Whether it Be Curbing or Kerbing, Nothing Vomits Sweeter Than Stolen Beer
Society has been going to hell since the invention of the Good Old Days. Funny thing there–because it’s true and yet there are new Good Old Days rolling out of the Good Old Days Factory constantly. A Paradox, until you remember that New People are being produced at even a greater frequency.
Continue reading “Week 472: Where Have You Gone Darby Crash? Punk Bed Fiasco and Not All That Irritates Makes a Pearl”
“Let’s have intercourse.”
“…excuse me?”
She trailed her fingers over the wooden table. Bought at some drift store a million years ago, for a buck and a half. He still liked it – a memory.
“Listen”, she said, “let’s face it. The marriage is dead. There’s nothing for us to do anymore. Except intercourse.”
Continue reading “After the Fall by Dianne Willems “
“Love is a zero-sum game. Pretty much.”
– Billy Olsen
When Billy Olsen first saw her, he behaved oddly, like a Cubist painting tumbling down a staircase.
It was Tuesday evening. The Parrot Lounge’s sole décor statement was a stuffed parrot in a cage hanging from the ceiling below a light bulb in cigarette smoke. It was not the place to take a date nor find a snug corner to brood in—too much light, too loud, substandard bar food, and flat pitchers of beer.
Continue reading “Out of His League by Gerald Coleman”
The Exchange by Toye EskridgeBattalion after battalion, the towering pines stood rigid, guarding both sides of the blacktop the salesman barreled down in his cream Studebaker. The pointed hood knifed the stifling Southern air.
Continue reading “The Exchange by Toye Eskridge”
I once dated a girl who was a good friend of Baron Pizza King’s daughter and she told me this sad but enlightening tale.
Continue reading “Catty by Ian Douglas Robertson”
Ruth is forty-six, of medium stature, with brown hair and blue eyes. She is a biologist specialising in wolf behaviour. A week ago, she received a scholarship from a private institution to write a book about these animals. Ruth maintains that by means of howling, communication can be established between our species and theirs. Wolves can pass on lessons of cooperation, solidarity and affection. The Secret of the Wolf is the title she intends to give the book. This is why she is living alone in a cabin in the woods. Having gone through two divorces, and having no children or close family, wolves became her only passion; she even confessed to a colleague that she prefers their company to that of humans – “wolves don’t lie,” she said.
Continue reading “The Wolf and the Lamb by João Cerqueira”
This week’s whoever is a long-time friend of the site, with his first piece published in 2019, and he is possibly the most adventurous. When we hit Marco Etheridge with a humungous questionnaire he answered quickly while sitting in the sunshine in very exotic climes Have a look at his back catalogue, he is one of our finest writers. So this is what he had to say:
Continue reading “Sunday Whoever”
Week 471 is the week that was.
And when you think on it, it’s also the week that is.
And as I start to type, then it’s also the week that will be!
Don’t you just hate it when someone hasn’t a clue about their tenses?
I read this week that Mary Poppins has been re-classified due to an obscure reference.
I don’t want to go into this again but I do wonder where this is all going to end?
Actually, I don’t think it will. I reckon all films will soon be classed as unsuitable if any of the characters light up a cigarette.
Continue reading “Week 471 – I Wonder What The Executives Called It? The Fear Should Be After And Falsetto Ain’t For Me.”
The front door is already locked but I find Dan hanging around the tree in the backyard, legs curled up around the topmost branch as if he’s the Cheshire cat or something. No stripes, but the swagger to pass as one, all smug and smiling. Eminently punchable. He gestures at me to come up, casually, the way someone might give orders to a dog. The last time I saw him he owned a slobbery mastiff he would feed Grade A beef to.
Continue reading “Treehouse by Hanwen Zhang”
The thing that you need to understand is, living beings die.
It’s not welcome, yeah. It is not something to look forward to, but it does happen. And, at times, it is kinda funny.
When daddy killed the deer, I found it funny how she toppled over the ground and crumpled on its back. There is something intricately funny about tragedy, seeing something regal just fall and shatter. When, at the end, the sun dies, I think God will also sit back and have a merry little chuckle.
Continue reading “When the Sun Dies by Tathagata Banerjee”
literally stories 