Category: 2011 — 3.2 (Spring)

by Joel Hanson

It was hot

like really hot

I mean she was a solid ten

like on a scale of one to ten, ten being the most attractive

I thought there was really something there, ya know?

Beyond the physical

If that’s a thing

I though we were just about to make that connection

And then she screamed rape

Biography

Joel Hanson is a mediocre writer and amateur cowboy. He spends his spare time golfing, at the beach, napping in his hammock, wooing your little sister, making cocktails, playing PlayStation, cooking things he sees Emeril make, and bowling. His favorite television shows are Archer, Rescue Me, How I Met Your Mother, Jersey Shore, Rob Dyrdek’s Fantasy Factory, and Dragon Ball Z. Joel dreams of someday starting one of those giant bar brawls that you see in old western movies, pulling a gun on an attacker armed with a knife, rewriting Jaws to star the ocean’s real apex predator-the orca, and retiring to someplace exotic with a petite blonde to do his laundry. In the meantime, Joel is content to take long naps, drink tall beers, and cook short orders.

by Mark Killam

Under the glare of a cold winter sun,

there they stood-

one huge family gathered as one,

gaining great strength,

as they buried a loving son.

The horrific deed now is done,

their lonesome journey-

one of loss and despair-just begun.

Yet in being together

sharing bittersweet memories-

Along with the laughter and many tears-

they’re sure to bring.

And one day soon-

as the Angels of Heaven begin to sing-

A familiar voice they’ll surely hear,

and forever gone –

will be this most terrible sting.

by Woody McCree

The armadillos are coming every night now,

Ripping apart my pristine green lawn

With their grub-searching snouts and claws.

 

There are ants on my kitchen counter;

Yes, I understand that I practically invited them in,

Cooking for three nights in a row

Without wiping down the surface.

 

I understand that I am the one who sliced the cantaloupe,

Allowing the juice to drip down,

Forming pale orange puddles on the gray Formica.

I concede it is my fault the ants are here;

Nevertheless, they are here.

 

The squirrels keep reaching around to my well-hung birdfeeders,

Stretching their flexible torsos

To steal the abundant seed.

The sunflower seed and suet are for the cardinals,

The warblers, and the tufted-titmice

Not the acrobatic rats with fluffy tails.

 

Floppy green elephant ears keep sprouting up

Through the inches of well-manicured mulch,

Layered impeccably to prevent all weeds from taking root.

 

This array of choices dizzies me.

I have no choice;

There is only one choice:

Kill them!

Kill them ALL!

My Love for you fills the universe.

What the first wave of radiation felt

When that first pulsing particle expanded and stretched

To become the outward edge of all galaxies,

That is the love I feel for you.

 

The drive to reach for nutrients

In the fluids beyond the first amoeba’s cell wall,

That is the love I feel for you.

 

The longing of trees for the earth

As they send roots downward

Into crevices between stone and clay,

That is the love I feel for you.

 

The way of a wolf with her pups,

The instinct to protect and snarl,

That is the love I feel for you.

 

The yearning of stars that hurl their light

Past aeons to reach a thousand distant worlds,

That is the love I feel for you.

 

The lip-quivering, hand-trembling, wine-struck staggering,

Breathless, hopeless, endless-

That is the love I feel for you.

by Michael Rodgers

Main ingredients: One self-centered redneck The dumber the better One stubborn female Any size and IQ will do Secondary ingredients: Two bad attitudes A considerable amount of wild sex Copious amounts of hard liquor A Generous dusting of Cocaine One large can of Whoop-ass One single wide trailer Any caliber firearm Note to chef: These are only general guidelines. Feel free to experiment with social and economic status of main ingredients. Think jambalaya.

Directions: Stir male and female blend with alcohol until horny Heat until wild sex begins Move the mixture into the single wide Trailer home and let simmer. Add more booze When sex begins to cool Add cocaine if available Meth is a fine substitute More booze please Sex should have evaporated by now Add one bad attitude and stir aggressively Immediately add other bad attitude Along with rest of booze Increase heat until attitudes are burning Open can of whoop-ass Add entire can and stir violently Recipe is done when gunshots are heard.

Biography
I am currently working on my third best-selling novel. I gave up on the first two. I once considered writing a book on procrastination, but put it off until tomorrow. By the time you read this, I will be done typing. The voices tell me I’m doing fine, but they worry about you.

by Korey Jones

Hard enough, I’ve found it is
Choosing just one scene to live.
For oceans rise and cornfields run,
But look the same when all is done

And lives are rooted, sand or snow,
Which dots on maps have never shown;
So many boxes here and there
Still home to ghosts that time did spare.

If boldly spoken I could last,
But oh these faces come and pass!
Now so I’ve roamed, and right to claim,
These different places feel the same.