Monthly Archives: January 2016

All Grown Down: Happy Birthday

by Mike Skinner
When I was a younger man, I was dead certain that I was smarter than everyone around me. I was terse and abrasive and short with people that, in hindsight, were probably just trying to talk about their lives because that’s what we all do anyway. We talk about our lives. We talk about our perspectives. We talk about things that infect us with the feels. I would stand proudly atop the cafe tables and shout at strangers and knock over drinks and generally make a tremendous ass of myself while expounding upon the sweaty sermons of my pretense, but I was young so it was still kind of funny. I could still get away with it because it was marginally entertaining to my pals and some girls still thought it was intriguing. I can go back to previous years of journaling and the running theme is more often than not the same. It’s me talking about how ignorant everyone is and if they would just open their eyes to the realities of blah blah blah, Jesus Christ I’m annoyed by myself right now just thinking about it.
Not to say that my ideas were bad, per se. I still

Scabby on Open Carry  

In my line of work, you carry a lot of things. For starters, on any given day I am carrying an entire ecosystem of various microscopic mites and invisible parasites. I’ve carried over 2-dozen babies, and 3-dozen infections, a few of them to full-term. One thing I never forget to carry is my Smith & Wesson Model 29, if you are not familiar with that particular piece; it is the same kind Clint Eastwood used as the Dirty Harry character. I have always been proud of my ‘metal manhood’ or ‘chrome c*ck’, as I like to call it.
Now, if I am going to make the daily rent on my shed behind the empty pool of the half-burned down motel on Agnes, I have to be working those corners, and that means showing some skin. Momma always said to leave a little bit to the imagination, but that was before we had to compete with the high-speed,

Cosby Signs ‘Netflix and Pill’ Contract

by Wil Henneberger
 
Amidst the current rape allegations and related criminal as well as civil lawsuits, funnyman Bill Cosby has managed to secure a lucrative deal with Netflix. The news came last Wednesday from Cosby, at a press conference outside a Massachusetts Courthouse.
“I’m ba-happy zu announce,” the suspected rapist cheerfully informed the press, “that all eight ba-seasons of the Cos-ahz-by Show will now ba-ze availabizle on… the Net-a-flix.”
 It took several days to confirm this news with Netflix, whose CEO Reed Hastings had been in a deep sleep for the better part of the weekend, ever since his meeting with the sexually depraved creator of the most popular show of the late 80’s and early 90’s.
Hastings’ contract lawyers reported that Cosby was set to meet with the internet entrepreneur to discuss a reality-show featuring the current controversy in which Cosby was immersed. However, when the attorneys found Hastings Monday morning he was curled up in the fetal position under a boardroom table, clutching paperwork signed by both Cosby and the Netflix executive.

Wake Up & Digress

by Wil Vent

Finally home after my nearly yearlong federal vacation and I fall right back into the same terrible habits. Too much television; not enough foresight. The only book I’ve read since my return is Face. I’m writing Vent articles 5 hours before print deadline, and enlisting my friends to fill space so I don’t have to -which for this issue means you get a gracious revisiting from the great Mike Skinner, a local writer so talented it almost seems fitting that he has a constant suicidal aura about him.

What is wrong with me?  I thought that after a year of 10pm bedtimes and 6am breakfast calls, I would have been able to at least maintain the appearance of discipline for a month or two before total digression. Sadly, I am already 69% back to my old self. Before you know it, I’ll be asking friends for their ex-wives phone numbers while being overly critical of my beautiful children (beautiful, yet lazy children).

I have been able to stave off a few of my old behaviors. I don’t go out until all hours of the night nearly as much as I used to. That may have something to do with the monitor I have to wear around my ankle for one more month. Another old addiction kicked,

All Grown Down: Happy Birthday

by Mike Skinner

When I was a younger man, I was dead certain that I was smarter than everyone around me. I was terse and abrasive and short with people that, in hindsight, were probably just trying to talk about their lives because that’s what we all do anyway. We talk about our lives. We talk about our perspectives. We talk about things that infect us with the feels. I would stand proudly atop the cafe tables and shout at strangers and knock over drinks and generally make a tremendous ass of myself while expounding upon the sweaty sermons of my pretense, but I was young so it was still kind of funny. I could still get away with it because it was marginally entertaining to my pals and some girls still thought it was intriguing. I can go back to previous years of journaling and the running theme is more often than not the same. It’s me talking about how ignorant everyone is and if they would just open their eyes to the realities of blah blah blah, Jesus Christ I’m annoyed by myself right now just thinking about it.
Not to say that my ideas were bad, per se. I still feel just as strongly about almost every major concept now as I did then. Everything from Religion to Globalization to the inherent value associated with properly designed sandwiches or whether or not one can make love stay, I still feel the same. The difference is that now, I know that my opinion does not matter. It doesn’t matter at all. It affects no one. It changes nothing, and that’s ok. The hardest lesson that I have learned thus far in this the middle of my life, is that I don’t matter. I used to say things like this all the time when I was young. I would say it for effect. I would say it because

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