. Over For Our Football Party?

Hey, Can We Stop Fighting Just Long Enough So Both of Us Can Get Off This Narrow Metal Catwalk?

Interview With A Non-Vampire

Kevin Sullivan, Holiday Mediator

Let It Go

Lies I Have Told

Llanwyn The Unforgiving Seeks Vengeance at a Strip Mall Starbucks

My Yelp Review of that Italian Place in Manhattan Where My Stinking Ex-Boyfriend Works

The National Institute of Precognition Research Reluctantly Rejects a Prospective Fifteen-Year-Old Applicant

No, Sweetie, That's Not Elmo

Occupy Leap Year

An Open Letter to John McPhee, on the Occasion of the Publication of My New Novel

An Oral History of Our Magazine's Decision to Print the "Message From the Elder Gods" Advertorial

The Political Spectrum

Program Listings for IndirecTV

Punch List

Q. Thornton, Undercover

Safe Word

Submission Guidelines for The Coconut Wheel: A Literary Exploration of Candy Crush Saga

There Is No Reason For You To Get That Upset

Twenty-One

Welcome to Flavortown!

What I Plan To Say In Case I Run Into Any Celebrities When I Am In Southern California Next Month

What Does Your Flying Car Say About You?

Yankees Broadcaster Michael Kay Would Kindly Like You to Stop Overusing His Home Run Call

You Should Try At Least One Wasabi Peanut

About The Author

Acknowledgements

Brief Notes on the 2019 Edition

And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.

John 8:32 (KJV)

Also by the Author

A CIRCLE OF FIRELIGHT

_____

WREATHED

_____

RAIN ON YOUR WEDDING DAY

#  Advice for Young Writers

Make sure that your formatting is consistent throughout your work. If you start with a green crayon, keep using it. Don't switch to blue halfway through.

Be sure to vary your modifiers. Here, you've got "poopy" in the first paragraph and "poopyhead" right after that. I would substitute in "stinkypants." Think about it.

Set aside time to write. Having a consistent schedule helps build discipline and good writing habits. You might start with Saturday between ten o'clock and noon, if only because that lets your parents sleep in a little bit.

Always respect the integrity of your work. That's another way of saying "don't spill apple juice all over it." That's what the sippy cup is there for.

Every good writer needs a mentor – someone to pattern themselves after, someone to inspire them, someone to help shape their style. There's nothing wrong with that. But please don't use Khloe. She's not even good at fingerpainting yet. And I'm not sure her parents even went to college. I mean, they're nice people and all. Don't get me wrong.

One trick I always use is that when I create a character, I do an interview with them in my mind, get them to answer questions. It's a great way to explore their personalities. Kind of like an imaginary friend, I guess. Just a little. Except imaginary friends aren't real. And they don't need to eat any goldfish crackers.

Never use a short word when a long word will do the trick just fine. Especially if you can't spell the long word. "Canine" starts with a C. Just say "doggie."

Do everything you can to cultivate your inner voice. I said "inner." Like your inside voice, but so quiet only you can hear it.

The best environment for any writer is one where it's quiet and as free from distraction as possible. So, no, I'm not turning on _The Wiggles_. Just forget about it.

If the best way to make your characters likeable is to have them do likeable things, it stands to reason that the best way to make them unlikeable is to have them do unlikeable things. Like, you know, rattling the mini-blinds every single time you go near the window. It's incredibly annoying. I've only said that, like, a thousand times, so cut it out already. I'm serious.

Write what you know. What you know is swing sets. So write about swing sets. If I can get a fifty-word review of the one at the playground before naptime, you can have a Fig Newton. Heck, make it two. Come on, that's more than what the HuffPo pays me.

# Agents of T.A.L.O.N.

This is actually a nice place you picked out. It's not the best Thai food I've ever had, mind you–nothing like what you can get in Bangkok. But you can't get a decent hot dog there to save your life, so it kind of balances out.

I'm glad we have the chance to talk outside of the office.

Look, I don't have to tell you that there is trouble in the Organization. You, of all people, know the problem that we're up against. There are traitors in our midst, Jeremy, and you and I both know how important it is to root them out. You may not realize it, but in your role in Human Resources, you're every bit as vital as any of our field agents. When I'm meeting a contact in Bangkok, it's not enough for me to know the person I'm talking to is a fellow P.R.O.T.E.C.T. agent. If that person's a traitor, then that puts my life in danger, and potentially the lives of innocent people. I need to know that Human Resources is doing everything it can to identify traitors throughout the Organization.

Yeah, I've been to Bangkok three or four different times. Nice place. Smells different, but Washington smells different after you've been away for a while.

Anyway, look. I think the Director has been overlooking Human Resources as a possible source of counterintelligence about the traitors. And when I'm talking about traitors, you understand, I'm talking about the C.A.B.A.L. They've been working for years to undermine everything that P.R.O.T.E.C.T. stands for. I think we can use your files to identify where they have us infiltrated.

You got the green curry, right? Is it a little overcooked? Because that's what it looks like. Mine is fine, but they overdid it a little with the coconut.

I know the Director thinks the focus should be on T.A.L.O.N. I'm not so sure about that. Now, I'm just a humble field agent, you understand, but I'm the one on the sharp end of the spear. I know what people say about T.A.L.O.N., but I think the threat they pose is overblown. The C.A.B.A.L. wants to destroy the Organization. T.A.L.O.N. just wants to take the Organization in a slightly different direction, that's all. More focus on efficiency, less focus on propping up an unjust American foreign-policy apparatus. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?

How do I know so much about it? That's a great question, Jeremy. It shows insight. If we could get an iced tea refill over here, that would be great. Thanks.

The first thing to realize is that everything you've been told about T.A.L.O.N. is a lie. Agents who've joined T.A.L.O.N. aren't traitors. They're P.R.O.T.E.C.T. agents, like you and me, who share our concern about where the Director is taking the Organization. If you knew the truth about what the Organization was doing in Venezuela right now, Jeremy, it would give you more indigestion than that green curry you're eating.

How long have I been in T.A.L.O.N.? You're just full of great questions, there, Jeremy. I'm not going to confirm if I'm in T.A.L.O.N. or not. But you don't have to officially join T.A.L.O.N. to be sympathetic as to what they are trying to achieve. Sure, their methods can be a little drastic. You might not agree with their politics. I wasn't a big fan of everything they did with the Sri Lanka situation. You can get good Ceylonese food here, by the way, if you know where to look.

What I can tell you is that if you join T.A.L.O.N., you'll be welcomed. Enthusiastically. Because T.A.L.O.N. is looking for whatever foothold it can get in Human Resources so it can get the data it needs to take the fight to the C.A.B.A.L. We're not asking for your loyalty, or your allegiance here.

Well, technically, I guess "loyalty" and "allegiance" do mean the same thing. I said you were smart, Jeremy. So let's see how smart you are. You're going to get an email from a colleague that's going to contain the words "satay chicken." When you get that, hit "reply all" and then attach the most recent version of the payroll spreadsheet. And it needs to be as an Excel 97-2003 file, if you don't mind. That's all T.A.L.O.N. is asking of you right now.

You're going to report this conversation? Really? Great. That's awesome. It's just what I wanted to hear. You know why? This has been a test, Jeremy, and you just passed. Go ahead and call this in. Call the Director, if you can get him. We needed to know that you weren't going to crack if T.A.L.O.N. put a little pressure on you, and now we know.

Sorry to do that to you, man. But at least you got a decent lunch out of it.

Seriously, though. You're on the front lines now. C.A.B.A.L. is going to be gunning for you. So is T.A.L.O.N. You need to stay sharp. Mentally alert. Because someday, there's going to be a serious uprising, and you need to know what side you're really on.

How do I know about the uprising? You're just full of great questions, aren't you, Jeremy? Don't worry about it. When the time comes, you'll know what to do. You'll know where you stand. I just want to make sure you stand with us. Whoever we are.

#  A Brief History of the Diet Pepsi Eradication Society

August 20, 1995 – Following the successful under-the-table payment of kickbacks from local contractors, construction is completed on the new Oliver Hazard Perry Middle School in Lawrenceville, New Jersey.

April 29, 1999 – A new Pepsi machine is installed in Perry Middle School cafeteria.

August 29, 2002 – Michael Benson, Christopher Kerr, and Matthew Woodward enter Perry Middle School as sixth-grade students. They are assigned to the second lunch shift. Unfortunately, they are unable to obtain seats at the coveted "popular kids" table, and settle for a smaller table over on the left, between the fat kids and the nerds.

May 10, 2004 – Prompted by an article in _Modern Nuisance_ , interfering busybody Roseanne Bragg begins campaign to have all sugary sodas removed from New Jersey public schools. The Lawrenceville school board caves to Ms. Bragg's demands in June.

August 1, 2004 – Kerr's older sister Nicole returns from a trip to Cancun. Kerr inadvertently sees Nicole hiding a disposable camera under her bed.

August 31, 2004 – Benson, Kerr, and Woodward enter their eighth-grade year, and find that the Pepsi machine has been stocked with Diet Pepsi.

September 9, 2004 – At lunch, Benson expresses the opinion that Diet Pepsi is "gross". Kerr concurs, stating that Diet Pepsi is "repulsive". Woodward replies by comparing Diet Pepsi to classmate Amanda Murphy, sparking a spirited discussion. All eventually agree that Diet Pepsi is more repellent than Brittany Darby, but less loathsome than Jessica Pruitt.

September 10, 2004 – After completing his science homework, Woodward picks up a copy of _Search!_ , the official magazine of the Google Pre-Teen Indoctrination Project. He reads an article that says that "blogs" are the "happening wave of the cyber-future" and "the free Blogger service is way cool." Encouraged by the article, Woodward decides to start a blog. He writes his first entry about how the school board should put regular Pepsi back in the Pepsi machine.

September 12, 2004 – Woodward tells Benson and Kerr about his blog, and they judge it to be "awesome." Woodward invites Benson and Kerr to write entries for his blog, and they agree to do so. At Kerr's suggestion, Woodward changes the name of the blog to the "Diet Pepsi Eradication Society".

September 14, 2004 – Kerr completes a blog entry, entitled "The Top Ten Reasons Diet Pepsi is Repulsive", which includes items such as "Diet Pepsi is made from vomit" and "Diet Pepsi smells like Megan Greber's feet."

September 16, 2004 – Benson writes a lengthy blog entry, modeled after the Gettysburg Address. He writes that the "Pepsi machine of the people, by the people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth."

October 8, 2004 – Kerr swipes the disposable camera hidden under his sister's bed while she is away at Vassar. The camera has one exposure left. He takes a picture of the Pepsi machine. He later takes the camera to CVS, and orders a CD-ROM of the contents instead of getting the prints. Using the Picasa software, he uploads all the pictures off the CD-ROM to the blog. He then uses Microsoft Paint to draw a red circle and slash over the picture of the Pepsi machine, and then, using the bold Comic Sans font, types "Diet Pepsi Eradication Society" at the bottom of the picture. He never looks at any of the other files on the CD-ROM, and does not realize that the other pictures he has posted are topless photos of his sister, taken on her Cancun trip.

October 27, 2004 – A space at the "popular kids table" opens up after the parents of eighth-grader Joshua Logan finally make good on their frequent threats and send him to Curtis LeMay Military Academy in Simi Valley, California. Kerr accepts an invitation to join, leaving Woodward and Benson behind. Woodward and Benson agree that Kerr is a "girly wussy boy" and a "stinkytoes butt bandit."

November 18, 2004 – Woodward completes three line drawings and uploads them to the blog. One of these drawings features advanced spaceships firing high-energy weapons on space stations shaped like Diet Pepsi cans. The second features hobbit Bilbo Baggins urinating on the Diet Pepsi logo. The third shows the main character from the movie Napoleon Dynamite force-feeding Diet Pepsi to a llama.

November 28, 2004 – The Philadelphia Eagles defeat the New York Giants for their eleventh win of the season. Woodward and Benson develop an interest in the fortunes of the Eagles, and frequently discuss their chances of making the Super Bowl over lunch. The Diet Pepsi Eradication Society blog is largely forgotten.

May 27, 2005 – Woodward, Benson and Kerr complete eighth grade. Benson transfers to a prep school in Princeton. Kerr moves with his parents to Phoenix. Woodward attends Lawrenceville High School.

November 20, 2014 – Woodward, now an intern with an investment bank, receives a letter from an Atlanta-based advertising firm, asking permission to use the Diet Pepsi Eradication Society concept in a commercial for Coca-Cola Zero. Woodward discusses the proposal with his girlfriend, who advises him, "Sure, go ahead, do it, if all you want to be in life is a shill for the Coca-Cola people, who are exploiting kola-nut growers in Colombia as we speak." Woodward does not reply to the letter, and the advertisers develop a new idea for their commercial, featuring talking spider monkeys.

October 21, 2016 – Kerr, a junior associate with a Los Angeles entertainment law firm, breaks up with his longtime girlfriend Ashley Connor as an alternative to spending Thanksgiving with Connor's family in Carbondale, Illinois. Connor, a website designer, finds the Diet Pepsi Eradication Society blog while searching for dirt on Kerr. She copies the blog to the Google Spam service, where it finds its way into eight billion inboxes worldwide. As a result, the managing partner at Kerr's firm later informs him that he is no longer on the partnership track.

October 24, 2016 – Benson, a noted commercial director, is set to shoot a Diet Ginger Lime Sierra Mist IV commercial in Toronto, but is removed from the project after his participation in the Diet Pepsi Eradication Society is discovered.

November 2, 2018 – Woodward's wife, Nicole Kerr-Woodward, is the Gryffindor Party candidate for Congress for the 118th District of New Jersey. She loses her campaign after a Slytherin Party operative uses Google Pornography to find the topless photos on the Diet Pepsi Eradication Society site that were uploaded by her brother Christopher. Woodward's marriage suffers severe strains.

November 26, 2018 – Kerr and Benson return to New Jersey for Thanksgiving. Benson drives to Woodward's house to confront him about the blog, only to find Woodward already in a confrontation with Kerr. The three men brawl in Woodward's yard, inflicting minor scrapes and injuries, until one of them starts laughing at the absurdity of the whole thing, and they all join in.

March 1, 2020 – At the Academy Awards in Los Angeles, Benson's film, "The Diet Pepsi Eradication Society", wins the Oscar for Best Non-Pornographic Short Film. Kerr and Woodward share the award as co-producers. At the Vanity Fair party, the three cannot find a seat at one of the popular tables, and settle for a smaller table on the left, over by the documentary winners and the special effects nerds.

# Big Game Hunter

"It's your turn."

"I just went in there."

"I was just in there, and I can't get her to sleep."

I looked at the clock. It said 3:15. In the other room, my daughter was crying like a lost thing.

I grunted something that a tolerant person might have taken for an okay. My feet found the floor. I grabbed my phone and dragged myself down the hallway. I was just conscious enough to keep from stumbling over the toddler gate.

She was sitting up in her bed. "No, Mommy," she said, and then started wailing again. I picked her up anyway, and took her into the guest bedroom so she wouldn't wake up her older sister. I sat down in the armchair and held her close, trusting that the warmth of my body would help her calm down. It only took a minute for her to dial down the sobbing to the point where she was just emitting a soft whine, like an electric fan or a car with a worn-down timing belt.

"What's the matter, huh?" I asked.

"There was a scary hippopotamus."

"A scary hippopotamus?"

"Scary hippopotamus. He had potatoes in his mouth."

"What was he doing?"

"He chased Mommy. Then he chased me. And he ate me all up."

"There's no such thing as the scary hippopotamus, sweetie."

"There was."

I didn't feel like arguing, and she didn't feel like staying awake any longer. She put her head down, and I switched my phone on. People in England were tweeting about their morning coffee. I sat there and read until she started snoring and her limbs went slack. I put her back in bed and put the covers back on. This time I didn't remember the toddler gate was there, and I banged my knee—not enough to do any damage, but enough to smart.

"Did she go back to sleep?"

"God, I hope so."

"What was the matter?"

"Bad dream."

I woke up in the restaurant I used to hang out in college. You probably know the kind of place—mediocre burgers and decent shakes, fake wood paneling, varsity pennants up on the wall. I had money in my pocket, so I ordered a cheeseburger and a Dr Pepper. I was looking for a table when I saw the hippopotamus. He was wearing a black leather jacket and was wedged into a booth in the back.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

I sat across from him. He was chomping on a mound of French fries. There was ketchup in the corners of his huge mouth.

"Was that you?" I asked.

"What's it to you?"

"It was you."

"Maybe it was. What are you going to do about it?"

"You scared her."

"So?"

"Leave her alone."

"Not my problem. I'm going to do what I'm going to do. If she gets in the way, tough."

"She's a little girl."

"A little girl who thinks that wild animals are cuddly and cute. World doesn't work like that. You should let her know the facts."

"That doesn't give you the right to scare her."

He took a long sip of his peanut butter milkshake. "I'll ask you one more time. What are you going to do about it?"

"I told you. Leave her alone."

"You're all talk. If you're going to do something, do something. Otherwise, leave me alone."

"Maybe I will."

"You do that."

I looked around, but I didn't see any weapons close at hand. I checked in my pocket, and all I found was a key.

"This isn't over," I said.

"Do your worst, big guy."

I gathered up my lunch and stalked out of the restaurant. The hippopotamus was right. I couldn't lay a glove on him. He was big and scary and tough and he could show up wherever he wanted. All I had was a key. I looked closely at it, and it had a remote-entry button. I pushed it, and a huge black pickup truck beeped back at me.

I climbed inside the truck. The way I figured it, if there were still people in the restaurant, they could get out of the way. But the hippopotamus wouldn't be able to get out of his booth in time. I started the engine and revved it up. I got the RPMs as high as they would go, because you really only get one shot at a hippopotamus that size. I buckled my seatbelt, closed my eyes, and popped the gearshift.

"You gonna get up?"

"Just a minute."

"We're going to be late."

"Okay."

"What do you think her problem was last night?"

"Don't worry about it. I took care of everything."

# Brief Recaps of "Low Bandwidth", an Imaginary Reality Television Show About Media Addiction

Week One

The twelve contestants arrive in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, where they will spend the next thirteen weeks in isolation in a remote farmhouse in the heart of Amish country. Each contestant is asked to place any electronic devices in a below-ground root cellar for safekeeping. The producers collect eighteen smartphones, fourteen tablet computers, seven e-book readers, and a Zune music player. Contestants are subsequently searched before entering the house. Producers seize seven Apple watches, four Amazon Dash buttons, and a sixth-generation iPod Nano that Kevin had tried to hide inside a hollowed-out electric razor. All the contestants gather for a traditional Amish family dinner. Santos and Rebecca get into an argument as to whether Omar from _The Wire_ was on Boardwalk Empire or not. The argument escalates as both parties discover that they have no way to settle the dispute without access to the _Internet Movie Database_ , and Rebecca dumps a bowl of egg noodles on Santos's head.

Week Two

The twelve contestants are divided into two teams–Team Wi-Fi and Team Broadband–and both are given an initial challenge. Both teams are given a long-handled axe and a cord of wood and are asked to make firewood. Cameron of Team Wi-Fi had previously binge-watched seven straight seasons of _Axe Men_ , and was able to instruct his fellow team members in the proper way of splitting hardwood. Although Team Broadband was able to overcome internal dissention and split three logs, Team Wi-Fi was the clear winner. Team Wi-Fi won the award, which allowed them to watch a YouTube recording of Ryan Seacrest reading a T. Coraghessan Boyle short story. Janice of Team Broadband was unanimously voted out of the farmhouse after fighting with a fellow team member over whether the last Adele album was overrated.

