Pressure, Andy
“Just fucking do it already!” Andy nodded, observing
the door frame. Celtic knots swirled its perimeter.
“I don’t even know this man; he doesn't deserve this,” he
thought, slowly lowering the lighter as the bag caught fire.
"You can have this back," she says, absently scrubbing dirt on my jeans. Smoke pours onto the field.
God on the "Irresistible Pizza" Argument
Well, I don't want to resist it. I want to eat it. On one hand, I could resist it and win this argument, since my self control is vast and unending. In doing so, I would be proving to you that I could make a pizza only I could resist. On the other hand, I could eat it because it looks amazing and I want to eat it. Eating it would prove you right but I guess I don't really care because I'm God and look at how amazing this pizza is! So I'm going to go ahead and eat it. Oh, and you can't have any of, I feel I should remind you is, in fact, the greatest pizza ever previously and ever to be made in existence, ever. So I guess you win by technicality. Oh myself, this pizza is really good. Like, so good. In any case, do you feel better now? You won!
Drugs and Drugs and Drugs
“The scene opens with our heroine taking a shit in an asylum
bathroom,” Erin repeats out loud, scribbling
broken cursive on the stall door. An attendant shifts from foot
to foot by the hand dryers, staring uneasily at the tendrils of rust growing under a group of sinks.
“What’s taking so long?”
“It’s a lot harder being a coke mule than you’d think, after
seeing it in the movies. They make it look so glamorous, all glitter and
sunglasses… feather boas.”
The attendant readjusts the rolled sleeves on her shirt.
“That’s stupid.”
“Well.” Erin's hand hesitates over the toilet paper for a moment before rolling it
downward with a muted click, click, click. “The truth usually is.”