The Toaster

Jimmy dreamt he was a toaster that never actually held toast. The toaster was a modest, two-piece model and the owner, whom Jimmy imagined was a mean old man named Zagreb, just clicked it down and stared blankly until it popped, ejecting nothing but air. He did this over and over until the toaster broke, at which point he brought it back to the store looking for a refund. But a decade had passed and the store refused Zagreb's request.

Cold KFC

The megalomaniacs were swarming outside my house with buckets of chicken wings. Before one could throw nary a wimpy wing I gunned them down with a metric ton of silly string. It was dead of winter and too cold for cops to come clean up the mess. So their bodies decomposed. They became beautiful hippy flowers in the spring. I let my dog piss on them and they died. Lucky the cops didn't swing by. I woulda killed them too. Everything dies.

The Feeling

I am at my childhood home. Earlier, there was a strange planning session or class with many familiar faces. People from high school, many whom I hated. I can't necessarily recall if they had aged well, or aged at all. Probably, it feels like, they hadn't. We were all sitting in a crowded room, a classroom. The desks were in a circle. When the bell rang (or the equivalent––I can't actually recall hearing a bell ring), everyone tried to grab their backpack and coats in a mad scramble. I purposely pushed off to a corner and let the swarm do its thing, not wanting to get caught in that craziness.

And now I am at this house, my childhood home. I myself do not feel like a teenager. I am wondering aimlessly downstairs. I feel hungry and afraid and nervous. For some reason I do not have any pants on. I am looking for my pants. I know that my girlfriend and my dog are asleep upstairs, possibly in my old room.

I want to find my pants and then go out the front door. I have this terrible feeling that I should just run away and leave everything and everyone behind. I am scared that going outside will wake up my dog. I don't think I will ever find my pants.

Trigger McTalon

Trigger McTalon visited every town in the United States of America. In each town he found a forest or forest-like area and erected a 17-inch statue of Trigger McTalon. He didn't actually erect anything, though, since the statues were just whittled tree stumps.

He took a picture of each statue with his iPhone.

He printed a copy of the picture with his portable Photo Cube™.

He framed the picture and added the inscription: "This is a statue. It exists in your woods. It is also a tree. Chop it down and take a picture of yourself holding it. Email the picture to and I will pay you $1."

Then he hung the frame in the men's bathroom of one of the town's fast food restaurants. If the town didn't have a fast food restaurant, he lived in the town until it did.

Trigger McTalon is very old and very rich.

The Cobra Hobos

The guy who died was in a secret band called The Cobra Hobos who were better than all his public bands combined. His will stipulated that the master tapes of their discography (almost 300 albums in digital form, ~50GB) were to be given to the first guy in the phonebook who was home. And so that's how Jessie Aaron, 76 years old, came to be holding an external hard drive in his driveway. It was the first one he'd ever seen let alone held; he didn't own a computer. He stared at it for a long time. He called his son and left a voice message. His son, a successful lawyer, forgot to call him back. Jessie put the external hard drive in a tin box by his refrigerator and waited to tell his son the news.


A boy named Trifle put all his negative energy inside a box then he put the box in a hole in the wall. He spent the better part of five consecutive weekends scouring flea markets and thrift shops looking for the perfect picture to hang over the hole. His negative energy emerged whenever he looked at the hole, which was often because he worked from home and didn't have any friends. It only went away when he looked for a picture to hang.

The Robots

The robots took turns prodding the machine. They were envious of the machine because it was not a robot. It was artificial but not intelligent. It was alive in an oblivious way. Eventually they ate the machine but nobody really ate the machine. Nobody eats anything except electricity. The robots were the machine. The robots walked away from the machine. They walked outside. All the grass was gone. The dirt was concrete. None of the little bugs the robots remembered were alive. Their bug bodies were in a museum some place far away.

Clean Up the Mess

I hoped to god the plastic face I bought at the mall wouldn't melt in the sweltering sunlight. I wanna be a superstar. I was walking home on the shoulder of a highway when a person in a clown suit driving an ice cream truck threw bacon at me. I looked at the bacon on the ground. I didn't want it to go to waste so I ate in on my hands and knees like a pig. It was difficult to eat with my plastic face on. This bacon-eating delay was prophetic. My plastic face melted before I got home. It made a messy plastic face on the pavement. The soaring vultures knew what had to be done and I walked home crying with the knowledge that my $100,000 face would be put back into the earth like everything else.

The iPhone Helicopter Cop Scare

I am in a field that is close to a police station. Possibly I am on the deck (outside dining area) of a fancy restaurant. All of sudden, a helicopter that is like a clown helicopter flies over my head. I am with people who I believe I've just met; they don't seem familiar. The copter is doing something outrageous and all the people outside rush to get a closer/better view. I immediately whip out my iPhone and take a video of the crazy spinning colorful helicopter as it crashes to the ground.

I am in a police station. Apparently someone I was with was connected to the copter crash, or did something unruly post-copter incident, so he/she is now in this funny rural jail. One of the cops or non-cop police station employees figures out that I filmed the helicopter on my iPhone. I am told that I can either delete the video or be placed under arrest. The guy saying this has like olive skin and jet black hair, and is at least one-foot shorter than me. He watches me delete it. I immediately feel horrible about deleting it because A) it was such a cool thing and now I won't be able to share it, post it on the internet, etc. and B) I remember reading on a blog it's well within my rights as a goddam American to be able to film anything I want, including weirdo helicopters tail-spinning to earth outside fancy restaurants. I think I am starting to contort my face into a pout.


There are some things about me becoming a man that you might not like. For instance, I still have this coat. How much of a man can I be with this coat? Not a full man, no. And shaving. So let's shave? You will help, I hope. Thank you. We can go into the bathroom: shave and get clean. When we are done, you will take me out? Out into the world, yes. I won't be too cold without my coat. I don't feel the cold in that way. If I put the coat on by mistake, well, we'll just shave it off. Does that sound right?