Week Three

Although Rebecca has adopted the "evil and calculating" persona, standard for all TV reality shows, she effectively leads Team Broadband to a decisive win in the butter-churning contest. As a reward, Team Broadband gets to go out for a celebratory dinner at the Lancaster T.G.I. Fridays – but team members are crushed to find out that all the televisions above the bar have been turned off. Back at the farmhouse, Team Wi-Fi struggles with using a wood-burning oven to make bread, but Marvin is able to save the day with baking skills honed from watching two seasons of _Cake Boss_. Sky and Delilah of Team Broadband are up for elimination at the end, with Delilah leaving the farmhouse after the producers offer to replace her iPhone 4C with a new Samsung Galaxy.

Week Four

Andre the sound guy inadvertently lets it slip to the contestants that there's a new red-band trailer out for the new Will Ferrell movie. Santos is distraught once he learns that Andre isn't able to bring any electronic devices with him to the farmhouse. Team Wi-Fi wins the cornhole challenge thanks to a last-second toss from LaTricia, and gets to spend fifteen minutes looking at Wil Wheaton's Twitter feed. Both teams have to work together to hitch up the oxen and plow the west pasture for spring planting. Carol of Team Wi-Fi is voted out of the farmhouse after she admits that she's never listened to the _Making a Murderer_ podcast.

Week Five

Rebecca switches allegiances from Team Broadband to Team Wi-Fi after she is accused at cheating in the quilting challenge. LaTricia and Hannah of Team Wi-Fi are less than happy about the switch, and Hannah has to be restrained from throwing a shoo-fly pie at Rebecca. The remaining contestants all pitch in to dig a new irrigation ditch, and are rewarded by having James Earl Jones visit the farm to read them selected headers from their e-mail accounts. Cameron learns that his Aunt Christy is finally marrying her longtime boyfriend, and is crushed when he can't access their wedding registry. Alex of Team Wi-Fi is voted out after he starts a rumor that One Direction is getting back together.

Week Six

Team Broadband is rocked by a divisive argument between Kevin and Sky over which of the cartoon characters on the old _Beavis and Butthead_ show was Butthead. The hard words between them wreck the team's performance at the threshing challenge, and Team Wi-Fi is rewarded with a trip to watch the filming of a live television program. Unfortunately, the program in question is _Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives_. While Cameron and Marvin are excited about meeting Guy Fieri, Hannah harbors some lingering resentment related to some bad service she had at Fieri's New York restaurant. Hannah is asked to leave the restaurant after she berates Fieri regarding her opinion of his "Donkey Sauce," and is subsequently voted off the show as well.

Week Seven

LaTricia moves to Team Broadband after an acrimonious spat with Rebecca over who should get credit for Team Wi-Fi's victory in the sheep-shearing challenge. Team Wi-Fi is presented with one hour of free Netflix access, but the only screen they can use is on a vintage Dell Inspiron laptop running Windows 95, and the buffering makes it impossible for the team to enjoy _Orange Is the New Black_. Kevin and Sky work together to repair the tractor, and begin a subtle flirtation. Santos is voted out of the farmhouse after making a sexist comment about the lady in the Progressive insurance commercials.

Week Eight

All hell breaks loose on Team Wi-Fi after Rebecca convinces Cameron and Marvin that the other has the password for the neighboring farm's wi-fi hotspot. But before the two can come to blows, they are reminded of their shared love of Beyonce's _Formation_ video. The two teammates work together in the corn-husking challenge, but are defeated by the efforts of Kevin and Sky. For its reward, Team Broadband gets to have lunch at the Cracker Barrel Country Store in Lancaster, followed by country-western karaoke night at the Texas Roadhouse. Rebecca and LaTricia are both put up for elimination, but in a surprising twist, LaTricia reveals that Sky had found a discarded Android phone in the restroom of the Texas Roadhouse, and that it was not handed in. Sky was asked to leave the show, leaving a distraught Kevin behind.

Week Nine

Kevin vows vengeance on LaTricia, to the point of sabotaging her in the whoopie pie challenge. A victorious Team Wi-Fi celebrates its win, only to find out that their reward is to sell the whoopie pies they made out of a food truck in York. As Cameron and Marvin relax after a hard day's work. Rebecca and LaTricia form an unstable alliance to protect themselves. But after Kevin and LaTricia are both put up for elimination, Rebecca changes her vote, sending LaTricia home with a Game of Thrones DVD box set and an Amazon Fire mini-tablet.

Week Ten

With only four players left, the teams are merged and put to work clearing tables at an Amish smorgasbord restaurant. The contestants are surprised to find that, after ten weeks of isolation from electronic media, they are more cheerful and hardworking than before, and actually find pleasure in cleaning up after diners, even when they leave half-eaten pieces of pie on their tables. Cameron and Kevin bond over complaining about having to hose down the parking lot, but their short-lived alliance is shattered when Cameron turns the hose on Kevin. Kevin gets the last laugh when Cameron is sent home following a serious injury resulting from an accidental tumble into the wood-burning stove.

Week Eleven

Kevin and Marvin decide to put aside their differences regarding their respective positions on who should have won the sixth season of _Survivor_ and agree to vote Rebecca off the show no matter what. Rebecca attempts to seduce both Kevin and Marvin but is rebuffed. Hurt by the rejection, Rebecca accepts the producers' offer to return to civilization, and her angry walk-off speech at the end garners five hundred thousand views on YouTube. Rebecca is immediately offered the lead role in _Bachelorette: Alaska_ , which she accepts.

Week Twelve

Kevin and Marvin are told for the first time that either Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton will be the next President. They elect to split the contest winnings and stay in Amish country permanently.

#  Clayton Delaney, RIP

It is with a sad and heavy heart that I announce the passing of Clayton Delaney, the master of the biscuit-style single-resonator guitar. He was a true champion of the Appalachian folk-music tradition. Many consider Clayton to be one of the finest bluegrass musicians of his day, and a peer of dobro legends such as Curtis Loew, Shorty Hale, and Teapot Simmerson.

I've been a big fan of Clayton since I saw his obituary in the _Times_ this morning. As soon as I finished reading about his remarkable life, I went straight to Spotify to listen to as much of his contribution to bluegrass music. Luckily, all I really had to do today was to get my deck of slides ready for the conference call on Wednesday, which meant I could spend most of the day honoring Clayton's musical legacy.

In the depths of the Depression, Clayton left his home in Eastern Kentucky behind to play guitar for a variety of trailblazing touring groups in Southern Ohio, including the Columbus Travelers, the Muddy River Trio, and the Shawnee Gentlemen. Some of those early recordings are available on Spotify, but the sound quality has significantly degraded in the digital transfer and I can't recommend them to anyone except those really looking for in-depth knowledge of Clayton's early musical talent.

Like most of us, Clayton was deeply influenced by Bill Monroe. Although he was unable to hook on with the original Blue Grass Boys, Clayton put together one of the early bluegrass trios, the New River Mustangs. Clayton played dobro and mandolin behind the "high lonesome" lead singing of Chester Dayton and the inspired guitar licks of Rufus "Pee Wee" Haskell. The New River Mustangs reached their apex in 1950, when they were invited to play their classic single "Cane Syrup Stomp" on The Ed Sullivan Show.

After Chester Dayton's untimely death in a thresher accident in 1953, Clayton forged a career as a session musician. During this period, Clayton developed his innovative double-thumb picking method. The so-called "Delaney style" produces particularly rhythmic expressions for mandolin and dobro. I haven't been able to find a really good YouTube instructional video that discusses how you place both thumbs on the frets to make it work, but I'm going to keep looking.

Clayton's life was scarred deeply by his long-time love affair with discount bourbon. It took an on-stage collapse at the Sourland Mountain Bluegrass Festival in 1982 to get him to stop drinking. That experience led to a religious reawakening that saw him focus on the intersection between bluegrass and gospel music. Although Clayton's gospel album, _Sinner's Lament_ , received mixed reviews, he did receive a Grammy nomination for his instrumental recording of "What A Friend We Have In Jesus.' I found it to be very touching, despite my own personal distaste for organized religion.

Of course, Clayton's best-known album, 1992's _D is for Dobro_ , is also his most accessible work. While I prefer the rougher stylings of Clayton's earlier picking, _D is for Dobro_ undoubtedly represents the pinnacle of his career, and deservedly won the Grammy for Best Folk and/or Americana Instrumental Performance. Songs from this album are in heavy rotation on the Pandora station I set up for anyone who wants to learn more about Clayton and his unique role in American bluegrass history.

Many people have asked me why I spend so much time posting information and remembrances of musicians that have recently died, many of whom I had never heard of before their untimely passing. I can only repeat what I said in my blog post on Chico Novello, the great bossa nova organist, which is that music is a blow against mortality. All of us die, but those of us that leave a lasting musical legacy live on in an important way. When we remember musicians who have gone on before us, we not only honor their contributions, but the impact they will have on future generations.

Clayton died at the age of ninety-three at an assisted-living center in Mount Sterling, Kentucky. The cause of death was reported to be liver failure, which you'd have to expect considering how much he drank before he found Jesus. Unfortunately, I don't have the funds to fly to Clayton's funeral, because I spent so much on that trip to Vienna to see all the classical composer's graves. But I'll be watching Instagram carefully and hoping that some fans will get some shots of the service.

#  Consider the Red Lobster

Hi, my name is Jeff, and I'll be taking care of you tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?

Water, okay, and iced tea? Unsweetened okay?

Come to think of it, let me check. Because I'm not sure. I mean, we had some iced tea, but I think Bobby might have thrown it out. I mean, it is late, and you're just about the last table in here. And Bobby, you know, Bobby's always in such a big hurry to get out of here. I think there's still some iced tea left, though. Can I bring you out some water just in case? Diet Coke? Sure.

Okay, we did have some iced tea left. Bobby, well, you have to keep an eye on Bobby. I mean, I'm responsible for shutting down on Friday night, and I don't want to stick around this place any more than I have to. And I appreciate that Bobby wants to get everything cleaned up and ready for lunch tomorrow. It's just that I know why he's doing it. Jeannette – she used to work here – is over at Fuddruckers, and they get off at ten, and we're open until eleven. And Bobby's thinking – Christ, I know what I'd be thinking if I was him. She could get tired of waiting for him and head on over to the Green Knoll and have her pick of guys. Anyway. I'll have Bobby brew you up another pot of tea. Are you ready to order?

Chowder for both of you? Okay. You mind if I bring that out first? I mean, because the chowder's ready, I can bring that right out, no problem. You're supposed to bring the biscuits out first, but I don't think we have any made. It's not like it's difficult or anything, you just have to pop them in the oven, but it takes a little time, and there's no reason to keep you waiting.

Oh, you know, you probably need some silverware. Just a second.

How's the chowder? I'm sorry, I had to have Katrina bring it out. I had to say something to Miguel, but I don't think he paid me any attention. Not that anybody really does. I'm only here Friday nights and weekends, so they figure they can ignore me until Rick comes in on Monday. And I know it doesn't really matter, because I'm not going to be here very long. This is my senior year at Rutgers; I'll have my finance degree in December. I know, it's not the best time to be looking for a job in finance, but I have a really strong major in statistics, and I think that's going to help me out a lot. Let me go check on your biscuits.

More iced tea? Okay, if you can give me just a second. It's finished brewing, but it's still hot. I'll get some out to you as soon as it cools down. And I'll take these bowls. You guys inhaled that chowder, I guess.

Well, it is cold out. I hate this time of year. I really wanted to go to school someplace warm, but I ended up at Rutgers. I thought I had a baseball scholarship to Rice, but it fell through. Lot of other guys from Toms River – I grew up in Toms River – they were able to get scholarships. Guy I played with in Little League ended up at Arizona State, he made all Pac-10. Got drafted in the twenty-second round by the Cardinals, but he didn't sign. We're out of lemons, is that okay?

Okay, you had the shrimp, and you had the tilapia, right? Enjoy.

Coffee or dessert? No? I'm only asking because they make me; there's such a huge markup on coffee and dessert. And I'll go ahead and get you the check. Not that I'm trying to rush you or anything, but it's just you and that couple over in that booth, and they're about finished with their dessert. Besides, it's late, isn't it? And I need to get out of here anyway. I'm supposed to meet Jeannette over at the Green Knoll.

#  Contest Rules for Aluminum Ticket Promotion

The "Aluminum Ticket" promotion is sponsored by Dixie States Aluminum Fabrication, Inc. (hereinafter "Dixie States"). Dixie States is the sole owner of the "Aluminum Ticket" service mark. Any teleplays, whimsical children's' novels, iconic Seventies movies or soulless Hollywood remakes based on this promotion are the sole intellectual property of Dixie States.

Dixie States will print and distribute five "Aluminum Tickets," which will be packaged with select items manufactured by Dixie States, including, but not limited to, Aluma-Style Brand Window Shades, Aluma-Sturdy Patio Furniture, and Aluma-Freedom Orthotic Joint Replacements. In the event that the five holders of the "Aluminum Tickets" (hereinafter "Lucky Winners") do not claim their prize within one year, Dixie States will hold a second-chance drawing to select the names of additional Lucky Winners. Forms for the second-chance drawing will be printed in an upcoming issue of _Aluma-Man Battles The Recylco-Bots_ , a comic book currently available at your local aluminum retailer or wholesaler.

The five Lucky Winners will be invited to an exclusive tour of the Dixie States aluminum foundry and manufacturing center in Ocala, Florida. All Lucky Winners are responsible for their own transportation to and from Ocala. Any Lucky Winners from the United Kingdom are invited to learn the proper way to pronounce and spell "aluminum" before arrival.

All Lucky Winners must be accompanied by one parent or guardian. This is an absolute requirement, mostly because Brian in Accounting got caught in the sack with his kid's sixteen-year-old babysitter and is now on the state sexual offender registry. No one accompanying a Lucky Winner will have his or her parenting or guardianship skills openly mocked during the tour.

The tour will be led by Paul Burrows, Senior Vice President in charge of marketing for Dixie States. He will not be wearing a top hat, tailcoat, or carry a cane during the tour. He usually wears a navy Dixie States polo and khakis. He did, however, play Miles Gloriosus in the Ocala Community Playhouse production of _A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum_ last year, and won't shut up about it, so be warned.

Dixie States prides itself on being a fun and enjoyable place to work. But it is a workplace, not a wonderland of fantastic delights and enchanted candy and wonderful adventures. Lucky Winners overheard making statements such as "this is stupid," or "this is so incredibly lame," or "why can't I wait in the car and play Game Boy" will be escorted from the premises and be given a brochure about alternative, non-aluminum-related recreational opportunities in the Central Florida area.

Dixie States is one of the few aluminum fabrication plants in the Southeast to have its own on-premises foundry. Aluminum ingots are placed in a large cauldron, melted in a blast furnace, and then poured into a mold. This process looks very much like a waterfall, although, technically, there isn't any water, just molten aluminum. Any Lucky Winner who jumps into the aluminum waterfall will not have a fun-filled adventure being sucked into a tube. They will die, horribly, of massive third-degree burns.

Like many American manufacturing companies, Dixie States imports many workers from distant, far-off lands. And, as at many corporate tours, Lucky Winners may hear these workers sing didactic folk songs with serious moral implications. In our Ocala factory, these workers are generally known as "Nicaraguans", and the songs that they sing are known as "narcocorridas." Any Lucky Winners hearing narcocorridas should understand that the songs are not directed towards them personally, unless they should happen to be actively involved in cross-border drug smuggling. Lucky Winners are further advised that most of our Nicaraguan workers have cable, know what an Oompa-Loompa is, and don't appreciate being called names.

The Dixie States facility does not feature high-tech chewing gum fabrication facilities, rooms full of trained squirrels, or teleportation research chambers. Any Lucky winners wanting a fizzy drink at any time will be directed to the Diet Pepsi machine in the employee lounge. Dixie States apologizes in advance to any Lucky Winner who wants diet Canada Dry ginger ale, as our soft drink distributor can't seem to find any for sale in Central Florida, and won't replace it with anything other than Mug Root Beer, which not everybody likes.

At the conclusion of the tour, any surviving Lucky Winners will be treated to lunch in our employee cafeteria. They will not be invited to help run the factory in the future, or be promised an ownership share as a reward for their good character. Dixie States is owned by a consortium of Singaporean investors who are just looking for an excuse to shut down the factory and ship it all overseas, and this is just the kind of thing that could get us all fired, which is exactly what's wrong with the globalization of the American manufacturing sector, not that anyone ever asks me what I think about it.

#  Debating the Real Issues

JIM LEHRER: Good evening, and welcome to Hempstead, New York, for tonight's town hall debate between President Barack Obama and former Governor Mitt Romney. As you know, tonight's debate is sponsored by the Commission on Presidential Debates. We are honored to be the guests of Hofstra University tonight. We would also like to give a warm welcome to attendees of the Central Long Island Fantastical Fiction Convention. As you know, CLIFF-CON had originally reserved this venue, but its members have been very gracious and have agreed to share the space for the evening.

PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA: Excuse me, Jim, could you repeat that last part again?

GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY: I don't remember anything in the debate prep materials about another convention.

JIM LEHRER: Pursuant to the agreed format, we will take pre-screened questions from the attendees. First, we have Science Officer Phillip Weaver from the _USS Stargazer_ with a question on science policy.

SCIENCE OFFICER WEAVER: Our space program is currently at a crossroads. The next President will have a number of difficult decisions to make. In your opinion, should scientific research be focused on developing dilithium crystal warp drive technology, or more efficient impulse drive nacelles?

OBAMA: Well, uh, let me first say, live long and prosper. [Applause.] Second, let me say that my administration has taken the lead in reforming NASA and refocusing its mission to achievable goals, in partnership with private industry. But our goal should be, and remains, a manned mission to Mars, and that involves more conventional propulsion at this time.

ROMNEY: Well, let me say, that like all Americans, I honor your service in... um... what kind of uniform is that?

LEHRER: That's a Star Trek uniform, Governor Romney. From the original series, if I'm not mistaken.

ROMNEY: All right, then. When I was at Bain Capital, we did a lot of research on faster than light space travel, and it turns out that it's just not economically feasible at this time. But there's more we can do in space to open it up to tourism, and asteroid mining, and future scientific discovery.

LEHRER: Our next question is from Celestina Moleworth, a concerned parent.

MOLEWORTH: Thank you so much. And I am concerned. My daughter is in high school, and she wanted to start up a support group for her fellow students who are Hufflepuffs, and the principal turned her down, because there was already a wizarding organization on campus. Of course, that other organization is all Gryffindor children, and my daughter just felt so out of place.

LEHRER: You need to ask a question, please.

MOLEWORTH: I guess what I'm asking is, what can you do to prevent discrimination and bullying in education on the basis of magical affiliation?

ROMNEY: I am very sorry. I know you're concerned for your daughter, and obviously everyone supports the importance of education. But you'll have to forgive me, because I don't understand why you're upset.

