Two zombies who've just finished their shift board the train and kick me out of my seat, explaining that the backs of haunted house rides are reserved for cool people. "Have you ever touched and then ripped off and eaten a boob?" one says to me. "Yeah, that's what I thought."
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Winter is a cold, inhuman force, so plow drivers are trained to be cold and inhuman as well. On their first day on the job they're subjected to Chinese snowflake torture - basically the same as water torture except with snowflakes instead of water and Christmas carols playing in the background.
The walls of my dorm are covered with supermodel posters. Today I tore one down looking for an electrical outlet and saw the words "HELP ME" written repeatedly on the wall in a mix of blood and hair gel, but then the poster re-affixed itself to the wall like a rapidly healing wound.
Years of listening to my coworkers' stories about their weekends have given me the ability to see them as high-def 3D movies, more real than my own life. I walk into a coworker's campsite, her tent a skyward arrow indicating the course of her future.
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
To be a designated driver I drink beer, then do coke to cancel out the beer, then Quaaludes to take the edge off the coke, then PCP to stay awake on the Quaaludes, then more beer to drown out my friends, who are yelling at me to find my clothes and get off the roof because they want to go home.
If an unattractive person somehow gets their hands on forbidden Abercrombie & Fitch merchandise, dodging the lava pits and robot mannequins that throw the ampersands from their A&F T-shirts like shurikens, they'll fall victim to the store's mirrors, which explode if they display unattractive people, shooting shards of glass into the people's faces.
One night in 1989 I showed up to my job at the McDonald’s in Times Square, New York, and the place was filled with gay ravers. They were dressed as gay versions of McDonald’s mascots, like Mac Tonight in Liberace garb and Mayor McCheese with a rainbow sash.
The touchscreen had an interface I didn't understand, and I kept hitting the wrong buttons, flooding the screen with error messages. Each one made the cashier cringe, but told me to keep going. As I fumbled through the menus trying to upgrade my meal he began breathing heavily.
In 1996 I won Fox Kids' Create a Video Game Sweepstakes, a contest where the winner got to work with Sega to design their own video game. As a 13-year-old nerd I would've been thrilled, except that my mom and current dad were getting divorced at the time.
Microwave dinners make passable meals on nights you don't feel like sitting alone at Wendy's or cooking a Hamburger Helper meal for one. The only problem with these frozen slabs of vaguely foodlike slush is that they always taste the same. Maybe it's time to change things up with one of these recipes.
"Cashier 'Wolfman' greeted me with an enthusiastic growl and feverishly punched in my order on his touchscreen. I have to say I was impressed by his vigor. My order was made wrong, but this is hardly Wolfman’s fault. If those grill workers had half his dedication, they’d read their slips correctly."
We’re all familiar with urban legends: those time-honored, hand-me-down myths about killers in the backseat, spiders in hairdos and phone calls from inside the house. But for every popular urban legend we’ve heard, there are several others that have never taken off. Let’s look at a few of these lesser-known tales.
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I caught him nailing his testicles to the roof with the nailgun. He must hate working if he's willing to stage such an elaborate injury just to get out of laying some shingles! I was pretty upset, so he apologized and asked if I was going to whip him. I told him yes, I was definitely going to crack the whip, so to speak, by giving him more chores.
The PlatMaster 10,000 is the world’s first platform simulator. Its hydraulic pads move forward at an adjustable rate, while its soft bed of foam-rubber Safe-T spikes ensures a missed jump won’t deplete your health. Finally you can sprint, leap and vault to your heart’s content without worrying about falling into a bottomless chasm of nothingness!
Love messes with our brains, that’s a fact. Do you really want your judgment impaired in a life or undead situation? Or someone flirting with you when you’re trying to focus on not being zombie chow? Sorry to my secret admirers, but romance has no place in my zombie plan.
I Googled ’29.’ I'll admit I was shocked. I know kids are into weird stuff; I was too in my day. My dad never understood it, but he accepted it. When you were born I said I'd do the same. Whether my son was gay, a communist, a rockabilly - I'd live with his choice. But THIS? It violates every rule I was raised by. I can't believe it's not outlawed!
‘Look,’ I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. ‘Keep the fantasy characters, the orcs and wizards. But use a spaceship instead of a coffee shop. And instead of having them just hang out and talk about RPGs, make them detectives solving space crimes.’ Something behind his eyes flicked on. His face beamed like a sunburst gradient.