Too often, graphs about the 1929 stock market crash only proves to be a mere distraction.
Instinct is a funny thing, funnier when incorrect. This was the case for Becca Goldstein. Ever since she was a pre-teen, after reading countless romance comics and remedial gothic novels, she nurtured a credo that love can only be true if it occurs at first sight. Everything else was just meaningless garbage.
To make sure we’re all on the same page, this hard hat is not a fashion statement. It saves lives and unnecessary head injuries.
Renaldo Tucci was as happy as anyone could be after learning from his doctor, Dr. Ut, that if he takes one more severe blow to the head, immediate death is certain. To be forthcoming, this would not bode well, for Renaldo is best described as headstrong and secondly, stupid.
Spring in Chicago has been added to the endangered species list. Many thanks to all the corporations for knowingly destroying the environment to profit.
It was the middle of March in Chicago. To be precise, it was the Ides of March, the historic day whence Julius Caesar [Inventor of salad and a hairstyle] allegedly spoke the words, “Great ghost of myself. Et tu, Brute?”
It was 70 degrees, and the sun was shining brightly as if were 82. As any good native of Chicago knows, this was a bonus day, as in, it was as rare as an edible pre-packaged thing of apple pie, as in, probably definitely a byproduct of the impending global warming, which will certainly devastate us all, as in it could easily snow the next day. By the by, it did, followed by reasonable tornadoes the next.
“The John Deere® tractor? You brought her!” He laughed whole-heartedly while everyone else just stared, slack-jawed, slowly backing away.
In that precise moment, Baxter Hicks realized he had made the biggest mistake of his life. It was not his undeniable death after trying to push a tractor up a steep hill in a snowstorm. Nor was it the bright idea to drive the tractor home from the bar after six or nine shots of tequila. It was not letting cabin fever get the best of him. It was not the cocaine mostly cut with baby laxative he bought from his shit for morals neighbor. It was not the mild diarrhea.
The sound of a switchblade and a motorbike.
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