OBAMA: I got this.

ROMNEY: You understood all that?

OBAMA: Harry Potter.

ROMNEY: Who is Harry Potter? [Boos.]

OBAMA: We are a great nation. And we're a great nation because we all make an effort to understand each other, and work together to resolve our differences. I want to be the President who brings Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors together. [Applause.] And if you want to be a Slytherin in this country, or a Eagleclaw, you ought to be free to do that. [Boos.]

ROMNEY: I thought you had this.

OBAMA: Wait. Sorry. Just got a text from Sasha. She says it's Ravenclaw. Sorry about that.

LEHRER: Let's go to the next question, on health care policy, from Mr. Victor Peacewalker.

PEACEWALKER: In this country, we spend untold billions of dollars on cellular and genetic research, but not one penny of that goes to the study of midi-chlorians. [Boos.] The prequels are just as much canon as the original trilogy, and you all know it. [More boos.] If we can unlock the secret of midi-chlorians, we can harness the power of the Force.

ROMNEY: I'm sorry, but none of you people are making any kind of sense.

OBAMA: I don't know how to answer that, sir, but may the Force be with you. [Applause.]

ROMNEY: Maybe we can go to the next question, Jim.

LEHRER: The next question is from a Ser Voros Spearsong.

SPEARSONG: Gentlemen. If you could choose to be the leader of one of the Great Houses of Westeros, which house would you choose to lead?

OBAMA: Westeros.

SPEARSONG: Yes, sir.

ROMNEY: From _Game of Thrones_ , Mr. President.

OBAMA: I know that. I do. Michelle watches it. You understand, though, I'm the leader of the Free World. I don't have that much time for television right now, all right? What I can tell you, though, is that I met Peter Dinklage at an event in Los Angeles recently. He's a great actor, very talented. So I guess I would have to say the Lannister house. Is that right? [Applause.]

LEHRER: Governor Romney?

ROMNEY: I have a question for the President.

LEHRER: That's not allowed under this format, Governor.

ROMNEY: I'm going to ask anyway. Mr. President, what do Lannisters always do?

LEHRER: Governor, I can't let you do that.

ROMNEY: What do Lannisters always do, Mr. President?

OBAMA: Um, I don't know. Incest?

ROMNEY: Lannisters always pay their debts! [Applause.] And that's the trouble we have in this country, we keep accumulating debt that we have no way to pay off!

LEHRER: Governor Romney, you might try answering the question.

ROMNEY: I have an answer. I stand with House Targaryen. Our words are Fire and Blood. [Enthusiastic applause.] And on November 2nd, we will take back our country!

OBAMA: Jim, do something.

LEHRER: Governor, you might want to take a moment.

ROMNEY: We will take back what has been stolen from us, and destroy those who have wronged us!

LEHRER: And that concludes tonight's debate. Thank you again to Hofstra University, CLIFF-CON, and the Commission on Presidential Debates.

OBAMA: I had Osama bin Laden killed, and it still isn't enough. How come Bill Clinton never had to deal with crap like this? I ask you.

ROMNEY [shouting]: I am the blood of the dragon! [Wild applause and cheering.]

# Eat This, Not That – Interplanetary Version

The cheap and easy availability of inter-dimensional portal travel has opened up many new destinations for the leisure traveler. Although the native cuisines of these planets are always exotic and often delicious, the Earthling visitor may pack on the pounds because of a lack of awareness about the local fare.

**New Wasilla**

Although salmon is usually your healthiest option when eating out, unregulated petroleum drilling has left the local fish population with abnormally high fat levels. Try the grilled caribou (not yet endangered!) instead.

**Trantor**

This planet-girdling city is a shopper's dream but a locavore's despair. Avoid the high-fat, high-sodium content of imported food from neighboring agricultural planets and insist on salad with greens grown from local rooftop gardens. If you want to splurge, try the famous teal ice cream, made from locally-harvested blue-green algae.

**Bonanza**

The cowboy planet is a favorite off-world destination, not only for its scenic vistas and sprawling dude ranches, but for its grass-fed steaks. Having said that, skip the "Ponderosa Platter" you'll find on most menus – the bunkhouse fries and the buckaroo onions are loaded with fat. Try the "Little Joe," a petite strip steak with baked potato, and burn off dessert on the trail ride.

**Malthusia**

Want to meet people on vacation? Try Malthusia, which boasts a population of eight hundred billion. Portions tend to the small size, which is helpful for a dieter, but be sure you get the minimum you need for daily nutrition. If you see Soylent Green on the menu, be sure to give it a try – it's delicious, filling, and packed with protein.

**Hoth**

With the end of the galactic civil war, this ice planet offers the best skiing in the quadrant. Stay away from the roast tauntaun, which is always served in gravy due to its tough and stringy texture. A bowl of savory wampa soup will help you keep warm and save calories.

**Holstein**

With its vast fields of grass and rolling hills, it's easy to see why Wisconsin residents colonized this verdant planet for expansion of their dairy empire. Just don't get the cheese curds if you visit. Or the sausage. Or the sausage with cheese in it. Or the... look, talk to your travel agent and try to get your reservations changed. Please.

**Betazed**

Betazoid waiters are famous for knowing what you want before you even order. But if you're craving dessert, and the waiter says "chortleberry cheesecake," tell him you've changed your mind. This decadent treat is not only high in fat but there's a twenty percent chance that you'll get a painful allergic rash. Have the coffee and a couple of the delicious local butter cookies instead.

**New Humboldt**

If you have a case of the munchies on this laid-back, agricultural commune, pass up the organic granola, which has a high sugar content. Try something light-but-filling, like a wheatgrass smoothie. Just make sure you emphasize the "wheat" part.

**Klendathu**

The cuisine of the Bug homeworld is underrated at best. Go easy on the larvae appetizers; a few here and there are fine but eating too many can lead to an unpleasant infestation. Give the barbecued thorax a try, instead – spicy, tasty, and low-calorie.

**Planet Kinsey**

Just have a good time. Nobody goes there for the food anyway.

# Fact Check

" _An article on Monday about Jack Robison and Kirsten Lindsmith, two college students with Asperger syndrome who are navigating the perils of an intimate relationship, misidentified the character from the animated children's TV show "My Little Pony" that Ms. Lindsmith said she visualized to cheer herself up. It is Twilight Sparkle, the nerdy intellectual, not Fluttershy, the kind animal lover_." –  The New York Times, December 30, 2011.

TS: Hello?

CS: Hello. My name is Catherine Stevens, and I'm a fact-checker with The New York Times. Is this Twilight Sparkle?

TS: That's me! How can I help you?

CS: There was a story in the Times the other day about one of the fans of your show.

TS: That's great! We love our fans. It's so wonderful to have so many young people learning about the power of friendship, don't you think?

CS: Sure. In the article, one of the people interviewed—this is an adult fan—said she visualizes one of the ponies on the show in order to cheer herself up.

TS: Isn't that sweet! I love helping people cheer themselves... wait, did you say this was an adult fan?

CS: Yes, she's a...

TS: It's just that there's been so many mean and cruel things said about our adult fans lately.

CS: Oh. The bronies.

TS: We love our bronies! I mean, we love all of our fans equally, but the bronies are awesome. They want to share our message of love and friendship, and it's just so wrong of people to make fun of them. I wish everyone could just realize how special the bronies are!

CS: I'm sure.

TS: You know, on the inside, I mean.

CS: This isn't about the bronies. What I want to know is...

TS: We try not to be judgmental in Ponyville.

CS: Of course not. What the story said was that this individual visualizes the pony named Fluttershy—and I'm quoting here—who is a "nerdy intellectual."

TS: Fluttershy? I wouldn't call her nerdy at all. She's a little shy, but she's sweet.

CS: We think our reporter made a mistake, and we want to correct that.

TS: I would hope so!

CS: So, would you consider yourself to be more the "nerdy intellectual" type?

TS: Who told you that?

CS: Well, I just...

TS: Did Fluttershy tell you that? That I'm some kind of nerdy intellectual? Is that what she thinks about me?

CS: Actually...

TS: Just because she has wings*, she thinks that gives her the right to call me a nerd. Unbelievable. I mean, you'd expect that from someone like Princess Luna, but I can't believe Fluttershy would stoop that low.

CS: I don't think it was meant in a pejorative way.

TS: I guess it goes to show. You can take the pony out of the barn, but you can't take the barn out of the pony.

CS: I didn't mean to cause a problem here.

TS: I like books. That doesn't make me a nerd.

CS: Believe me, I'm not trying to...

TS: And "intellectual"? What is that even supposed to mean? I mean, come on. Look at me. I'm a purple unicorn with a pink streak in my tail. That doesn't make me the next Cornel West.

CS: Look, all I want to know is...

TS: Compared to that winged slut Fluttershy, I guess I am some kind of intellectual. I mean, I'm Immanuel freaking Kant compared to Fluttershy. And do you know how she got that cutie mark?

CS: Okay, look. I went to journalism school. I wanted to be an investigative reporter. It's not my fault that the business model for the newspaper industry went to hell. And I'm sitting here in this cubicle, talking to a pony, because some other reporter screwed up the basic facts of the story, and you're making my life very difficult right at the moment.

TS: [Long pause.] I am so sorry. I am not being a good friend to you right now.

CS: I'm sorry, too. I'm a little stressed at the moment.

TS: I am going to have to have a long talk with Princess Celestia about my attitude.

CS: You do what you need to do. It's fine. I just need to know if I can make the correction I need to make.

TS: Sure! And I'm sorry if I was rude to Fluttershy just then. I love Fluttershy. She's a great friend. You won't print what I said about her, will you?

CS: No, of course not.

TS: Thanks so much! I hope you have a very sparkly rainbow weekend.

CS: I'm going to hang up now.

TS: Bye!

* This story was originally written in January 2012, when the author's daughters were two years old and not watching a great deal of animated television outside of _Caillou_. The author's daughters are now six years old, are infrequent viewers of _My Little Pony,_ and inform him that Twilight Sparkle, as of the present day, does in fact have wings. The author has no further comment other than to say that _Caillou_ is horrible and should be avoided by all right-thinking people.

#

# Gordon Ramsay Spends a Week In My Kitchen

**Monday**

It's the beginning of another week, and I'm visiting a small restaurant in New Jersey, assuming I can find the bloody place. I know they said it wasn't on the high street, but this is ridiculous. I had to stop and ask directions three times, and even when I got there I didn't see any fucking signs outside. It didn't even look like a restaurant, more like somebody's house.

The chef seemed like a nice enough fellow, but I couldn't tell if he really had a passion for food other than eating it. I asked for a menu, and if you can fucking believe it, he said they didn't have a menu, just nightly specials. I asked for the special, which turned out to be overcooked spaghetti in a pink vodka sauce with slices of pork tenderloin as a garnish. Complete rubbish; not anywhere close to authentic Italian. I've had better meals at a curry take-away in Glasgow.

**Tuesday**

I take a good look at the kitchen. It's in a disgusting state. It takes me ten minutes to get a whisk out of the overcrowded utility drawer; it's somehow wrapped itself around something that looks like a potato masher. I check the refrigerator, and there's a half-empty tin of Paul Newman spaghetti sauce left over from last night. I'm completely gobsmacked. How can you call yourself a fucking chef and not be able to make something as simple as spaghetti sauce?

There's nobody around for dinner service again; I haven't seen a single customer since I walked in the place. The so-called "special" tonight is burritos with beans and rice. I watch the chef make the dish, and he's using canned refried beans. Pathetic. And who serves Italian and Mexican at the same restaurant? The chef has no clue whatsoever.

**Wednesday**

I arrive early to see what preparation for lunch service is like. As I walk in the restaurant, the chef is leaving. He explains that the restaurant isn't open for lunch service. Unbelievable. He has no idea how much money he is throwing away. He claims to have a second job in Trenton, and says it's all he can do to make his own lunch. I ask to take a look at what he's having for lunch, and it turns out to be a fucking peanut butter and jelly sandwich with pretzels and a Snapple. I wouldn't feed that to a bloody rodent.

I get started on a roasted squash soup, and go out into the town and try to get some bloody lunch customers. None of them had even heard of the restaurant. But they're crazy about the soup. We take in five hundred dollars. For some reason, though, the chef isn't impressed by this.

**Thursday**

I arrive at the restaurant, and the chef isn't ready for dinner service. Instead, he's playing some sort of video game based on American football _._ Completely unacceptable. I challenge him to come up with a menu for tonight, based on local, fresh food. He goes to the farmer's market and manages to put together a simple, hearty meal – spinach salad, T-bone steak with sautéed Portobello mushrooms, a baked potato, and a very rich chocolate cake with ice cream. I'm bloody impressed for once, although I still wouldn't let him within a hundred yards of one of my own restaurants.

**Friday**

I arrive for dinner service, but the chef is on his way out to dinner with his wife. I can't fucking believe it. How can the restaurant not be open on Friday night? It's the biggest night of the week. He says he always goes out for dinner with his wife on Friday night to some other restaurant. What in bloody hell!

I just don't understand. I take a look at his books. The poor bastard is mortgaged up to his eyeballs, and there haven't been any customers coming through the door at all. I just don't see how this restaurant can be salvaged.

**Saturday**

It's the night of the big re-launch. I've invited some of the leading citizens of the town to come out. The chef is nearly hysterical at the thought of having to cook for two hundred people. After he calms down a bit, I try to walk him through what he needs to do to make this place a success. But he's not listening. Instead, he walks around to the back of the restaurant, which turns out to be this amazing terrace – complete with a large grill and what he explains is a "smoker." We get a charcoal fire started in the smoker, and load it up with fifty pounds of beef brisket. While the brisket is smoking, he makes baked beans in the slow-cooker and starts hamburgers, hot dogs and local corn on the cob on the grill. At first, I'm convinced it's going to be a fucking disaster.

But when the customers arrive, they can't get enough of the authentic barbecue. It turns out to be an absolutely brilliant idea. I try to explain to the chef that this is how he ought to be operating his restaurant all the time instead of turning out uninspired Italian and Mexican specials. You can get brisket and charcoal for pence, and then have fresh, local side dishes that really bring in the crowds. It's a strategy that could make this restaurant a going concern.

He stares at me for two whole minutes, not saying a bloody word. And that's when he tells me and the camera crew to get the fuck out and not come back. Unbelievable.

#  Guys, Can We Maybe Not Invite Hank Williams, Jr. Over For Our Football Party?

I want to try to keep this really brief if I can, all right, guys? I know it's a busy time of year, and I really don't want to cut into your schedules any more if I have to, all right?

It really has been a great year for the NFL, and I've been privileged to have the time to watch some wonderful games this year with you guys. You're the best friends a guy could have, really. We've all been able to go to each other's homes and enjoy some quality time bonding over craft beer and football and those amazing curried chicken wings that Himabindu made for us that one time. Those were amazing, man. You'll have to send me the recipe.

Like everybody else, I thought it was really a lot of fun, back in Week Five, when Avery got the idea to invite Hank Williams, Jr. over to the weekly Monday Night Football watching party. That was an inspired move, and I know everybody appreciated it. If you're like me, watching Hank Jr. do the Monday Night Football theme song for all those years on TV was such a part of our lives growing up. Now that he's semi-retired, and isn't doing the theme anymore, well, it was just a natural thing for him and come and sing the theme at our party. We all had a great time--I might even say a rowdy old time--and Hank Jr. was just so nice to everyone and took pictures with all of us. I know Avery still has his picture with Bocephus up in his cubicle.

So it was even more surprising the next week when we were all at Isaac's house, enjoying that great cider that Isaac had brought down from his trip to Michigan, and Hank Jr. showed up right before kickoff. I was never really clear who invited him--I guess Avery had given him his card or something--but it was pleasant to see him again, and then when he got up on Isaac's coffee table and did an acoustic set, well, that was just magic. I've never heard anyone sing in such a heartfelt way before as when Hank Jr. sang "Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound" the way he did. Of course, once he was through, he did pass out and knock over that bookshelf with Isaac's family pictures on it, so there was that.

So every week after that, Hank Jr. just kept showing up to our Monday Night parties. That time when the Cowboys were on, he sang "This Ain't Dallas" twelve straight times, and when he left he backed his truck into the passenger door of William's Acura. The next week, he tried to make up for it by bringing those twelve cases of Miller Lite, which was very generous of him, but almost all of you called in sick the next day because you were so hung over. And then he brought that gumbo over the next week, and half of us got food poisoning after that.

Most of you don't know, but I confronted Hank Jr. that next week, and told him that he was being a little too rowdy, and that we didn't want the police coming over and raiding our party. At first, he was a little defensive, and said that getting drunk and having fun was a family tradition, and that I ought to respect that. And then he told the story about his dad dying in the back seat of a Cadillac, hopped up on whiskey and pills, when Hank Jr. was just a little boy. I was really affected by that, and I told him he could come over on Monday nights whenever he wanted.

I don't think Bocephus is a bad guy. I know he's been through a lot in his life, and it was hard for him to lose that connection to Monday Night Football. And I totally respect his talent as an artist, although I think that his late 2000's albums kind of represented him coasting, just a little.

And I know, it's my turn to host this week, and I have to admit that I'm a little nervous about Hank Jr. getting really rowdy and maybe knocking over that glass case full of NASCAR cars that I worked so hard to put together, or digging a barbecue pit in my backyard, or breaking a bottle of Old Crow all over the beige carpet in the man-cave. Donald supposedly heard him say last week that he was bringing over some roadies and would be setting up some amplifiers, and I don't really have the money if we get fined for violating the township noise ordinance.

I've already asked Avery if he wanted to reach out to Hank Jr., and he wasn't willing to do it because he thought that Hank Jr. looked so lonesome he could cry after the game ended last week. And I think that any of us would have a hard time looking the man in his battered face and telling him that he wasn't welcome, and that maybe we weren't ready for some football after all.

I think if we all do it collectively, we could have a chance. We just all go up to him and say that, like most of his rowdy friends, we've settled down, and we'd like the chance to watch our football games without hearing him sing "Dixie On My Mind" during the commercial breaks.

I'm open to other ideas. I know that Ali has been vocal about shifting the party to Buffalo Wild Wings, but honestly I think that causes more problems than it solves.

Okay, look. Tell you what. I'll call his agent. Maybe we can get him booked in a gig at the riverboat casino on Monday. That way he has a valid reason not to go to our party, and it's not our fault, and it gives him something constructive to do and salvages his pride. And maybe next year we can invite him back for one game, okay? Does that work for everyone?

Great. Thanks so much for your input. And, Himabindu, seriously, send me that recipe, because those were some awesome wings.

#  Hey, Can We Stop Fighting Just Long Enough So Both of Us Can Get Off This Narrow Metal Catwalk?

#

Just hear me out for a second, please, All right? Tell you what. I'll put down my shovel, and you put down that rusty pipe, and we'll talk, okay? Just talk.

I know you want to keep fighting, and I understand that. We're not going to settle our differences any other way. But, you know, we are up here on this narrow metal catwalk. And I'm just a little concerned about what might happen to the loser of this fight.

This used to be a chemical factory, did you know that? Mr. Rosemont bought it at auction about six years ago. He used like three phony corporations based out of the Cayman Islands to keep it off his balance sheet, but that's not important right now. What is important is that whatever's in those giant chemical vats right under us probably isn't any too stable.

