Super John
If you shop at Walmart even occasionally, you’ve probably seen John Dough exiting with a cart full of frozen pizzas and beer and toilet paper. But you hardly noticed him, of course. He blended in with the elements so well that you needed Sherlock Holmes’ brain to tell him in the crowd.
But today, as soon as he strolled through the exit door, warm summer rain mixed with industrial acid gently hissed on his skin, and he grew to a height five times taller than before. At his entrance to the store an hour earlier, his height was 69.7 inches, which is an average for a mostly white American male. Now, though stooping, he was 348.5 inches, which is 29 feet, give or take, and he dwarfed his cart and the gawkers. Unlike Hulk, John’s clothes grew proportionally. His eyes shot laser beams and bolts of lightning danced on his back.
The store manager called 911. The SWAT team came, but John shot up right into the sky and turned into a constellation that became popularly known as $5.10 because it resembled five rolled-up dollar bills for the torso, hands, and feet, and a dime for the head
The pic of this constellation was an instant success on Instagram and inspired a doll Johanna sold at Walmart for that price.
First published in Writing Disorder
An Open Letter to Nepotism
Dear Nepotism,
Or should I call you by your new name, Networking? It was smart of you to change it. Nepotism has such a nasty sound to it, like an athlete’s-foot medication or something. But now: “Networking.” Welcome to the information age, right, Net?
How are you doing? I’m doing just crappy. Turned into a househusband while my wife is the breadwinner now. No job since my layoff from IBM two years ago if you don’t count my stint as a paper-delivery boy. If you think that they fired me because I was overqualified, think again. They just needed the job for the editor’s nephew. You should have stopped by and said hey, but maybe you were busy getting a million-dollar advance for Paris Hilton’s Tongue in Chic: Confessions of an Heiress. Was the TV show not enough?
I could do some writing out here in Hickland. Tongue in Ass: Confessions of a Salaryman has a nice ring to it. But the only publisher I know is the Kinko’s guy who always ignores me anyway.
Could have been that you were settling Chelsea Clinton in at her swank consulting job at McKinsey & Co.—six figures and an apartment in the London Terrace Towers in Manhattan. Heck, I don’t like Manhattan anyway. As they say, “I’m white, but my neck is red.” And I’m too claustrophobic for island life.
I’m being hard on you, but don’t worry. I’m sure there are better things in store for me. I just received a fundraising letter from G.W. Bush. That means we both know each other, right? Invoking your power, I should get a job in his administration, right? Perhaps in the engineering services of the Department of Homeland Security? Or maybe to design a website for the Iraqi prison system? Or maybe to write a speech for Mr. Rumsfeld?
So, should I buy a new tie for the interview? A red tie, right? I already have a blue suit and white shirt. I’ll send you a pic when I get the job. But don’t you change your name on me again. Once is enough.
First published in McSweeney’s.
Dear Mom and Dad,
The good news: Today I was promoted to Barrister, Second Class at the 134,567th Field Armored Starbucks. They gave me such a beautiful uniform: a tapered white shirt with a black bow tie, and black pants with the red stripes (something like track pants, but infinitely more stylish.) I also was re-assigned from 136th California Abolish ICE regiment to the 543rd New York the Living Wage regiment. The bad news: they declared tips racist. I’m broke. I just sent you a PayPal money request for $500.
Jason
Dear Dad and Mom,
The good news: I got to shoot a minigun for 12 seconds yesterday. It was wicked fun. The bad news: they are going to charge me for the bullets. Also, we are going to have a parade next week, but they told us to buy our own Confederate flags, jackboots, and torches. I’m broke. Can you please wire me $100 rebel dollars?
Much obliged,
Andy
Dear Mom and Dad,
The good news: Today we turned our tanks into hybrids. The new mileage? One mile per gallon; that’s the fuel efficiency to die for. The bad news: I was napping in a safe place, but someone stole my North Face lace boots, bandana, covfefe T-shirt, and gas mask. I’m broke. I just sent you a PayPal money request for $500.
Jason
Dear Dad and Mom,
The good news: The Pussy Hats ambushed my buddy Charlie. Remember him? He had so much booze at my tenth birthday party that he barfed at Dad’s boots. A Pussy Hat pried his gun from his cold, dead hands but accidentally shot herself in the foot. The bad news: I laughed so hard that I chipped my last front tooth. I’m broke. Can you please wire me $100 rebel dollars?
Much obliged,
Andy
Dear Mom and Dad,
The good news: Got my DNA test results. Only 90% European. Better than I thought. I even got 5% of African genes, so I was proud of you (for a while). The bad news: When I was asked to check my white privilege at the officer’s club door, they gave me two tickets. Am I so white-looking? I hate you. I’m broke morally and financially (the DNA test was expensive). I just sent you a PayPal money request for $500.
Jason
Dear Dad and Mom,
The good news: the Snow Flakes declared their camp a gun-free zone. The bad news: while we were singing kumbaya, the Pussy Hats built a beautiful wall around us and Mexico paid for it. Now we are trapped, and they drop leaflets from the helicopters. What is he/his/him and what is she/her/his? I was so confused that I lost a card game. Can you please wire me $100 rebel dollars?
Much obliged,
Andy
First published in Pif Magazine