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Artwork: Arty Farty
Let’s never speak of this again.
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Story: Last Night
There’s a little bridge over a little brook surrounded by trees, next to my dad’s apartment. The smallest possible but most convincing piece of nature, at the center of a grove of brutalist concrete buildings.
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Photos: No Time for 21
I just can’t even, but here are some pictures.
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Story: I Froze Up
In which our hero doesn’t meet a girl.
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Story: The Bloated Curmudgeon
One night I decided to sit in the rain and wait for death, but the fat bastard wouldn’t let me.
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Story: On Dating and Sexually Emasculating Bears
The bus was a sea of grey and expressionless faces, contrasted by yellow safety rails, garish advertisements, and a dozen songs playing at once. An overstimulating mess of nothing, like a casino or a carnival, but on the bus not one person present wants the noise.
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Story: Brandi
Brandi. Spelled like that, I’m pretty sure. I remember talking to her on MySpace. She was into the same bands as me, and she was skinny, and she thought I was smart. That was my type when I was 20.
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Story: Crazy Eddie
In which our hero robs a convenience store.
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Journal: Nearly Certain Death
This update may never have been written if not for the brave actions of an unknown tree surgeon.
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Story: My Introduction to Boobies
The first time I saw a boob in person I was twelve. The girl was fourteen or fifteen, and her boobs were probably bigger than my head. I had been trying to get her to take her shirt off for months, and one day I came up with the plan that got the job done.