I don't know if the chemicals are corrosive or not. What I do know is that this is a very narrow catwalk, and it's made of metal, and whatever vapors there are may have corroded the metal somewhat. Not to mention that the roof is maybe a little leaky, and there's probably some rust. And I don't think that these railings are really up to code.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Mr. Rosemont killed your partner. I get it.

You want revenge. Sure you do. I am not saying any different. I am saying that I should take that staircase and go down to the first floor, and you should take that staircase behind you, and we'll meet in that big open area over there, and we can start fighting again.

I am not saying Mr. Rosemont's not a bad guy. Because he is. I mean, he's a meth dealer. But he takes care of his people, you know what I mean? I got a 401(k) and dental insurance, thanks to him, and if you get lucky with that pipe and bash my head in, I get workers' comp.

Yes, you could bash my head in just as easily over here. But then I end up falling in one of those vats. And maybe I grab at you and we both fall down there. That's going to be messy. We can do this just as easily down there as up here, don't you think?

If it means that much to you, we can fight over there, by the forge. There's a big pool of molten metal or something. I don't even know why we have that running, to be honest with you. We're making meth here, not doing blacksmithing. But Mr. Rosemont pays the utility bills, so what do I care?

No, I'm not just going to let you take Mr. Rosemont out. Look, you probably don't remember this, but you killed my partner.

Yes, you did. You shot him in the guts with an arrow from a crossbow. You said, "Next time, don't cross me." Ha. Real funny. Wasn't real funny when I had to carry his coffin at his funeral. His name was Mike, and he had a wife and three kids. You think of that?

So, yeah, I want to knock your brains out with this shovel just as much as you want to shove that pipe up my ass. I am not saying that we shouldn't do that. All I am saying is that maybe we go downstairs first, okay?

I'm gonna take a step back, and then you're gonna take a step back. Then two steps, and then three steps, and then we're both at the head of our respective staircases. Then we both race down to see who gets to the ground floor first. You can even slide down the bannister if you want. I don't even care.

Why can't we do the sensible thing here? I mean, I don't even know how we got up here. I think I was thinking about dropping that light fixture on your head, but that thing is bolted in there pretty good. I'd need twenty minutes with an impact wrench to even get it loose.

No? Really? I knew you were a bastard, but I didn't know you were such a jerk. Okay. Here goes. You want a piece of me? Come on. Let's do this. Let's have this senseless, violent confrontation here, on this rickety piece-of-crap catwalk, suspended over a chemical plant, with open vats of God-knows-what kind of horrible corrosive shit down there. Let's go. Show me what you're made of.

Okay then? Okay. Now we're talking. See you downstairs, chump. Don't drop your pipe on the way down.

# Interview With A Non-Vampire

Q: Okay, let's get started.

A: Are you recording this?

Q: No.

A: Dude. I can see the microphone app running on your iPhone.

Q: Okay, maybe I am. But it's just to make sure I get what you say down correctly.

A: Whatever. Just get this nonsense over with.

Q: Let's just start with the basics. You work nights.

A: Well, yeah.

Q: You're a bartender at Miguel's Cantina, down in Perth Amboy.

A: No.

Q: Yeah, you are. I saw you in there just last week.

A: No. I got promoted. I'm assistant night manager.

Q: You still tend bar, though.

A: I supervise the other bartenders. I only tend bar when somebody's out sick or on break or something.

Q: Okay, whatever. My point is, you're up all night, and you sleep all day.

A: I go home about four, and I sleep until about ten. That's not sleeping all day. I get up, I go out and do errands, and then I go home and play X-Box and watch videos and stuff. I don't lie in bed all day and do nothing.

Q: Are you sure it's a bed, though?

A: Yeah. Bought it at Sleepy's. It's got one of those foam mattresses, very nice.

Q: Not a coffin.

A: Bullshit. No, I don't have a coffin.

Q: You can see why I ask.

A: No. I don't have the first clue.

Q: You dress in black. All the time.

A: I have a black jacket, and I wear it a lot. I get cold. And it looks better with a black T-shirt under it. Otherwise, I'd look like Arthur Fonzarelli or something.

Q: Very pale skin.

A: Hey, what do you want me to do, go around looking like one of those Jersey Shore morons? I don't spend all my time in a tanning bed; that would suck. Plus you get skin cancer that way.

Q: Very sharp canine teeth. Almost like... fangs.

A: I had a cruddy orthodontist. That doesn't prove anything. Next, you're going to want to check my iPod to see if I have any Vampire Weekend songs on there.

Q: Do you?

A: No. They suck. Not literally, I mean, their music sucks.

Q: I know you saw the Twilight movies.

A: So did twenty million other people. Big deal. I only went because that girl Marita I was dating at the time wanted to go.

Q: So you're not hundreds of years old.

A: No.

Q: And when you go outside, you're not all sparkly and stuff.

A: No. Know a guy who tried that once. He was doing the Mystery Method – that thing losers do to try to pick up chicks? It says to dress a little weird, and use it as, like, a conversation piece. So he got all this glitter, put it on his hair, a little bit on his face. He thought he could hook up with some Goth babes.

Q: How'd that work?

A: Not good. He tried it down the Shore, went to the wrong bar, and got his face kicked in.

Q: So how do you spend your weekends?

A: Well, you know, I'm working most of the time. But once a month, when there's a full moon, I transform into a wolf and go out and terrorize the countryside.

Q: Oh. Well, okay, I guess that explains...

A: I'm pulling your chain. I'm not a werewolf, either. God, are you pathetic.

# Kevin Sullivan, Holiday Mediator

It started out as a seasonal thing. As you'd imagine. The end of the year would roll around, and people's personal disputes would get heated, and they'd call me. Pretty soon, it was all I was doing between November and January. Every year, I'd get a few more cases, until pretty soon it was all I was doing.

Now it's year-round, or close to it. I used to be able to take off on vacation a couple of weeks in August. I couldn't do that this year, though, because of Ramadan. It changes dates every year, most people don't know that—I didn't, not until I researched it. Ramadan causes more problems than you'd think. I had three different corporate clients who'd scheduled their summer picnics the week before Eid without even thinking about whether they had employees that were Islamic and fasting. All sorts of aggravation and hurt feelings over that.

That was just the start of it. Once I got those cases off my calendar, along comes Rosh Hashanah and the High Holy Days, and that gets you into the exact same set of problems with fasting and people not being able to come to work and all that. And just as soon as that's over, you get into Halloween, which is a giant pain in the neck as far as I'm concerned.

Most of your other holidays are about food, families and traditions. Halloween is about candy, costumes, and scaring people. The candy part is easy. Everybody likes candy. But with costumes, you get into all kinds of stupid arguments. I had a whole corporate HR department in here last week going toe-to-toe on the dress code for their Halloween party—how slutty the costumes could be, how much cleavage you can show, that kind of thing. They had to practically rewrite their sexual harassment policy just to have a little fun.

Then there was the company that wanted to have a haunted house. You wouldn't think that you'd need a mediator to settle how scary the haunted house could be. You'd be wrong. We spent forty-five minutes going over whether you could put fake glass eyes in the punch bowl.

Halloween's just a sideline, though. The majority of what I do is Christmas, of course, and Christmas comes earlier every single year. Right now you're mostly looking at travel stuff—people trying to book their holiday flights early. I get half my referrals from travel agents this time of year. Those are almost always about which side of the family you want to spend time with. If you live here, and have family in Oregon, and your spouse has family in Montreal, there's no way to keep everyone happy. Then it just gets down to negotiation—maybe you go see Aunt Pearl in Boca Raton over Thanksgiving and go have Christmas in San Diego. Most of that gets decided on frequent-flyer miles anyway, which makes it easier.

You can reason with people on travel. Can't do that on food, though. That's where the really vicious arguments happen. You take two middle-class women, sweet as can be under normal circumstances, and put them in a conference room and have them argue with each other about who makes the better turkey gravy, and they turn into Spartans. This time last year, I got hit right between the eyes with a lemon bar. I had to make a new rule that nobody was allowed to bring food into my office anymore. The carpet cleaning got to be too expensive.

I had a whole family in here not too long ago that spent an hour of my time arguing about whether you put marshmallows on sweet potato casserole. Wait a second, no. That wasn't it. You had one side that wanted to put big marshmallows and one side that wanted to put mini-marshmallows. The one side said that the big marshmallows were better because they got brown and crispy, and the other side said that the mini-marshmallows melted easier. I don't even like sweet potatoes, much less mashed up with marshmallows on top. But I was able to get it resolved, because that's what I do.

The food stuff is one thing. Everybody likes to eat, when you come down to it, especially at the holidays. No question. What really kills me more than anything else is the decorations. Do you put the angel on the top of the tree or the star? I mean, come on. You have a six-dollar plastic angel that you're going to put on top of an artificial tree, does anyone care whether you use that or a tinsel star? Doesn't matter. Or it shouldn't matter. But it does, and most of the time it's huge in the mediation.

It's not even an angel-versus-star thing. If that's all it was, then it would be easy. You put one up one year and the other one up the next year and you deal with it. But it's never just an angel. It's the angel that was up on the tree when you were three, the one your mom made out of pipe cleaners. Or it's the star that your kid made in day care. Or it's the ornament that Great-Aunt Hattie gave to your on your deathbed that has to be on the same place on the tree every year. There's always some kind of complicated backstory regarding every ornament, and you have to deal with all the emotional baggage that all of it represents.

That's where the mediator comes in. What I do is very simple. I get everyone to stop talking and sit down and think for a minute. I get them to close their eyes and envision what they think of as the perfect holiday, with each of them getting their own way about every single minor point possible. That's the easy part, and it works because people are so totally selfish and love the idea of getting things the way they want them.

Then I flip it on them. I get started talking about the spirit of Christmas, or Hanukkah, or whatever—works for pretty much every holiday. What I tell them is that the real holiday is about being unselfish, giving to others, being together, you know, all that kind of stuff. What that does is start getting them to feel guilty about how selfish they're being. Once you get them both feeling guilty, then you get them in a frame of mind where they can start making concessions. You reach that point, and then it's just a matter of working out the negotiations. It works every time.

I am looking at my calendar, and I have Christmas stuff booked all the way up until the 24th, practically, and that doesn't count any emergency calls I might get. After that, I have a couple of corporate MLK Day events to worry about and then Valentine's Day after that. But February 15, man, I am out of here. I've got two weeks booked at an all-inclusive in Jamaica, and I am going to spend the whole entire time drinking rum and hanging out at the hot tub. I'd stay three, but I think Easter is early this year and that's a whole other set of problems. You see what I mean about it being year-round now.

# Let It Go

I am not watching the _Frozen_ DVD with you. I've seen it twice now. You must have seen it twelve times, at least. Forget it.

And, no, I don't want to listen to the soundtrack again. I understand that you like the music. The music is just fine. The problem I have is that whenever you listen to it, you sing along with it at the top of your lungs. Then when I ask you to stop doing that, you just keep singing, very softly, and for some reason that's even more annoying.

I'm not saying you can't listen to any music, but pick something else. Anything else. I don't care. You can play the _Tangled_ soundtrack for all I care, and I'm sick to death of that, too. Just play something else. Anything else.

I do not want to build a snowman with you, and before you say another word, I know it doesn't have to be a snowman. It's an expression of how much Anna misses her sister. But we don't miss each other like that. We're almost tripping over each other all the time, especially when you start pretending that you're ice skating. And by the way, stop doing that.

No. Stop it. Do not pretend that you're Kristof and that I'm the reindeer. Stop. I don't appreciate when you do that. It's not cute, and it's not funny. Quit it.

And now you're pretending that I'm the snow monster. Cute. That's a very mature response, there.

I know that Josh Gad does the voice of the snowman. I'm the one who told you that, remember? I'd seen him off-Broadway at that spelling bee thingy, and he was annoying in that, too. And, no, I don't know if they're going to do a Broadway musical about _Frozen_. It would be hard to do the special effects in a stage show.

Now you've got me talking about it.

You are correct that the movie never explains how Elsa's powers make the snowman be able to walk and talk. Olaf, yeah, whatever. She's magical. It doesn't have to make sense.

Can we please talk about something else? Anything else? Anything at all that doesn't have to do with _Frozen_ or Anna or Elsa or Adele Dazeem? Please? For the love of God, already.

Jeremy, listen. You're thirty-two years old. It would be one thing if you were five and obsessed about Disney animated movies. But you're not. Please. Give it a rest, or I swear I am going to go on Craigslist and find another roommate.

If you say one thing about my heart being frozen, I am going to kick your ass from here to Arendelle. I mean it, Jeremy.

# Lies I Have Told

"Oh, I could have made law review, if I really wanted to, but come on. It's so much extra work, and the people who made law review were so stuck-up anyway, I didn't see the point. Besides, I think the journal I was on helped me so much more in my career."

"I have this child that I sponsor. His name's Pablo, lives in the Ozarks. His parents are migrant workers, they both have hepatitis E, you know, the really strong strain. They spend all day picking sugar cane, it's a really rough life. He has this dream of having his own podcast one day, to tell people about growing up poor and Bolivian in Arkansas, and my heart just goes out to him, you know?"

"I don't even like talking about my grandfather. The way I see it, he never talked to us about hitting the beaches at Normandy, or crossing the bridge at Remagen, or liberating those three concentration camps, or the two Silver Stars, so why should I bring it up all the time? I mean, just because they named that school after him and all."

"Yeah, I nailed her. Seriously. Back in college, when she was just starting out her modeling career. Before she moved to California and got that part on The Hills. And it wasn't a one-night stand or anything, we hooked up like seven or eight times before I broke up with her."

"The summer after my junior year, I volunteered to teach literacy at the Choctaw reservation in Arizona. It was a great experience, really opened my eyes about social justice. They even gave me a tribal name in this great ceremony. It was Hekawi-na-Sedona, which in their language means 'Hater of Adverbs.'"

"No, I do have that extra laptop in my closet, but it's not going to do Pablo any good, since his cabin doesn't have electricity. It would be like mocking him or something, wouldn't it? Giving him technology he can't use?"

"I had no idea prostitution was legal in Germany. It makes all the difference in the world, too, in terms of quality, of course, but also in the level of service. I mean, you want two petite redheads with D-cups and experience using soft restraints in this country, it's a special order, take you a week or so to get it booked, but in Germany, hey, no questions asked."

"Hmmm, yeah, I definitely taste the fruitiness, it's kind of like a '67 Bordeaux in that respect. And there's something else, an undertone, maybe sandalwood. But there's a creaminess and a bitterness behind it, really intense, like a really good cappuccino, you think?"

"Well, like everybody else, I watch the occasional American Idol episode. But it's not like I watch every episode or vote every week or anything like that. I don't get obsessed with reality TV shows; it's not like I'm some loser who watches reruns of that MTV dating show over and over again or anything. You know, with what's her name. Tila Mojito or whoever."

"No, I checked, the one-laptop-per-child thing isn't an option for Pablo. I mean, it might work, but they don't have wireless access in the Ozarks, so it's not really an option. But thanks for bringing it up."

"No, it's not true. Think about it. It's my sister's wedding, for God's sake. I'm not going to risk my relationship with her by banging one of her bridesmaids in the handicapped stall, okay? Besides, it's not like I could even get her out of that dress anyway. Give me a little credit."

"I knew the Patriots were going to suck last year. I thought so even before training camp. I mean, look at their secondary. I said it was going to be Arizona and Pittsburgh, and nobody believed me."

"Oh, I definitely agree. I've always thought that Derrida was right about the destruction of the phallocracy paving the way for the rise of nihilism."

"Sweetie, it's just a little short fictional piece. Really. Purely creative license. No, it's not... I've never even been to Germany, really, you can check my passport."

# Llanwyn The Unforgiving Seeks Vengeance at a Strip Mall Starbucks

Hello, old friend.

Do not presume to tell me that you do not recognize me. Look past this mortal form I have taken. Look into my all-seeing eyes.

Yes, my friend. It is I. Llanwyn the Unforgiving. Lord of the Plains of Fire. Undisputed commander of the Legions of Onyx.

No, I don't want any of whatever hot flavored beverage this establishment serves.

Do you remember when last we met? Of course you do. We struggled on the edge of the Cliffs of Exidor. Your Wolf Army scattered my Legion, and we were alone, locked in single combat. You were the stronger that day, and you banished me to the Abyss of the Souls.

Do you know the years that I spent there? Do you know of the torment I experienced? Do you understand that I spent every moment cursing your name and waiting for the moment when I could escape and wreak my terrible vengeance upon you?

Yes, I know there are people behind me in line. I care nothing for them. Let them wait, as I waited for millennium after millennium.

Once I made my escape, I tracked you from one corner of this plane of existence to another. I thought I had you on the Outer Rings of Thanatos-Seven, but you slipped away from me again. But I have found you at last. And by the Seven Stones of the Cytherians, I will have my satisfaction. I will take back what has been owed to me.

I may not have the power I had when last we met. The force of my laughter may no longer shatter plate armor. This weak mortal body can no longer withstand the inner fire that I once blasted from my fingertips to roast my enemies. But these limitations are nothing compared to my desire for ultimate retribution.

I cannot be placated by your selection of scones and muffins.

How, then, shall I make you suffer as I have suffered? Shall I whip the living flesh from your bones? Shall I make the blood run in your veins like living acid? Shall I call forth a host of my termite servants and have them infest your every orifice?

That, old friend, would be too easy. I have a different fate in mind for you. Revenge, as they say on this planet, is a dish best served cold. I will take my time. I will consider the most appropriate and thorough manner for working out my wrath. Perhaps—perhaps, I will allow you to live, but as a slave, as a lowly thrall in my service. Perhaps I will make you my cupbearer. That would be a delicious irony indeed.

Of course.

I have reconsidered. You will make me one of your lowly beverages. Yes. I will have the skinny caramel macchiato. Take care in its making, old friend. Be sure that the water in which the beans are infused is at an adequate temperature.

I rejoice in your humiliation! Ha! HA HA HA HA HA! Oh, sweet vengeance!

# My Yelp Review of that Italian Place in Manhattan Where My Stinking Ex-Boyfriend Works

#

The website for Trattoria Pappardelle says that it's located on Washington Square and that the head chef is Paulo Lunetti, which is two lies for you right there. It's like four blocks north, and the chef's name is actually Paul Mooney, and he's from Staten Island. I know this because I dated his sorry ass for three years before he dumped me right before he got this job in Manhattan, the slime. That means Trattoria Pappardelle has been open about four months now, so if you want to go there, you should do it soon, by which I mean before the Health Department closes it down.

Trattoria Pappardelle serves traditional Italian fare in an intimate, romantic setting. What that really means is that Paul talked the owner to keep the lights turned down so no one can see how ugly the food is. It does have these cute red-and-white checkered tablecloths, so there's that, I only mention this because Paul thinks that cute checkered tablecloths are tacky, which shows you how much he knows.

When you get there, ask Katie the hostess if you can sit on the left side. Not that it makes that much of a difference, because the food is the same either way. and the same cheesy murals are on either side. But the tables on the left are Wilma's, and the tables on the right are Kameron's. Wilma is not really a very good waitress, and she will try to talk you out of ordering any of the lobster dishes, even though lobster is like, really cheap right now, and most of it is sustainably farmed. But Wilma is essentially a nice person and won't ever do anything like have try and have sex with your boyfriend in the back of a VW Touareg.

