America's Most Critical Journal since 1999
By Anna B. Wilkes Though the events contained in these pages may seem fantastical beyond belief, I must confidently state that I am in complete possession of my wits. No, would that I were mad, my tale would not be so horrific as this. These bizarre and terrif... More »
by Fred Russell 4 January 2015 In May 1726 Voltaire sailed up the Thames, London-bound. He was thirty-two at the time, a scrawny Frenchman with a big mouth. Everyone was after his ass. Back in France he’d had a run-in with someone called the Chevalier de... More »
The first time I lost a kid, I felt real bad about it. I’d seen him treading water, of course, but there were others in worse shape. I saw him go under but by the time I got there, he was gone. He’d settled slowly to the bottom and there was no bringing hi... More »
The president is on TV, and my wife is holding her nose—not pinching it like he stinks (though he does), just cupping it like she’s been punched. Above a vast new expanse of flat skin between his eyes and mouth, he’s telling us our noses will be n... More »
By Mark Fritz Homer O’Hara loved to tell stories. He had a wealth of them, accumulated over a period of 80 years lived in interesting times. For years he had been hoping to get the opportunity to tell a few to his 8-year-old great-grandson, Brandon. Kids... More »
I look in the fridge and it’s practically empty, only a few packets of ketchup, an ancient bottle of olives with pimentos, and a stale crust of bread. Looks like tomato-olive soup with croutons for dinner. Again. Ah, the writer’s life! I know deep down I... More »
By Jeff B Willey “If 9-11 was indeed a mass scale ritual, a sacrifice of thousands to the appeasement of some dark force, then it should be asked who are the gratified demigods of that supplication? And who received the boons from satiating them?” The ... More »
by Dan Geddes One Friday evening after “Jeopardy” I become fascinated by my complete lack of romantic prospects, and the reality that, though only 25, I just might die alone. The utter hopelessness of my situation seems confirmed as I remember that my plan... More »
Golden Publishing recruited only the foolhardy and the destitute, the bungled and the botched, and held their employees in a tight vise of hopelessness. Desperate job-seekers like myself were attracted by its “Help Wanted” box in the Sunday paper: ... More »
So I pulled into a McDonald’s. I walked into the white-lit restaurant, nearly slipping on wet red tile. I entered the line, and saw from the Ronald McDonald clock (which pointed with white-gloved gangling arms) that it was four o’clock. The beginni... More »