Unless I step into the voting booth on November 4th, close that weird spring-tension curtain, flick down all the little switches, pull the space-shuttle emergency brake lever, cast my votes, and am then sexually gratified by a stars-and-stripes sex toy to the point of experiencing the longest, hardest orgasm of my life—I don’t think I’m going to be satisfied by the results of Election 2008.

As most voting stations around the country cannot be relied upon to properly perform their one and only function—to accurately record and report the number of votes cast for each respective candidate—I suppose I won’t stand around on November 4th with my dress up around my waist, waiting for a full body flush and sweet release. [ . . . ] Continue »

This is not what I expected it to look like. Did you think it would look like this? If we are in the midst of the worst financial crisis since the Great Depression, where are the trashcan fires on street corners? The bricks hurled through plate-glass windows of failed banks? Where is the girl selling pencils and mealy apples between passenger-less taxicabs?

It’s not that I want to see our neighbors evicted (except maybe the Asian chick who orgasms like a whining puppy), but I wouldn’t mind some small, tangible, fatalistic indicator that the end of the coke-high economic boom is here. [ . . . ] Continue »

It was a sad day, indeed, when I found out that being single in middle age is actually punishable not just by your mother’s eternal disappoint and society’s general scorn, but also by you slowly, but surely (2 to 3 to 6 times as surely), losing your fucking mind.

Death does not particularly scare me. (What’s up, Reincarnation?! You are totally the B.P.E. Best Plan Ever.) [ . . . ] Continue »