I am not saying that, if you happen to go to Trattoria Pappardelle, that Kameron will try to talk your boyfriend into having a quickie in the back seat of a German crossover vehicle, just because she did that to my boyfriend, who is now my ex-boyfriend, but I am saying that Kameron will put her slut hands all over your food and you don't really want that.

Trattoria Pappardelle is BYOB, but they will set you up with a corkscrew and wine glasses if you ask nicely. Orlando does the dishes, and he's usually very conscientious about the glasses being clean but he's not there every night, so make sure you check for spots. Paul is too much of a wuss to fire Orlando, even after that time he was gone for three days and Paul had to drive all the way down the Jersey Shore to bail him out after he'd gotten picked up for drunk-and-disorderly on the boardwalk at Point Pleasant.

You probably want to get the soup. It's the one thing that Paul actually does well, the lying slug. The roasted cauliflower soup with lamb sausage is your best choice. Paul put it together when he was at Cucina Vito's in Perth Amboy and they had a lot of cauliflower and lamb sausage left over after some catering gig, and it turned out better than you'd think. At least it's better than the minestrone, which is mostly a way for Paul to use up vegetables that aren't exactly fresh anymore. The only good thing about the minestrone is that Paul always adds freshly cooked conchiglie before he serves it, because if you add in the pasta when you cook the soup, the pasta gets overcooked, and Paul cares more about overcooked pasta than he does about people, even people that are close to him and who let him borrow thirty-five hundred dollars to finish his last semester of cooking school.

You want the soup because the appetizers are mostly garbage. Paul buys the ravioli from Sysco, because he's too lazy to put down his PlayStation controller and go into the kitchen and make fresh appetizers. Then he just throws some sun-dried tomatoes on top and says that's gourmet dining, which is a joke. The only thing that's any good is the roasted eggplant dip with brown butter and balsamic vinegar, because Andre, the sous-chef, makes that himself. Paul is a big giant baby and he thinks eggplant is gross. It's one of the few things Andre gets to do on his own, and he works hard on it, and it's really good and you should try it.

All of the salads have chopped red onion in them, which is gross, so don't get the salad.

You pretty much can't go wrong with any of the pasta dishes at Trattoria Pappardelle. This is because one of the few things that Paul is actually good at doing, other than being emotionally unavailable and immature, is making pasta. Kevin is the saucier, and he does a really good job on the pasta sauces, so you're pretty much set. I am not saying that Kevin is really a nice person, because he isn't, and he smokes. I have it on good authority Kevin told Paul to dump me when he got the job in Manhattan, because thought I was taking up too much of Paul's time. But it is not like Kevin screwed Kameron out in the parking lot, or went to Bermuda with Lisa from Liberty Travel not two weeks after he broke up with me, the way Paul did. You can order the linguine with quail or the wild boar ragu with penne with confidence.

Trattoria Pappardelle's reputation is built on their chicken parm, which is not because it's all that good but because Paul uses bigger chicken breasts and pounds them thin to make it look like you're getting a lot bigger portion than you actually are. Paul thinks most people are cheap bastards, and the only way you can get them to come in the door is either with two-for-one coupons or by making them think they're getting a deal on the chicken parm. The problem with the larger chicken breasts is that they don't have that much flavor and aren't that juicy, so Paul salts the hell out of the chicken to make up for it. So don't get the chicken parm unless you want your blood pressure to go up the way mine did when Paul dumped me for no reason, the louse.

The best item on the menu is the braised veal chop with the saffron orzo. Paul used to be really sniffy about veal, and the only reason it was on the menu in his old restaurant was that he said that the owner kept complaining that he left it off. But then when he lost the lease on the old restaurant, he took me to Italy for two weeks, which at the time I thought was so incredibly romantic until I found out that he put the airfare on my credit card without asking me first. Anyway, we went to Naples, and had dinner at this amazing restaurant on this historic piazza, and I was just convinced he was going to ask me to marry him then and there, but of course he didn't, because Paul wouldn't notice a romantic moment if it hit him in the face with a bottle of pinot grigio. So I ordered the veal chop, and Paul made fun of me for ordering it, and I told him it was better than anything he knew how to make. So he tried a bite, and then he ended up eating half of it, and then went in the back to ask for the recipe, which once they found out he was a cook, they basically put him to work while I was sitting at the table all by myself eating about a half-dozen zeppole and feeling bad about myself. But it really turned Paul on to veal, and so you should probably order that.

They don't have zeppole at Trattoria Pappardelle, which is probably a good idea because they're incredibly fattening, but it's a shame. The main thing most people get is the cannoli, which is pretty good, but be sure to order the flourless chocolate cake. Paul decided to have a gluten-free menu, which was a good idea on his part, but the only dessert that they could figure out that would be gluten-free is the flourless chocolate cake, and Paul hates flourless chocolate cake because he's not really good at making pastries in the first place and you have to watch it to make sure it doesn't fall. So be sure to order the flourless chocolate cake, but cover your ears when you do, because Paul gets really cheesed off when anyone orders it and you might hear some bad words.

Trattoria Pappardelle is wheelchair-accessible and kid-friendly, although don't bring up the subject of having kids around Paul because he won't ever talk about it and will try to make you feel bad for asking. The restaurant takes American Express, Visa and MasterCard, but not Discover even though lots of people use Discover and I told Paul a hundred times that he should take it but he won't because he let his Discover balance get too high that one time and they raised his rate and he still holds a grudge. I give Trattoria Pappardelle four stars, but only if you get the lasagna and the flourless chocolate cake, and if you sit on the left side of the restaurant. Except that I give it one star if you're that bitch Lisa from Liberty Travel, who can die in a fire as far as I'm concerned.

Enjoy your dinner!

# The National Institute of Precognition Research Reluctantly Rejects a Prospective Fifteen-Year-Old Applicant

Dear Applicant,

Thank you for your future decision to take the time to apply for a position with the National Institute of Precognition Research (NIPR). We expect to receive your application sometime in April of 2025, shortly after your graduation from the graduate program of either the University of Michigan or the University of Wisconsin. Unfortunately, we have decided not to accept you as a candidate for any open positions we may or may not have at that time.

This is not a reflection of your talents and abilities, particularly not at this formative time in your life. NIPR expects to recruit and attract a talented and diverse set of researchers, scientists, statisticians, and entablaturists when it opens its doors officially in 2021. We expect that the process of choosing such individuals will be highly competitive. Based on our projections, it does not appear that you will meet the high standard of individuals we plan on adding to our team.

You may be wondering how we can be so sure that you will even apply to NIPR, much less that your application will be rejected. In fact, we estimate that there is a non-zero probability (1.7% ± 0.973%) that, for various reasons, you will not complete your undergraduate education. Of course, in that instance, you would not even be considered for employment at NIPR. There is also a distinct possibility (1.4% ± 0.783%) that you will complete your undergraduate education with a degree that does not properly equip you for work at NIPR, particularly if you decide to enroll at the University of California-Santa Cruz.

However, the majority of projections (71.7% ± 0.057%) indicate that you will attain an advanced psychology degree, and attend graduate school at a Big Ten university. We intend to send recruiters to all of the schools that you are likely to attend, and it is reasonably certain that you will meet with one of our recruiters, and will subsequently apply for a job with NIPR. There is a minor possibility (2.9% ± 0.873%) that you will not encounter a recruiter due to being stranded in Cabo San Lucas over spring break due to a popular uprising over an increase in the cost of gasoline, but we anticipate you will still seek employment at NIPR in any case.

Please rest assured that the reasons for your rejection by NIPR have very little to do with your studies, or your intellect, or a future embarrassing incident involving Gwen Harper and your father's Toyota Highlander on the night of your senior prom. Quite simply, we only have room on our team for four junior psychometricians. We have already pre-qualified three applicants for these jobs. (The Joint Guidelines on Precognitive Ethics, to be developed in 2020, prevent me from disclosing their names or backgrounds, in the event that you should seek to alter future history by incapacitating them in some way.) We intend to leave the fourth position temporarily vacant, pending the outcome of several factors, including (but not limited to) the decision of the parents of a highly-qualified applicant on whether or not to move to Colorado, which may result in a higher-than-expected likelihood of developing a dependency on marijuana; the eventual immigration status of another highly-qualified applicant; and the decision of a third highly-qualified applicant on whether to take a position as an exotic dancer to earn money to attend community college. In all three cases, the probabilities overlap to a degree that we are not, at this time, able to offer this position to any of the candidates. However, we are certain (99.9% ± 0.017%) that you will not be considered ahead of them.

We do not wish to, in any way, discourage you from going to graduate school and receiving your master's degree in psychology. Based on your current level of attainment, we think that it is probable that you will receive several job offers after graduation, including a clinical position at an inpatient drug treatment center in New Jersey (15.7% ± 0.908%), an administrative position with the Michigan prison system (12.5% ± 0.332%) or an adjunct lecturer's position at a Minnesota community college (8.9% ± 0.404%). All of these are fine entry-level positions and there is a strong possibility (62.8% ± 0.228%) that you will be able to pay your student loans back in a reasonable amount of time.

All of us who will, in the future, make up the team at NIPR wish you the best of success in whatever ventures you eventually decide to engage in. We hope that this rejection will not adversely affect your interest in precognitive research, although we expect (72.4% ± 1.073%) that it will to a degree. Best wishes, and if Gwen Harper offers to introduce you to any of her sorority sisters, we strongly advise you to say yes.

# No, Sweetie, That's Not Elmo

I know it looks like Elmo. But trust me. That's not Elmo.

Okay, whoever it is, she's red and fuzzy. Like Elmo. That's right. Elmo is red and fuzzy. But she – I guess that's a she – is wearing a hat. Elmo doesn't wear a hat. And she has a bushy tail. Elmo doesn't have a tail.

I think she's a raccoon. See the mask? Remember the raccoon that we saw last week? Remember? Climbing that tree?

She's not Elmo. She's – oh, wait. She's a fox. She's a fox, dressed up like Zorro. And wearing a whip. I get it. Zorro means fox in Spanish. Did you know that? Did you?

Don't point, sweetie. It isn't nice.

Mommy will be back in a minute. See her? She's over there, having a nice conversation with the hotel manager.

That's not Elmo, either, sweetie. That's somebody in a bear costume. See? He's talking to the fox. And she's pretending to hit him with her whip.

I will let you out of the stroller as soon as Mommy comes back. It'll just be a minute.

I know, sweetie. It's not your fault this is taking so long. It's not Mommy's fault, either. If anyone is to blame, it's your Aunt Brenda. When you get married, sweetie, be sure to ask the banquet manager, "Are there any other events at this facility at the same time? Do any of them involve grownup people who like to dress up in fuzzy bunny costumes?"

You are being such a good baby for Daddy. Mommy will be back soon.

That's not Elmo, either. That's a... I don't know what that is. It's like a bird with fur. Maybe a baby penguin, I don't know. They're called "furries," can you say that? Furry?

I hear Mommy, too. She's upset. She's trying to find another hotel for us, but they seem to be booked.

Well, you have to remember, Mommy grew up in South Alabama. Mommy's parents didn't teach her to be respectful of people with different values and... preferences. We want you to grow up not to be prejudiced against people just because they like different things, like dressing up. In animal costumes.

With fetish gear.

In public.

Here comes Mommy. I told you she'd be right back.

Okay! We're going to get back in the car, and find the new hotel! Wave bye-bye to the nice people. Bye-bye!

Sweetie, that's not Elmo. Elmo would not wear vinyl boots with six-inch spiked heels like that. Let's go.

# Occupy Leap Year

Okay, right from the outset, let's get one thing straight. Nobody associated with this movement has said publicly that leap year is a tool of capitalist oppression. There are a lot of people associated with this movement—it's a true, grass-roots, communitarian effort to promote a more human, more progressive climate for policy—and they have a lot of different views. Just because I, personally, happen to think that leap year is just another instrument of social control that the 1% use to enforce their agenda, well, that doesn't mean that all of us feel that way. There have been too many cases where people have used the private views of one or two members to make the entire movement look foolish or naïve. The insidious distortion of the corporate media is almost as bad as the slander from the right-wing noise machine, if you ask me.

Besides, it's not like anyone is consciously using leap year as a mechanism of social injustice. It's more like nobody's ever thought through all the implications in the modern era. Most people don't even recognize that the calendar itself is a tool of the Western patriarchy. They start teaching you the days of the week in preschool, and you don't ever even stop to realize how embedded it is in the culture. Even if we started calling it by its right name—the Gregorian calendar—that might make people stop and think where it came from and who started it. And like a lot of negative things, it comes out of organized religion.

For over fifteen hundred years, Western Europe had a secular calendar, developed by the Romans. Then Pope Gregory comes along and says, well, we can't use the Julian calendar, because that means we can't predict when Easter is. So the Catholic Church takes eleven days out of the calendar because the Pope didn't want do something sensible like just decreeing that Easter was the first Sunday in April. That just shows you the conformity inherent in faith structures. And the Jesuits spread it all over the place, and that meant that local, culturally-relevant calendars in the Islamic world and the Far East were effectively supplanted by a Western import. The Catholic Church even pushed its calendar into the Protestant nations, although that took a couple of hundred years. It's so warped that when Lenin and the Bolsheviks took over in Russia, the first thing they did was switch from the Julian calendar to the Gregorian—that's why the October revolution actually took place in November. Some revolutionaries they were.

I mean, really, think about it. Every four years, we arbitrarily just say that February has twenty-nine days instead of twenty-eight. If you were trying to come up with something that ridiculous, you'd be laughed out of town. People would think it was a page out of The Onion or something like that. So the year is a little longer, and the big corporations get another day's work out of their employees, and another day to bank their profits and fund misinformation campaigns to make it look like anyone who doesn't go along with their worldview are a bunch of dirty hippies.

Of course, leap year in this country just happens to be in an election year. Don't think that's not a coincidence. In places where there's a parliament that's responsive to the voters, you know, you can have an election whenever you want, if the current regime isn't following the will of the people. In England, the prime minister can call a snap election and have the whole thing over with in three weeks. But it doesn't work that way in this country. It doesn't matter how high the unemployment rate is, or how much they make in bonuses in the investment banks, or how the people are calling out for social justice. You still have to wait for the Tuesday after the first Monday in November of a leap year, and even then the regime doesn't change until that next January. That's pathetic.

You want to know who had the right idea? The French revolutionaries. That was a people's rebellion like this one is, except they marched on the palace and arrested the king. They tried him for treason and chopped off his head. And once they got in power, they did not mess around, not one little bit. They took the Gregorian calendar and tore it up and replaced it with a decimal calendar. That's twelve months with thirty days each, ten days per week, ten hours a day. That left five extra days a year—six in a leap year, of course—and they put those days in at the end of September and made them a national holiday. That's the way that serious revolutionaries do things. Then Napoleon comes along and switches everything back.

Hope that cleared things up for you. Love to stay and talk, but there's a tweet I got that said that somebody's dad brought over a bunch of meatball sandwiches, and I better hurry and grab one before the homeless guys snag them all. Napoleon was a counterrevolutionary SOB, but he was right about the army traveling on its stomach, you know.

# An Open Letter to John McPhee, on the Occasion of the Publication of My New Novel

Professor John McPhee  
Guyot Hall  
Princeton University  
Princeton, New Jersey

Dear Professor McPhee,

I was wondering—and please feel free to say no, if you're not interested—if you might be willing to read my new novel, and provide me with a short, positive (please!) statement about it for the back cover? This is what they call in the publishing industry a "blurb," as I'm sure you know. I would greatly appreciate it. I'd be happy to send you a print copy, or ideally email you a Kindle copy—I sell a _ton_ more of those, you understand.

You may be wondering why I approached you as opposed to other people, especially people who write in my genre. Part if is that a lot of people in my genre are jerks—just being honest here!—but a lot of it is that you are one of my favorite authors.

When I was a high school junior, growing up in Ocala, Florida, we had a list of recommended books that we could read over the summer. One of them was your book, _Oranges_ , and since it sounded interesting, and was kind of short, I read it. I was just so impressed that someone could write so clearly and make a boring subject like oranges so interesting. I mean, not interesting enough to study oranges in college. They're not that interesting. But sometimes when I'm eating an orange—I'm trying to eat healthier right now—I think about the book, and what kind of orange it is that I'm eating, and that of course is all thanks to you.

So, anyway, I went to Nova Southeastern for college, and got my degree in pharmacy. I was kind of thinking about running a pharmacy somewhere cool, like Miami or something, but I got recruited by Bristol Squibb Myers and ended up working in Princeton. So one thing I wanted to do when I moved here was read some stuff by local authors. I went to the Barnes and Noble in Marketfair—the one everyone says is in Princeton, but is really in West Windsor—and asked them for help finding someone that was a local author, and they said, "Well, of course, John McPhee," and of course I knew exactly who you were, except I didn't know that you lived around here. And I bought _Common Carriers_ , which I really liked a lot.

And then one day, I'm driving home on 206, over by the Jasna Polana golf course, and there was this old guy who was kind of wandering around, and someone in marketing said it might be you, looking for golf balls, like you were famous for doing that? So we're practically neighbors, which is why I thought you might be okay with doing like a short blurb for my novel.

Which I guess I should tell you about. I'm really proud of it, and I hope you like it. It's actually my third novel—it's the last book in my Dominance Trilogy. I mean, it's hard to believe I wrote one novel, much less three, but here we are.

So the title is _Essence of Power_ , and it's a paranormal lesbian reverse harem fantasy, with a lot of bondage elements. The heroine's name is Melinda Carlisle; she works at a pharmaceutical company like I do, but believe me, the resemblance ends there! When the trilogy starts—this is in _Stirrings of Power_ —Melinda is just an ordinary lesbian lawyer, working in the general counsel's office, but she's also a freelance dominatrix. One of her regular clients disappears, and she recruits her girlfriends—this is the reverse harem part—to help find him, and, well, that's the first book, but they come to find out that there's this paranormal power that's centered in Princeton, and Melinda decides to fight it. I won't go into all the plot twists, but at the end of the second book, _Echoes of Power_ , Melinda gets turned into a werewolf. This was my editor's idea; she said I should try getting some of the readers in the shifter genre, and it ended up being a great cliffhanger. So there's a lot of conflict in the third book, because everyone in her reverse harem has to decide whether to be a werewolf or not, and whether to be part of her pack—that's the really cool element.

The other thing I did in _Essence of Power_ was to bring in a little diversity. I was on Twitter—you have to be on Twitter nowadays, although it's kind of a pain—and there's this hashtag about how we need diverse books, so Melinda gets a new love interest named Selena Gonzalez, who's a Latina werewolf with a fiery temper.

So I don't want to spoil it all for you. I will say that I'm working on a new trilogy, and I'm thinking of setting it in Alaska, so I'm reading _Coming into the Country_. I promise to write a nice Goodreads review, regardless of whether you decide to blurb my book or not.

And probably you're not going to do that. I understand. What you're writing—deeply incisive and well-thought-out _New Yorker_ pieces—is a lot different from paranormal lesbian reverse harem trilogies. I get that. What I will say is that, you know, society has changed a lot over the last fifty years. Fifty years ago, you couldn't hardly write anything about lesbians or dominatrixes or anything like that. Now, there's whole huge giant sub-genres of lesbian fiction. And it's becoming more popular. I mean, even my boyfriend likes reading it, and he's prejudiced in a lot of ways, although I think I'm working on him a little bit. Who knows, by blurbing my book, you might get a lot more readers who like paranormal lesbian reverse harem fiction.

