Micro-Fiction Roundup XXVIII: Serial Killers
June 30, 2010 in Micro-Fiction Roundup
Sometimes—and by sometimes I mean always—quality is more important than quantity. While last week’s The World of Parks theme didn’t yield the mass of fruit that I had hoped, the pulp of the few pieces was indeed juicy. Some themes don’t strike that creative G-Spot in as many of our artists as others do. However, we did meet our quorum of one entry. 75% of the entries were excellent. One was a contemptible excuse to use a photo of an Asian general in the reminder post.
I mean, come on. I hate myself enough as it is. You’d think I’d have cut the cord at the end of last season, when The Boys went driving in fast cars around a track as a present or something and watching this made me want to stick my face in a lawnmower, but no – I came back for some unknown reason and I hate myself even more now. Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I watching this shit?
This is your boyfriend. Your live-in boyfriend who clings to clutter like it’s a life raft. If you need to quote from Dan Savage’s post in The Guardian from oh say May of 2005, you’re in luck, because it’s all there in piles in your living room. Once, when you first moved in together, you found a box next to his desk that contained old love letters, apparently never sent (yes you snooped; that room is communal), and in one he plaintively recounted for a lukewarm girl their sublime night together on a rooftop and the disarming line her arabesqued slipdress made against her summery thighs. You felt bad for snooping, but you felt even worse about that damned dress. You never had a dress like that. You wear jeans and t-shirts, and buy flouncy skirts you never quite get around to wearing, because the Jergens gradual tanning lotion left strange designs on your shins. Does he resent you for this, quietly, and often?
Fox News is coming to Canada…our federal government is moist with anticipation. Fox News North they’re gonna call it. Great. Now millions more little American children will grow up with the certainty that Canada is nothing but North. North…of everything. Even little Alaskan American children will come to believe that Canada is north of them; Sarah Palin is already convinced that’s true.
As I see it there are five options in men’s underwear. Some are better than others but none are a panacea. The first is “Commando” which is no underwear at all. This is obviously the option which restricts the genitalia the least however; it is not without its drawbacks. The lack of an undergarment leaves one exposed to chafing from the seams of the pants and since it does not control movement may lead to an undue amount of adjustment. This option is also the least socially acceptable. Although if no one knows…