Anyway. I just wanted to write you a quick note and tell you that I really enjoy your books, and I respect you as a writer, and I hope you find a lot of golf balls. Thanks.

Sincerely,

Karen Bryant  
Princeton, New Jersey  
Author of the Dominance Trilogy (writing as Whitney Austin)

#  An Oral History of Our Magazine's Decision to Print the "Message From the Elder Gods" Advertorial

**Sonia Greene, Editor in Chief:** **** I want everyone to know that we didn't solicit the advertorial. Nobody from this magazine went to the Lovecraft Institute and asked them if they wanted to do an advertorial. They came to us first.

**Whipple Van Buren, Vice President for Business Management:** **** We're hemorrhaging money, just like every other publication. It's not a secret. Advertorials are a no-brainer, as far as I'm concerned.

**Sarah Phillips, General Manager:** **** When we got the offer from the Lovecraft Institute, I wanted to turn it down. But they offered us three times our going rate. We're skating on the verge of bankruptcy as it is, and we had the printer's union breathing down our necks for concessions in collective bargaining. We didn't really have a choice.

**Dexter Ward, Shop Steward, Allied Printing Union, Local #1890** : Oh, sure, they're blaming all of this on the union. Typical. Did you ask them about their bonus structure? Anyway, this was management's decision. We just print what they give us to print. We don't ask questions. Well, maybe this time we should have asked some questions.

**Arthur Jermyn, Account Manager:** The guy from the Lovecraft Institute comes in the office, and he hands me this silver key. Very ornate, very elaborate. It's carved with these words in this foreign language that I don't even begin to understand. So I say, "This is nice, but where's the content for the advertorial?" He breaks the end of the key open, and there's a USB connector. "Just plug this in," he says. That was good enough for me. He handed me the suitcase with the money inside, and he was gone.

**Herbert West, Accounts Receivable:** The suitcase turns out to be full of these gold coins with this weird image of the Flying Spaghetti Monster or something. I took them over to this cash-for-gold place, and they said they were for-real, and I was able to sell them for just about the amount that the Institute had agreed to pay. I didn't think anything of it until later, when the blood started oozing out of the walls.

**Erica Zann, Senior Art Director:** I was very careful with the silver key. It just looked so odd. Beautiful, mind you, Compelling in its way. But it could have all sorts of weird viruses or Trojans or I don't even know what. I plugged it in to an old computer that didn't have any network connections. And then I looked at the advertorial. Sixteen pages, beautifully formatted, I looked over it, because when you get stuff like this from advertisers, there's usually some sort of problem – spelling errors, margins out of place, stuff copied from who-knows-where. This was flawless. Unhinged, a little bit, I'll grant you, but the design was incredibly well-done. Everyone who looked at it thought so–well, the ones who are still alive, that is.

**Henry Armitage, former Associate Art Director, current resident, Arkham State Psychiatric Hospital:** When I looked at the advertorial, THE SPIRIT OF YOG-SOTHOTH AWAKENED DEEP WITHIN ME, AND I BECAME COMPELLED TO DO HIS UNHOLY BIDDING.

**Greene:** **** We had the money in the bank, and the art department had signed off on the advertorial. So I approved it. You could tell it was a little odd, sure. To the extent that I thought anything about it, I figured it was some experimental fiction of some sort. People have spent money on weirder things, you know.

**Phillips:** **** I had the file with the advertorial, and I e-mailed it down to the print shop. It's a routine thing, something I've done thousands of times. I had no idea that anything bad could happen.

**Juan Romero, Senior Information Technology Manager:** The first person to complain, if I remember right, was one of the receptionists. Some kind of weird virus. I kind of put it on the back burner until I got five different e-mails from people all over the office, complaining that there was some kind of unholy ten-armed octopus horror on their monitors. I told them to reboot, which seemed like a good idea at the time.

**Ward:** For whatever reason, the network problems were isolated to the upper floors. There wasn't anything that kept us from printing out the advertorial. We started the run, and didn't have any problems–in fact, we got it printed out and inserted in about half our usual time. That was weird, now that I come to think about it. It was though someone. or something, wanted us to get as many magazines with that advertorial printed and out in the world.

**Van Buren:** **** I was just sitting at my desk when my secretary walks by and says, "Zoth-Ommog! Zoth-Ommog! Prepare for the coming of Zoth-Ommog!" I thought it was a practical joke, so I asked her whether Zoth-Ommog had an appointment. Then she burst into flame. I knew then we had a problem on our hands.

**Jermyn:** Everyone was panicking. The break room was covered in this green goo. There were tentacles coming out of the air vents. I didn't know what was going on, but I thought the Lovecraft Institute people had something to do with it. I called and got their voice mail. It said, "Press one to summon the dark spirit of Xalafu The Dread One. Press two to be devoured by a sightless white worm." I hung up and ran like hell.

**Armitage:** HEED THE WORDS OF YOG-SOTHOTH. ALL MUST DO HIS BIDDING OR PERISH IN THE UNHOLY FIRES.

**Romero:** The problem was that nobody had ever taken a good look at the advertorial file. It had been originally designed in Microsoft XML. That should have told anyone who was looking at it that it was capable of great, great evil. Of course, nobody ever calls IT until there's a problem.

**Zann:** I can't tell you how it happened, not really, but all of a sudden I found myself, stark naked, sitting on the grass in the middle of Bryant Park, chanting "Janai'ngo, Janai'ngo, bring forth the Lobster of the Deep." I'm just glad I wasn't the only one, that's all.

**West:** We ended up only having a third of our staff reporting permanent demonic possession. Everyone else either escaped in time or managed to throw off their psychic enthrallment to the various beings and demi-gods that inhabit the dread Cthullu Mythos. The building was a total loss, but insurance covered most of our losses and we got to write off a lot of old computer equipment. We probably broke even, although I hate to think of what our long-term disability liability is going to be.

**Greene:** I knew we had to get out an apology as soon as we could. In retrospect, I wish I had said something other than "On behalf of Gol-goroth the Malevolent, we deeply apologize for loosing the eldritch terrors of the Night-World on your fair city," because I think that made things worse. You just don't understand the reality of being possessed by the Old Ones until it happens to you personally.

**Phillips:** We've conducted a comprehensive review of our advertorial policy to ensure that nothing like that happens again. The last thing we, as a magazine, want to do is to injure our brand by putting out advertorials that cause mass panic and demon-possession, because that's not good business.

**Jermyn:** Sure, we lost a lot of really big accounts over this. But you know, there's a silver lining. All of a sudden, we're starting to see new revenue sectors come in, catering to the newly-possessed. It's kind of a niche market, but we're taking advantage of it as best we can.

**Zann:** **** I still have the key. I keep it in a locked box at home. Every so often, it calls to me in a strange language, and I feel a strange compulsion to plug it in and see what happens. All that is keeping me from resurrecting the horror is fear, fear of the unknown, fear of the power of the Unnamed Ones that still haunt our world and our dreams. And because, let's face it, it's probably not a good idea.

**Armitage:** **** YOG-SOTHOTH IS THE GATE. YOG-SOTHOTH IS THE GATE. YOG-SOTHOTH IS THE GATE.

# The Political Spectrum

**INFRARED** – Although these "longer-wavelength" voters appear all but invisible in most polling data, they make up a surprisingly large part of the political spectrum. Key issues for voters in this demographic include supporting additional funding for high-tech communications links and night-vision goggles for police and military applications.

**IMPERIAL RED** – These highly conservative voters show unusually strong support for interventionist, internationalist foreign policy efforts. Favors an aggressive, expansionist model of projecting American power overseas, combined with advocacy for larger defense budgets and upgrades to the nuclear arsenal. Marketers target them for purchases of epaulettes, swagger sticks and patent-leather boots.

**SANGRIA RED** – These low-income Republican voters skew young and Hispanic, and support immigration reform, better treatment of migrant workers, and student loan relief. This demographic tends to favor cheap wine, organic fruit, and staying at home on Saturday night with friends and complaining about their finances instead of going out to clubs and drinking expensive whiskey.

**BLAZE ORANGE** – These independent voters support Democratic initiatives regarding infrastructure improvements and improving access to outdoor recreation areas. However, members are highly skeptical of gun control and oppose construction of new prisons. This demographic correlates strongly with hunting license renewal applications and venison sausage consumption.

**TANGERINE** – These independent voters tend to cluster in Florida and California and prefer their political rhetoric on the tangy side rather than the sweet side. They favor federal citrus subsidies, healthy snacking initiatives, and strengthening of US-Morocco ties.

**HARVEST GOLD** – These reactionary voters show intense suspicion of post-1970's advances in home decor. Among all interest groups, these voters express the highest levels of concern with regard to higher gas prices, increased conflict with Iran, and the return of polyester leisure suits.

**HEMP GREEN** – These voters have been dominant in far-flung locations like Humboldt County, Colorado, Maui, and Oregon liberal arts colleges, and are a decisive demographic in Colorado and Washington. This demographic favors looser border controls and Medicaid funding for alternative and herbal medicines. Compatible with many other voters in different parts of the spectrum, including "Nacho Cheese Orange" and "Cool Ranch" demographics.

**KELLY GREEN** – These voters will act friendly for a while when you meet them in a bar, and will let them buy you a few drinks, but then will claim that they have a boyfriend waiting for them back at their apartment and won't respond to your texts. And then they block you on Twitter for no good reason, except maybe that they're just stuck-up because people have been telling them how pretty they are their entire lives, when they're really just borderline attractive.

**CAMBRIDGE BLUE** – These voters went to school in England and won't shut up about it. Typically have their diplomas, in Latin, tacked up to the wall of their office where you can't possibly miss it. Known to wax poetic about the parliamentary system and HP sauce. Support neo-colonialist foreign policy positions and single-payer, government-operated health care.

**MIDNIGHT BLUE** – These voters are focused on putting in additional hours or working a second job to pay for student loans or credit-card debt. They typically get their news from late-night repeats of "Hardball with Chris Matthews" while going over balance sheets or contracts on their laptops. This group strongly supports the inclusion of over-the-counter sleeping aids in health care savings accounts, daylight savings reform, and tougher snooze-alarm regulations.

**INDIGO** – These environmentally and spiritually conscious liberal voters typically prefer natural dyes, folk music, and mystical exploration of the third chakra. Voters in this category are likely to come up to you at cocktail parties and ask if you can see their aura.

**PLUM** – These highly affluent liberal voters cluster in the mid-Atlantic region and tend to be either lobbyists seeking high-level government employment or government employees seeking high-level lobbyist positions. Sometimes found on college campuses, where they gravitate towards faculty senate positions and occasional stints as murder suspects. Upon retirement, demographically reclassified as "Prunes."

**ULTRAVIOLET** – These "short-wavelength" voters tend to have high Vitamin D levels, cool sunglasses, and a higher incidence of skin cancer. Such voters support traditional environmentalist issues, but notably shy away from chlorofluorocarbon bans and other attempts to protect the ozone layer.

# Program Listings for IndirecTV

F/X: That Show You Used To Like a Lot Before FOX Ruined It By Moving Its Timeslot Three Different Times and Then Cancelling It

C-SPAN: Two Guys in Ill-Fitting Sport Coats Making the Unintentional Case for Term Limits

Disney Channel: That Show Your Daughters Used To Watch Before They Decided It Was Cooler To Wear Makeup and Flirt with Those Screwed-Up Kids with the Baggy Clothes and the Bad Haircuts

FOX News: The Show with That Guy Who You Keep Hoping Will Develop A Painful Canker Sore, But It Never Seems To Happen

CBS: That Show Your Mom Likes for Some Reason Even Though It's About People Who Die in Revolting and Unnecessarily Complex Ways

CNBC: That Idiot You Listened To That Time Before You Lost All That Money Investing in Whatever He Thought Was a Good Stock

ESPN: The Game Where That Team You Hate Is Playing Some Other Team You Don't Care About, but Are Willing To Root For Anyway For the Time Being

FOX: The One with the FBI Agents Investigating Paranormal Activity, You Know, the One You Liked Before, Back When They Called It the X Files

A&E: That Show with Those People Whose Lives Are Incredibly Screwed Up

TLC: That Other Show with Those People Whose Lives Are Incredibly Screwed Up, But With More Kids

ESPN2: That Show Where Those Guys Who Never Won a Championship When They Were Playing Tell Coaches from Other Teams What They Need To Do To Win A Championship

Discovery Channel: That Show with the Giant King Crabs That Gives You Creepy Tentacle Nightmares Every Time You Watch It

CW: That Show Your Daughters Would Watch If You Were Gullible Enough To Let Them, Although They Still Watch the Pirated Version Off YouTube Anyway, Which Shows What You Know

Versus: That Thing Where Grown Men Try To Beat Each Other In the Head for Money (No, Not Hockey, That Other Thing)

National Geographic: That Thing You Heard About on NPR But Forgot To Set the DVR for the First Time It Was On

HBO: That Movie You Were Going To Watch That One Time That Your Wife Wanted To See the New Harrison Ford Movie, Which Sucked

TBS: The Show That Used To Be On Opposite the Tonight Show But Is Now On After the Guy Who Used To Be On the Tonight Show, Which Now Has the Guy Who Was On Before That

# Punch List

Thank you for the opportunity to look around your home and inspect it for possible defects. I appreciate being of service in this matter, and have attached a brief checklist of items that may cause possible problems.

**Kitchen**

I spotted some loose trim near the dishwasher, which can be nailed down easily. You also need to think about vacuuming the coils on the back of the refrigerator, which can help with energy efficiency. I checked inside and noticed what appeared to be a small interdimensional portal, although it wasn't there when I looked again later. You might want to check your warranty and see if it covers that.

**Library**

I was quite impressed by the size and scope of the books you have collected. I have no idea if they are valuable or not, but they do represent a significant fire hazard and you might want to invest in a fire-suppression system for this room. The bookstand with the open copy of The Necronomicon is a nice touch, but leaving the book open like that can generate ghastly noises of eldritch horror. I can recommend some soundproofing solutions that may alleviate that somewhat.

**Bedroom**

As you probably already knew, there are quite a few nail pops in the ceiling, which is normal in a house this old. Additionally, the lighting leaves something to be desired. One easy solution is to install some battery-powered LED lamps over the portraits; they last for 10,000 hours and provide just enough ambient light to overcome some of the gloom in there. And I don't mind telling you, it's just creepy enough in there that it seems that the eyes in the portraits are following you. I'm sure it's an optical illusion.

**Conservatory**

This is more of an organization thing than anything else, but you might want to clean up the clutter in there a bit—I saw a wrench, a lead pipe, rope, and a revolver in there, just lying around. The candlestick looks nice, but everything else should probably be stored more safely.

**Jungle Room**

You probably already know this, but the big problem here is the humidity—it's the perfect conditions for growing mold. I know you need it moist in there for all the plants, but I would recommend removing the wallpaper and repainting with a mold-resistant paint. You also need to make sure that the lid on the terrarium is tight enough so that the python can't escape. There is just one python in that room, right?

**Dungeon**

The chains that you have in there right now are attached to the wall with drywall screws. There's a good chance that your captives will be able to pull those right out. You need to make sure that the chains are bolted into the studs. I can send you a YouTube video that shows you how to do it if you want.

**Laboratory**

It looks like you've invested a lot of money on some very expensive equipment, but I'm concerned that the wiring isn't adequate to support all the amperage you're drawing down. At a minimum, I would shell out for a surge protector for the corpse reanimation system.

**Wine Cellar**

The masonry in this room is very nicely done, but there appears to be a very narrow niche in the east wall, just big enough for a person to get trapped in there. You ought to look in to getting that bricked up.

# Q. Thornton, Undercover

I sat tailor-fashion on Bridget McIlhenney's kitchen floor, my bare legs cold against the Mexican tile floor, sorting through her cabinets for anything that could pass for breakfast. I'd stacked the rejects over to one side – three jars of Paul Newman spaghetti sauce, a bottle of ten-year old balsamic vinegar, three tottering stacks of ramen noodles (shrimp, beef, and chicken, sorted by flavor), half a bottle of Malibu coconut rum, a jar of something that purported to be edible cactus leaves, and about nineteen cans of Beanie Weenies. (Did you know they made chipotle-style Beanie Weenies? And Dijon-mustard flavored? Honey-barbecue?) Bridget was a half-empty bag of Cool Ranch Doritos shy of being able to apply for a federal Superfund grant to clean up her nutritional toxic waste dump.

They told me at Battle Creek there'd be mornings like this.

I spotted a slightly-faded box of Minute Rice towards the back, which had potential, but I didn't remember exactly how you got from dried instant rice to Rice Krispies. The alternative was to skip the most important meal of the day, or else embarrass myself by slinking over to Dunkin' Donuts. (I knew a guy who'd been laughed off the force for just that.)

I had put everything away by the time Bridget walked in, wet with the autumn drizzle. She was wearing a headband, a gray spandex sports bra, and bright orange compression shorts that showed off every fast-twitch fiber of her lovely thighs – and she wasn't even breathing hard after what must have been a five-mile run. She unhooked her iPod earphones, shot me a dazzling smile, and put the white paper bag she was carrying down on the table. "What are you looking for, sweetie?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing, sugar pop," I said. "How was your run?"

"Okay. I got us breakfast."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I figured, after last night, you'd need some carbohydrates."

I pulled myself off the floor, walked over to where she was and gave her a slow, deep kiss, my hands firm against the slick skin of her back. I could have moved them down a few inches, and made us both late for work, but I saw the Einstein Brothers logo on the paper bag out of the corner of my eye, and disengaged.

"As much as I'd love to stay for breakfast, honey bunch, I need to head to the office."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "I didn't know what you wanted, so I got some different kinds. Sesame, and onion, and poppyseed."

I repressed an inner shudder at the thought of poppyseed bagels – try explaining that one at the next drug test – and decided to press the issue. "Do you have any cereal?"

"There used to be some on the top shelf," she said, "but I don't think it's there anymore."

I knew there wasn't, because that was the first place I looked – I had put a box of Cracklin' Bran there myself, for just such an emergency. But all I found up there was an ample spice rack, a bottle of peach schnapps, and a pot of orange blossom honey.

"Are you sure you don't want a bagel instead?" she asked. "I can toast one up for you."

"Did you eat the cereal, or toss it out? Or maybe you just moved it?"

"I don't know. I don't remember. What are you, anyway, the cereal police?"

The first day of undercover training, they tell you how to handle exactly this situation. "The cereal police," you're supposed to say. "Yeah, right. The cereal police. Like they really exist." Then you're supposed to change the subject to baseball. "What do you think the Tigers are going to do in free agency?" Simple. Anybody can do it.

I didn't. I just stood there, looking blank, and guilty.

Her eyes widened, and she pointed an accusing finger at me. "You are the cereal police. And you were spying on me, going through my cabinets."

I couldn't manage anything other than a half-hearted well and a hesitant uh. Spying on people and going through their kitchens is my basic job description, anyway. When it happens – when people get caught without any cereal in the house – they usually turn defiant, or melt into a puddle of fear and self-recrimination. I just looked at her, waiting on her to decide how she was going to respond.

And she melted.

"Oh, God, I'm going to jail," she whispered. "I'm not going to be able to finish my screenplay."

"Bridget..."

"And they don't let you run in jail, right? You just pace around the exercise yard and lift weights, and..."

I took her hands, and steered her over to a chair in the breakfast nook, and waited for her to stop hyperventilating. "Look, Bridget, people have the cereal police all wrong. We don't put people in jail." At least not all that often, I didn't say. "Ninety percent of what I do is give out citations to thirty-year-old fat guys who are still eating Crunchberries, mostly to get them to mix in a little fiber, cut down on the sugar. We're not going after people who are obviously physically fit, like you are."

"You're sure?"

"Honest to God. Like I said, I was just looking for that Cracklin' Bran."

"I ate it," she said, her body quivering with relief. "I put it on my ice cream. My sister puts bran cereal on her ice cream, something to do with the glycemic index. I tried it, and it wasn't too bad. Granola would have been better, though."

"Okay. We'll get you some granola, that's fine. Don't worry about anything." And then I lowered my face to hers and kissed her, and we ended up being late for work after all.

When it was over, and we were getting dressed, she asked me what my real name was, and I told her. "It's Quincy. Quincy Thornton."

"Really?" she asked. "I promise I won't tell anyone."

"Really," I said, and I knew she wouldn't. "But my friends call me Quisp."

# Safe Word

"Peanut butter."

"Wait. That's not it, is it?"

"It's not what?"

"It's not the word that we decided on."

"No. I just thought you might want to go get the peanut butter. For later."

"I don't think so."

"I thought it might be fun, that's all."

"It was a good idea. I just don't feel like it. Do you want me to get you loose from all that?"

"No, I'm good."

"You sure?"

"Well, there is one thing. Can you reach over and get that bottle of lotion? I'd get it, but I'm a little...."

"A little tied up. Ha."

"There's a spot on my right side, under the corset, where it's chafing a little."

"Here?"

"I said right side. My right."

"Sorry. Does that feel better?"

"Down a little bit. That's fine."

"Good."

"So why don't you want to do the peanut butter? You're usually up for that kind of thing."

"I don't know. It didn't sound that exciting for some reason."

"Are you worried about the sheets?"

"I didn't think about the sheets one way or another."

"The peanut butter isn't going to stain them or anything. They're designed to stand up to whatever kind of treatment you can dish out. Oil-based, water-based, whatever you want."

"They're good sheets. I said so when you bought them."

"I was thinking about leather at first, but there were a couple of problems. Leather sheets sound like they'd be a good idea, but most people seem to be saying that they're harder to clean and they get slick when you get sweaty. And they don't always smell good."

"Sounds like you did your homework."

"I did! I went online and everything. Found a couple of forums I hadn't heard of before—you would not believe the kind of freak show that some people make out of their sex lives. Anyway, this one transsexual couple in Seattle—I think they were transsexuals, you couldn't tell much from the pictures—recommended these sheets. Microfiber. Heavy thread count. And they haven't shrunk one bit."

"I'm impressed."

"They make them in round sizes, too, if you're in to that kind of thing. I never saw the point of a round bed, though. It's like hanging a big sign around your neck that you're in to kinky sex."

"You are, though."

"Well, but that doesn't mean I should hang a sign around my neck. There's no need to do that kind of thing. You are who you are, and that's who you should be, but there's no need to advertise it to the whole world if you don't need to."

"I guess not."

"Are you sure you're okay? You're usually more talkative than this."

"I don't know."

"You can take the nipple clamps off if you want."

"That's a good idea. Thanks."

"If they're bothering you, you don't need to have them on."

"That's not it."

"You can tell me. I'm listening. I'm not going anywhere. Not anytime soon, that is."

"I've just been thinking a little. Asking myself stuff. Like maybe there's something we can do to shake things up a little."

"What brought this on?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure. I'm just thinking that maybe we need a change, is all."

"Like how? Like what?"

"Maybe we need a little more balance in our lives."

"More S and less M?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Less B and more D?"

"Be serious for a minute."

"I'm trying to be. I don't know what you mean, though. Balance what against what?"

"Maybe that's not the best word."

"Then what do you mean? Are you... wait, I know what this is about."

"I'm pretty sure you don't, since I haven't told you."

"We have a deal. Every other Wednesday. No more than that. I'm not changing that up."

"That's not what's bothering me."

"You don't understand. I have to go to work. I have to sit down. I get sore when we do that."

"That's not it."

"I am not saying I don't enjoy it. I know you enjoy it. But we just can't do it more often than that. If that's what you want, maybe you can find someone else."

"That's not what I mean. At all. Can you just listen to me for a little while?"

"I'm sorry. That didn't come out right."

"It's okay."

"No, it isn't. I don't want to be with anyone else but you, and I don't want you to go looking for anyone else, either. I didn't mean it that way."

"I understand. It's not a problem. I just want you to hear me out for a minute."

"Go ahead. It's not like I'm going anywhere."

"Funny."

"Just tell me what you're going to tell me, already."

"Here's the thing. You go to work in the morning, I go to work in the morning, we both come home, we eat dinner, and then we take our clothes off and come in here, and that's the evening."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. It's usually a good thing. Sometimes it's a very good thing."

"Well, sure, but it's getting to the point where it's kind of... I don't know, exclusive or something."

"Exclusive."

"Maybe that's not the right word."

"You want to do a threesome. That's what this is all about."

"Not exclusive that way."

"You could have just said so."

"That's not where I was going with this."

"We've been over this a hundred times. Anyone we bring in here for a threesome, that's going to involve some kind of same-sex contact for one of us."

"I was not asking about a threesome. Swear to God."

"I experimented a little when I was in college, just like lots of people. But at this stage of my life, it's just not something I want to do. It's not exciting. And as much fun as it might be for me to have another set of genitals to play with, I know you're more uncomfortable with the same-sex thing than I would be."

"You're not listening. That's not what I meant by exclusive."

"Then tell me. You're just being mysterious and weird about this. Either tell me what's going on or go get the peanut butter."

"That's it. That's exactly what it is that concerns me."

"The peanut butter?"

"This is what we do. This is all that we do. We don't go out to dinner. We don't go out to movies."

"We do too go out to movies."

"Not movies where people keep their clothes on most of the time. It just feels like everything is centered around this one thing, and maybe that's not how it's supposed to be. Maybe we should, I don't know, kind of diversify. Out of the sack."

"What do you want to do? Go hiking? Join a book club? You think anything like that is going to be more fun than what we do on an average Wednesday night?"

"Maybe not a Wednesday night."

"We like the same things. We share a common interest. That's not weird or strange. It makes our relationship stronger, not weaker."

"I'm not sure about that. I'd like to be, but I'm not sure. Maybe we need to think about branching out a little bit—and I don't mean seeing new people, before you start on that again. Adding a new dimension to our lives together."

"Oh, my God. You want to have kids."

"I wasn't thinking about anything that drastic, but we can talk about it. We never have before, outside of the usual precautions. Would you want to do that?"

"God, no. Is that something you want to do? Have a family?"

"Yes. I mean, at some point. Maybe not right now."

"Definitely not right now."

"But it's not so much about having a family for me as it is sharing intimacy."

"We share intimacy."

"Do we really?"

"I let you do things to me I wouldn't let anyone else do, ever. That's intimacy in my book."

"Physical intimacy, sure."

"Emotional intimacy, too. The whole thing. Letting somebody else see you for who you are. That's intimacy."

"That's not really what I mean, though."

"Then say what you mean. You've been dancing around whatever issue you have. Just come on out and say it. Please."

"I don't think you love me."

"You don't think what?"

"I don't think you love me. Don't get me wrong. I think we have something together. We connect. But whatever we have, it isn't love. It isn't the way two people should feel about each other. There's no caring. There's no encouraging. There's no nurturing. There's no growth."

"How dare you sit there and say that to me. I love you. I care for you. I nurture you."

"You have sex with me."

"In a loving, caring, nurturing way."

"You like tying me up and dripping candle wax on me. That's not the most loving, caring, nurturing thing ever."

"I love you. I thought you loved me. Now I don't know what to think."

"It's not about thinking. It's about feeling. I feel that you don't care about me—how I feel, what I think, what I want out of life. And what I want out of life isn't just what we do in bed. It can't be just that. It needs to be more than that."

"What else do you want? What else do you want me to do? Tell me, for God's sake."

"It's not just what you do or don't do. It's who you are."

"You know who I am."

"I do. I know how shallow you can be. I know how selfish you are sometimes."

"I can't believe you're saying this."

"I know you don't take things seriously. I know you don't take me seriously. And until you can show me you're interested in changing any of that, I don't know where we go in this relationship."

"You're calling me selfish. You're saying that about me. That's incredible. Do you have any idea how selfish you are? Do you have any idea what I put up with?"

"That's what I'm saying. It's never about you. It's always about me. Or if it's about you, it's about how badly I supposedly treat you. You never admit when you're wrong, not once."

"I can think of a few things I was wrong about right now."

"So you admit it. You don't love me. Maybe you never did. Maybe we've just been using each other all this time. Maybe this was just a horrible mistake that we've both made."

"Peppermint."

"Do what?"

"You heard me. Peppermint."

"That's... oh. The safe word."

"That's the word that tells you to quit what you're doing. That's the word that tells you to turn me loose."

"Oh. Sorry. Just a second. There you go. Better?"

"No. Because it's not just that. Peppermint is the word that tells you to stop hurting me. You understand? Peppermint."

"Peppermint. Right."

"Peppermint."

# Submission Guidelines for _The Coconut Wheel: A Literary Exploration of Candy Crush Saga_

_Who are you?_

We're you. That is to say, we're you if you've ever gotten stuck on Level 33 for a month. We're you if you've ever run out of lives at three o'clock in the morning. We're you if you've ever actively tried to play Candy Crush Saga while diapering a baby. We know. We understand. And we think there's a literary dimension to what you're going through.

_What is your philosophy?_

We believe literature is about desire and achievement. Candy Crush Saga is no different. Hemingway said the things we want are like cards. We know the things we want sometimes can be like having a blue candy drop in just the right place so you can use it to help swap out a color bomb with a striped candy. Desiring the things we want is the engine that drives the narrative forward to reach the summit of achievement. Our goal at _The Coconut Wheel_ is to gather these stories, within the context of Candy Crush Saga, and present them to the world at large.

_What are you looking for?_

We're primarily looking for short stories in the flash fiction range (about 1000-2000 words in length). We will be happy to consider longer pieces, assuming you have the necessary attention span to complete them. We will not consider novella-length pieces, as we no longer have the necessary attention span to read them.

_What aren't you interested in?_

We are not actively seeking poetry, dream journals, or screenplays where Liam Neeson uses a particular set of skills to crush through a wall of meringues. We will not consider erotica because we personally think combining Candy Crush Saga with sex diminishes the pleasure involved. However, we will carefully consider slash fiction involving striped candies and wrapped candies.

_What about non-fiction?_

We are only looking for fiction at this point. We are not interested in non-fiction pieces, such as tips, tricks or strategy guides, unless you know something about Level 311 that we don't already. We are also not interested in articles focusing on ways to pick up women using Candy Crush Saga, because that would be sexist and misogynist, and anyway it doesn't work.

_What themes are you focusing on?_

There are many classic themes in literary fiction for talented writers to explore, such as the loss of innocence, the tension between man and his place in the natural world, and the conflict between the need for parental approval and the need to make one's own way in the world. None of these things have anything to do with Candy Crush Saga. We are looking for themes related to addiction, conflicts with spouses who don't play Candy Crush Saga and don't understand why you just paid two dollars for a Lollipop Hammer, and addiction.

_How do I submit my story?_

_The Coconut Wheel_ __ is one of the first literary journals to use Facebook for the submissions process. Just "like" us on Facebook and then send your story as a Facebook message. Oh, and please send us an extra life along with your story.

_When will my story be published?_

Right away. We're not picky. If you send us the extra life, we'll put it right up. We reserve the right to check for spelling errors, of course. And, like most small up-and-coming online literary journals devoted to casual gaming, we of course aren't able to pay our contributors anything. But if you could just send us that extra life, that would be great. And three more moves, if you have them to spare.

_This sounds sort of, you know, like a scheme to get free lives from strangers._

We're just trying to share great literary stories related to Candy Crush Saga. The addictive nature of the game is not under our control. If you're questioning our need for more lives, what you're really doing is questioning the fundamental structure of the game. You're questioning whether it's right or wrong to intentionally set up a game which is so addictive and difficult that it requires the occasional financial contribution in order to play it properly. And that's not a conversation we feel comfortable having. Just write us a story and send us those three moves and that extra life already. Thanks!

# There Is No Reason For You To Get That Upset

First of all, calm down. All right, sweetie? Breathe.

There is no need to scream like that. Remember, when you were little, and I told you to use your inside voice? Breathe. In. Out. Like that.

I guess you were down in the basement, am I right? I could tell from all the echoes. You must have been really scared. I heard you all the way from upstairs.

I am so sorry. I did not mean to startle you like that. I was planning on having your father help me bring all that stuff into the dining room next weekend. I guess it makes more of an impression downstairs, in the dark. I wasn't trying to scare you, really.

If you give me a second, I can explain. It's just a little art project.

Yes. I made that. And don't look at me that way. The whole thing is going to be adorable, once it's finished. You know how the K-Mart on 206 closed? I went over there a couple of times. I got a lot of stuff–crayons and construction paper, for when there are grandkids visiting. Not that I'm putting any pressure on you, sweetie, or anything, but they were 80% off and we'll get some use out of them one day. I just remember how you loved doing crafts when you were little. That's probably why I was thinking along those lines.

Anyway, there was this nice man who was carting away all of these mannequins. He was going to throw them in the landfill, can you believe that? I brought them home with me and I was putting them in the basement. And then I came across that box with all your old Halloween costumes in them.

Right. That's the project. I took all your old Halloween costumes and dressed the mannequins up in them. Kind of like, I don't know, a tribute to your wonder years. I mean, you're in college and all, and your father is out on the golf course all day, so I decided to do a little art project, that's all.

If you want to go down there again, we can turn on all the lights and maybe you can get a better look at it.

All right, all right. Calm down. Give yourself a minute.

I spent a lot of time working on this project. It's the details that really made it fun for me. Like how the mannequin from when you were sixteen and wore that Wonder Woman costume has its hand on the shoulder of the mannequin from when you were eight and wore that other Wonder Woman costume. I even went back and looked at the pictures and got the same shade of polish for the mannequin hands, because I wanted it to look as close as possible to the real you.

The problem, of course, is that the mannequins aren't all perfect representations. I had to really pad that Raggedy Ann costume, because you were kind of chubby when you were six. That one was tough, too, because I had to paint the mannequin's face to get the red dots you had on your cheek. And did you notice that the one of you as Princess Leia the slave girl is pushing the stroller with the one of you as an Ewok from when you were one?

Of course I saved all your Halloween costumes. What kind of mother doesn't do that? They were all so adorable. Even when you were a witch all that time after those Harry Potter books came out, you were still an adorable witch. I even found a little cauldron that all the mannequin witches can stand around. I was thinking we could put some cider in there, for the parents of the trick-or-treaters.

I just can't believe you were startled that badly by it. It's not meant to be scary at all. It just shows how much you've grown since you were little.

The nurse costume? From last year? No, that's not a replica. That's the one you wore. I got it from Andrew. He said one of his fraternity brothers got hold of it. That must have been some Halloween party you were at! It was a good thing I had that one really slender mannequin, because that was a very tight costume, for you, anyway.

So, as I was saying, Andrew found it. Since you stopped returning his phone calls, he sent me a message on Facebook and asked if you wanted it back, and I told him to go ahead and put it in the mail. He's a very nice boy, that Andrew.

Sweetie, if you keep screaming at me like that, you are going to give me a migraine headache. For God's sake, it's just an art project. Calm down already.

# Twenty-One

"That's gross."

"What's gross?"

"What you're doing to that poor sandwich."

I'd opened a little can of sliced mushrooms and was arranging them on the bottom half of a long torpedo roll.

"That's how it's made," I explained.

"That's not how anything is made. That's how something is ruined. Mushrooms don't go with mayonnaise."

"That's not mayonnaise."

"God, you're right. What is that?"

"It's what makes it good."

"Please tell me you're not putting cream cheese on a sandwich."

"Ham and pastrami and Swiss with cream cheese and mushrooms." I layered the cold cuts on top of the mushrooms and put on the cheese and the top of the roll.

"You're going to eat that."

"I'm going to toast it first. Do we have any chips?"

"I thought the pimento cheese thing was weird. But at least that had mayonnaise, you know, something that a normal person would put on a sandwich."

I opened the door of the toaster oven. The sandwich would just fit. I set the dial for what I thought was two minutes. "I know it's unusual, but this is a real thing. The sandwich place where I grew up had this—they called it the blackjack."

"You would voluntarily order a sandwich that had cream cheese on it? Where did you grow up, anyway?"

"First of all, you know where I grew up; we were just there over Christmas. Second, if you went to the bagel place, they would make you a salmon sandwich with cream cheese if you asked for it. It's not that uncommon."

"You can put cream cheese on a bagel. That's not the same thing."

"They're all carbohydrates. You never answered me about the chips."

"Look on top of the paper towels in the pantry. There should be half a thing of those barbecue popped chips."

I rooted around and found the chips, and grabbed a bottle of Shiner Bock from the case on the floor of the pantry. I put the warm beer in the fridge and got out a cold bottle, and transferred the chips and the beer to the table. When the alarm on the toaster oven dinged, I got the sandwich out and put it on a paper plate.

"Can you hand me a knife?" I asked.

"Sure." She got a steak knife out of the drawer and handed it to me, hilt end first, the way you're supposed to, and then went back to the microwave to get her soup.

I halved the sandwich, taking care not to cut the paper plate underneath. The cheese had just started to melt. A rogue mushroom slice had escaped off the back end, so I ate it while I waited for the sandwich to cool.

She walked over to the table, holding her soup bowl by the edges. "You are going to eat that, right? I understand if you don't want it, but I'd hate to see you waste food."

I took a bite because I didn't want to answer her. The sandwich was still a little hot and I would have burned the top of my mouth if I hadn't taken a quick swig of beer.

"At least it's hot," she said.

"Will you quit giving me grief about the sandwich?"

She looked contrite, but just a little.

"How is it, then?"

"It's okay."

"Just okay?"

"Yeah."

"It's not wonderful?"

"It's a sandwich."

"It's the sandwich that you made, that you wanted, that you picked out over every other sandwich in the world. If you're going to make a sandwich and put that much effort into it, it needs to be the best sandwich there is."

"I guess."

"Which that one is not, because it has cream cheese and canned mushrooms on it."

"Stop it."

"Sorry."

"You want to know what the deal is?"

"I'm okay changing the subject at this point."

"Here's the thing. I haven't had one of these in ten years, since I left Arlington. Living up here, if I want it, I have to make it. And it's never as good. Whatever it is, whether it's barbecue or Mexican food or you name it."

"You moved up here, as I recall. Nobody made you."

"It's not that. I'm not complaining about moving. We live here now and that's fine. Pizza's better here, for one thing."

"And the Chinese food."

"Whatever. Here's the thing. I don't know that this is an actual blackjack sandwich."

"I don't get it."

"I think I know how to make this. But it doesn't taste right. It doesn't taste the way it should, and I don't know why. I know the cream cheese, and the mushrooms, and the ham, but I don't remember if it was corned beef or pastrami. I don't know if this is the right kind of bread. I never paid attention to how long they put it in the toaster, or anything. I just walked in the door and ordered a number twenty-one and that was all I had to do."

"Oh, that explains it."

"What?"

"Number twenty-one. Blackjack."

"I never realized that."

"Well, then. You learned something."

"That just goes to show. I should have been paying more attention. I should have thought about what I was ordering so I could make it later if I needed to. I should have thought more about what I was doing."

She ate a spoonful of soup. "It's just a sandwich. It's not that big of a deal. So it's not the way you remember. Just enjoy it for what it is."

"That's not what bothers me."

"So what bothers you?"

"What am I not paying enough attention to today that's going to affect my life ten years from now?"

"Me."

I looked up, and she was smiling that smile, the smile I had fallen in love with, the smile I hadn't seen in weeks.

"You're right," I said.

"Of course I'm right. Finish your sandwich."

# Welcome to Flavortown!

Hi! My name is Joel, and I'll be taking care of you during your visit to Flavortown. I hope you came hungry.

Here in Flavortown, we've got plenty of places to eat, and places to drink, and places to eat and drink at the same time. And they're all awesome. I mean, we really shred it when it comes to food here in Flavortown. We don't have much in the way of music or literature, mind you, but we've got everything else you'd want. The only thing we don't have here is Baskin-Robbins. You know why? Because they only have thirty-one flavors, that's why. That's not how we roll in Flavortown, hoss.

We're right in the center of town, at the corner of Chestnut Chili Ginger Lime Street, and Maple Cream Honey Caramel Boulevard. The Cilantro Corridor runs just north of here, and if you keep going you'll hit the Herbal District, between Savory-Sage Street and Rosemary-Thyme Avenue. If you go the other direction, you'll hit the Spice Center and Habanero Plaza. That can be kind of a rough neighborhood.

Our special today is the garlic-prune-ginger duck confit. That's served with a little bit of truffle dust on top, and some tangerine zest, and a pine-nut and cucumber chutney, and you've got yourself what I think is a goddamned collision of savory and sweet.

What'll you have to drink? Jamaican jerk mango iced tea? Pineapple melon tequila lemonade? Vanilla nutmeg hibiscus cola? We make our cola from cane sugar, you know. No high-fructose corn syrup in that sucker. If you want water, we have maraschino cherry water, infused with ground Sumatran pepper, or Thai-chili water with star anise and a slice of kiwi.

Look, I understand. This is your first trip to Flavortown. It can be a little overwhelming at times. I remember the first time I came here. I ordered a hot dog. They gave me a chicken Andouille sausage, marinated in ginger-soy sauce, on a sesame-caraway roll with Dijon mustard, celery salt, and a banana-pepper chipotle slaw. You want to talk about an intense experience, I mean, that was it. It was like zip-lining down a mountain with your hair on fire.

People say, oh, well, those guys over in Flavortown, they just jumble up a lot of different kinds of flavors together and don't really care whether it tastes good or not. There's a science to it, though. Take the bread here on the table. Okay, this is a sourdough rye bread with a cream-cheese raisin spread with a little bit of balsamic vinegar. The bread itself is fermented, so that gets you the umami going right there. There's salt in the bread, too, and the crust is browned, so you get a little bit of caramelization. The rye is a little bit bitter, and the raisins in the spread even that out with more sweetness. And the vinegar gets you the sour component. Salty, sour, sweet, bitter, umami, and it all goddamned explodes in your mouth. That's the Flavortown way.

Do you have any questions about the menu? Since this is your first time, you might want to try a burger. It's the best way to customize your own personal flavor profile. Don't order the bison burger, though, it's overpriced for what you get. My recommendation would be the sriracha-horseradish mayo, on a sesame-rosemary bun with heirloom tomatoes. You know, something simple. That comes with hand-cut Cajun fries with saffron-curry ketchup.

I'm sorry. Really. I know. I'm talking too much. It's just that I'm so enthusiastic about being here in Flavortown. I know we get a bad rap sometimes. The food critics have been awful. There was that place not too far from here–you know the one I'm talking about? Over in the Cobbler District. They were doing some amazing things with seafood desserts. They had this anchovy-mussel spread that they infused with lemon curd and served on pound cake. It was spectacular. But the critic didn't order that. He got the vinegar-cured Chilean sea bass with blackberry-walnut crust, which wouldn't have been too bad if they didn't slather it with marshmallow fluff. Well, of course, if you're going to take a big risk like that, you're going to run into trouble. That place closed down, but we're still here, and we've got a Parmesan-peppercorn grilled shrimp kabob with a blueberry-almond marinade. That'll knock your goddamned eyes out.

You want the steak? Hot damn. We marinate that sucker in a strawberry-malt vinegar and cook it over artisanal charcoal sprinkled with Old Bay. Then we put a wasabi-Provolone crust with it, and serve it with the sautéed mushrooms with the paprika-mustard sauce. I mean, you came all the way to Flavortown, you might as well live it up a little, am I right? YOLO and all that good stuff.

No, we don't have Heinz 57 sauce. That goes against everything we believe in Flavortown. The flavor profile is designed to bring out the real taste of the meat, not substitute it for some corporate version of spicy ketchup. No offense. The best thing I can do for you is to serve it without the crust–which I hate doing, you know–and maybe put a little glaze on it. Plum-hoisin, something like that, with a little Worcestershire to give you the similar kind of flavor. Does that sound OK?

And what do you want on your salad?

Ranch?

Seriously? You drive all the way out to Flavortown, and you ask for ranch dressing? What the hell is wrong with you?

Get out. Go back to your bland, boring life, and your inadequate palate. We don't want your kind here in Flavortown.

# What I Plan To Say In Case I Run Into Any Celebrities When I Am In Southern California Next Month

Jim Carrey

So, I guess there's not going to be any more Lemony Snicket movies, then, eh? No, I'm not blaming you. It wasn't your fault. Not really. I mean, maybe a little.

Bar Rafaeli

Did you ever see that one episode of "Seinfeld," where they talked about that list of people you could sleep with and your spouse couldn't hold it against you?

Justin Bieber

My kids don't know who you are, and I'd like to keep it that way as long as possible, bucco.

Eric Bana

I really, really liked you as the Hulk. Much better than anyone else who's played the character.

Christoph Weitz

So, you're in charge of security for this little theater in Paris, where Hitler and Goebbels are going to be, and you don't notice the huge big pile of highly flammable film stock behind the screen?

Edward Norton

Just between you and me, I thought you were the best of the recent Hulks. I thought you really captured the spirit of scientific inquiry.

Brooklyn Decker

Did you ever see that one episode of "Seinfeld," where they talked about that list of people you could sleep with and your spouse couldn't hold it against you?

Kevin Bacon

You don't know me, but I once met Charlton Heston at this Republican fund-raiser, and he was in "Midway" with Robert Wagner, who was in "Wild Things" with you. Great flick, by the way.

Quentin Tarantino

Really? Hans Landa doesn't notice that huge big pile of flammable film stock in a huge pile behind the screen?

Adam Sandler

All I'm saying is, do one more movie like "Punch-Drunk Love," and I'll forgive you if you do a "Waterboy" sequel.

Brad Pitt

Okay, I figure you would know this one. There's a Chanel Number Five, right? So what happened to Chanel Number Four?

Tom Hanks

All I'm saying is that there's no way that a Nazi colonel in charge of security for Hitler visiting Paris would miss a great big huge pile of flammable film behind the screen. He'd have to be an idiot.

Mark Ruffalo

No doubt, man. Best Hulk ever. You nailed it. Congratulations.

Kate Upton

Hi. Um, well. Hi. I just think that... wow, this is awkward. Hi.

# What Does Your Flying Car Say About You?

2048 Chevrolet Dymaxion HC

You know how to hack the software in your food replicator to copy the code from the chocolate chip cookie recipe to make chocolate chip waffles.

2045 Ford F-190

You have exceeded maximum altitude tolerance while your truck was loaded with a half-ton of plascrete, just to see if you could.

2049 Tesla Aviator

You have a bumper sticker that says "My Other Car Is A Re-Entry Vehicle."

2051 BMW 990i

You know how to do an Immelmann turn, but you've only done it once, on the aerobahn.

2050 Mini Airman

You have maxed out the space in your on-board musical library, but the song that you've played most is the MP9 of "Flight of the Bumblebee."

2050 Volkswagen Twin-Jetta

You have had to change apartments due to a romantic falling-out with a robot.

2049 Honda Mach V

You have used the hover feature to help dislodge a stuck Frisbee from the roof of your house.

2047 AMC Skyduster

You have made an emergency landing in an alfalfa field, more than once.

2050 GMC Canyonero XL

You have spent at least one Saturday orbiting the field at your daughter's soccer game while relaying observations down to the coach of her team.

2051 Dodge Grand Aerovan

You have told your wife that you were taking your van in for aileron service while you were actually visiting a chromosomal reuptake clinic to rewrite the parameters on your male pattern baldness gene.

2053 Mazda FC-19 Rotary

You have tried to drag-race a Cessna, and lost.

2049 Audi F7

You have tweaked your on-board voice navigation system so it sounds like a German WWI fighter ace.

2051 DeLorean Gullwing Classic

You have vowed to punch the next smart-ass who asks you where the flux capacitor is.

# Yankees Broadcaster Michael Kay Would Kindly Like You to Stop Overusing His Home Run Call

First thing I have to say, you know, is that I understand I really have nothing to complain about. Being the announcer for the New York Yankees, I mean, how could you ask for a better job than that? The history, the tradition, the pinstripes, the twenty-six world championships. There's nothing like being part of the greatest team of all time in professional sports. And the people I've been privileged to know in the organization, from Mr. Steinbrenner all down, Mr. Cashman, all the great people at the YES Network, you could not ask for better, classier people to work with. And now that we've moved across the street into the new House in the Bronx, it's just that much better. If you haven't been there – and I know a lot of you haven't been, yet – it's just mind-blowing. The concourses are so much wider. The new steakhouse, which is just incredible, and the new Mohegan Sun sports bar. And they've kept so much of what made the old Yankee Stadium such a great place, too. It's really a testament to Mr. Steinbrenner's vision.

What was I talking about? Oh, yeah, the whole "See-ya!" thing.

I gotta tell you, I love making that call. It's the best part of my job. Late innings, the Bombers are down, and Jeter or Damon or Posada come through in the clutch with a home run, well, there isn't anything more exciting in sports than that. And I get to punctuate that great moment by saying "See-ya!" over the YES Network, broadcasting to millions of Yankees fans in the tri-state Ford area – well, that's an incredible feeling, I don't mind telling you.

But even better than that is when I'm out on the streets of the City, and Yankees fans come up to me and say hello, and then when they say "See-ya!" when I'm walking away – well, that just gives me chills. Because that means they're out there, listening, and that means a lot to me. And of course, they always want me to say "See-ya!" back to them, which of course I don't do, because it's kind of a strain on the old pipes to give out the home run call all the time. That's a little disappointing for them, and I recognize that. But that's not really the problem.

Let me kind of illustrate what I'm talking about. The other day, the Bombers are in Baltimore, taking on the O's, and it's a day game, so I go out to a nice place in the Inner Harbor to get dinner. And I'm there by myself. Which is no big deal. I usually go out with my YES Network broadcast partner, Ken Singleton, but of course he had a great career in Baltimore, and when we go back, it's like Old Home Week for him, so he ended up going out with Boog Powell and some other old Orioles, and I wasn't invited for some reason. Same thing used to happen with Kitty up in Minnesota, so I'm kind of used to it. Come to think of it, Cone does the same thing in Kansas City. Anyway.

So I went to this seafood place. And the waiter comes over, and I ordered a Miller Lite and some chowder. And he says, "See-ya later!"

First of all, it's not "See-ya later!" It's just plain "See-ya!" That's irritating. But I didn't think it was meant in a mean way, so I shrugged it off. He came back with the beer and the chowder, and it was Manhattan chowder, so I sent it back, because I can't risk all that spicy tomato sauce somehow messing up the old instrument. I had some really hot salsa once in Arlington, and my throat was so irritated I almost couldn't finish the road trip, but that's beside the point. So I asked him to send it back, and he said sure, and then he said "See-ya!" I sort of smiled at him, because at least this time he got it right.

So he brought the right chowder back, and then he did it again with the "See-ya!" Only this time, half the other waiters were watching him do it, and when he did, they all started cracking up. That's disrespectful, if you ask me. I know there's a lot of resentment of Yankees fans in Baltimore – after all, we outdraw them in their own stadium nearly every game – but there's no need for that kind of treatment.

I finished my chowder, which wasn't half bad – they had the oyster crackers and the saltines with it, which is nice, you usually just get one or the other. And the waiter guy brings me my crab cakes, which are always great in Baltimore. And I look up at him, and this time the entire wait staff is looking at him, and he does it again. "See-ya!" And everybody in the restaurant starts breaking out laughing. And I don't see why, because it isn't funny or anything. Well, eventually, the manager came over and apologized, and offered me a free dessert, which I had to turn down because I'm starting to maybe get a little tubby, you know.

That's the kind of thing that I'm talking about. You see me out on the street, and greet me with a nice "See-ya!" – that's a nice thing for me. All I'm asking is that people not overuse it. That, and come out and see the new House in the Bronx. You'd be surprised at how affordable the tickets are – the sightlines in the upper deck over by the left-field foul pole are amazing. Like I said, it's a real testament to Mr. Steinbrenner's vision.

# You Should Try At Least One Wasabi Peanut

Yeah, those little green balls, look like peanut M&Ms. But they're not. I mean, they're peanut, but they're not chocolate. I don't want to mislead you about that. They're so not chocolate.

Wasabi. It's Japanese. I mean, the peanuts are American – I think they're American, I don't know where else they grow peanuts. But the wasabi is Japanese. It's like fusion or something.

I know you don't like Japanese food, but this is really good. Besides, just because it's Japanese doesn't mean you shouldn't try it, at least. Remember when I got you to try Sudoku? That was Japanese. And you play that every day.

I know Sudoku isn't a type of food, I'm just making a comparison.

Wasabi? It's not – it's not anything really exotic. It's just the Japanese word for horseradish.

Yeah, horseradish. Horseradish isn't bad. You eat horseradish. Yes, you do. I've seen you. Cocktail sauce? What do you think is in cocktail sauce? Horseradish, that's what. Look at the ingredients. You eat cocktail sauce, that's not any worse than a delicious wasabi peanut.

I know you don't like hot and spicy food. But it's just horseradish. It's not that spicy. It's mild. It'll just clean out your sinuses a little, that's all.

I'm not saying to eat like six of them at a time. Because that would be abusive. I mean, yeah, there was that time I ate half a package watching the Steelers-Titans game, and you kept asking me why I was crying. That was the wasabi. But you can just try one; it won't hurt you.

No. This is not at all like the time I got you to try that hot Vietnamese rooster sauce. That was a prank. And no, it wasn't very nice. And I am sorry about that. I said so at the time. This is not anything like that. Or the time I got you to eat that dried pepper in my kung pao. I mean, it was funny. I know you didn't think it was funny at the time, and you threw that egg roll at me, but we can look back on that now and laugh. Right?

Sweetie, I am not trying to get you to eat anything bad. It's just one wasabi peanut. And they're really good. The shell is really crunchy, and then you bite into it, and you get the peanut and the horseradish, and it's a very strong, very complicated flavor.

Just try one.

You might like it. You don't know.

I'm not saying dip it in Tabasco sauce and roll it in cayenne pepper. Just taste it. For me.

You just said a minute ago you wanted a snack.

Okay, that's how you feel. I think there are some yogurt pretzels in the pantry. Nice, bland, safe tasteless yogurt pretzels. If you don't want to try something new, that's fine.

Come on. Just one.

# About The Author

Curtis Edmonds is the author of the novels A CIRCLE OF FIRELIGHT, RAIN ON YOUR WEDDING DAY and WREATHED. He is a former member of the Dr Pepper Junior Texas Rangers Club. He currently lives in central New Jersey with his wife and twin daughters who are both going to need braces at the same time, not to mention going to college at the same time, and you need to save up for stuff like that, so, you know, you might want to take that into account in terms of your next book purchase.

His work has appeared in _McSweeney's Internet Tendency_ , _The Big Jewel_ , _Yankee Pot Roast_ , _Untoward Magazine_ , _Thickjam_ , and the _Tulane Maritime Law Journal._ He is a regular contributor of book reviews to the _Bookreporter_ website.

# Acknowledgements

This short story collection would, literally, not be possible if it were not for the hard work of a variety of different editors. That is a nice way of saying that the vast majority of these pieces got rejected by one or more different journals. I am not unhappy about this. You can't win 'em all, and I've been successful in getting a decent number of pieces published. It is always a pleasure to work with great editors like Christopher Monks, Matt Rowan, Kurt Luchs, David Bernstein, Nathaniel Tower, and Ben Greenman. (At least I _think_ that Ben Greenman is reading the stuff that I send to the _New Yorker_. I don't _know_ that, and it kind of makes me edgy, especially as I just want to get _one_ piece in "Shouts and Murmurs" before I die.) I am grateful to each of them.

Otherwise—and I have to be honest here—I don't have a lot of people to, you know, _thank_ for this one. I selected the stories. I did the tiny amount of editing that needed to be done. I did the cover design. I did the Kindle layout. I uploaded it. I do self-publishing, but I usually have people helping, and I didn't this time. This is all me. Yay, me.

So the only people left to thank are the readers. Thank you, readers. Thank you so much. If you paid for this book, thank you even more. (If you downloaded it for free, that's okay, too. I still love you.) If you get a chance, and have the money, feel free to buy one of my other books, which are better than this, although less funny.

Thank you, and don't be afraid to try the occasional wasabi peanut.

# Brief Notes on the 2019 Edition

So this is what happened.

Back in 2015, I was interviewing for a job with the county government of the small New Jersey town where I live. I completely aced the first interview, did very well on the second interview, and they brought me in for a by-God third interview. And the guy for the third interview looked at my resume and saw that I had worked for George W. Bush when he was Governor of Texas. For some deeply weird and paranoid reason, he thought I had a twisted and dark master plan to take this job and then leave as soon as I was able to get a job at the White House. Setting aside the fact that, you know, _literally anybody in any sort of job anywhere would leave their current job to take a job at the White House if one were offered_ , he decided not to hire me.

So I sort of overreacted.

What I did was to take everything off of my personal website that wasn't specifically job-search related. That included a lot of orphaned short stories that hadn't had a home somewhere else. I hated to lose them forever, so I zapped them into the Kindle file that you have now in your hands. And (takes deep breath) I never sold a single damn copy, not after the first week.

So why do a 2019 edition?

I am not really sure. I had to update it to add in a new link to a new book, and I had a number of new short stories that were also orphans (I'd tried starting my own humor magazine, and that failed worse than probably anything else I'd ever done), and it took maybe an hour to upload them, so that's easy enough.

So there you have it.

