“Fifteen dollars? Come on, Nance, there are dozens of other stores in the mall that sell candles. Don’t settle on this one just yet,” Bess Marvin assured Nancy Drew, as they, along with George Fayne, Bess’s cousin, strolled through the River Heights Mall. The three teenage friends were out for a shopping day to relieve some stress. Their academic and work lives were fine, but Nancy insisted that they take a day to decompress after a run-in with that outright whore from Cooperstown at Ned Nickerson’s party last Friday night.
The girl, Carmen, was around their age and also a total slut. Nancy had learned from past cases to not jump at an investigation too quickly. The Secret of Shadow Ranch had taught her that in spades. She had also learned, however, to listen to her instincts, and her instincts were telling her that this Carmen thinks-she’s-so-hot needed to be taken care of. READ MORE
I tried to tell them that we were too old to go apple-picking, but did they listen? No. They made me pack up that Sunday and head out to old Whitmore Farm like we were in one of those subway ads for ZipCar featuring all of those beautiful, multi-ethnic friends. And did I complain when the weather dramatically changed the second we got there and a bunch of ominous clouds rolled in? You bet I did. And I rolled my eyes at the “prize-winning” pumpkin patch, barely stifled a yawn at the cider press, and washed my hands disdainfully after the petting zoo.
Oh what, was that free apple doughnut supposed to be some kind of consolation prize? Because as a matter of fact, it was delicious and I was just starting to think that maybe this orchard excursion wasn’t the worst idea when the group decided it was time to actually start picking the apples.
Would you believe that they expected me to get on a hayride and travel 25 minutes just to get to the actual orchard? Because that’s where we met Ephraim, our prepubescent wagon driver, and I made sure to tell everyone in the group how creepy I thought he was. I mean, was I not supposed to notice that he was dressed like one of those kids from Breaking Amish and that a cold wind rustled through the corn stalks every time he spoke? Because, uh, yeah, I noticed. “Welcome, Outlanders, prepare thyselves, for if we do not make haste, there will nary be enough daylight to execute the picking.” READ MORE
• History is a construct, an invention of scholars really, so here I’d put instead of history: events in the so-called past.
• I think it’s fairly certain that primitive people were scared of the sun. You can go ahead and state this boldly.
• By the way, are you dating Jennifer, from class? Remember that the emergence of monogamy was a medieval legal convenience.
• This passage seems to have been written by a smarter person. This is not intended as criticism.
• This reminds me of the mapping of 17th-century Tokyo. READ MORE
We want to clarify the mission we laid out in our first transmission, which consisted only of:
“The President has been kidnapped by ninjas. Are you a Bad enough Dude to rescue the President?”
In hindsight, that probably raised more questions than it answered. But as you might imagine, things are pretty intense around here, what with The President having been kidnapped by ninjas and all. Let me provide more details and hopefully clarify the operation you are about to undertake.
Your mission will consist of walking in a straight line from left to right, defeating any enemies you encounter along the way. Satellite surveillance suggests that often you will also be able to jump up to a higher level as you proceed. But always maintain that left-to-right direction. We cannot stress that enough. We are getting scattered reports that you may also need to traverse some moving objects, such as a freight train and a moving truck. READ MORE
This November, when you go to the polls, vote Derek Ferguson for Boyfriend. Derek is a young man who…
Knows the local IPAs.
Agrees that big weddings are outdated.
Always has cutting-edge facial hair.
Will go to brunch with you and all your friends…even when he’s super hungover.
Owns and often uses a typewriter…to write actual letters.
Reads all the right pop-culture blogs…but not before you do. READ MORE
We at FASTidious Credit Reporting have reviewed the credit history of your prospective tenant, Glen Hodge, and offer this prompt report. First, we should say that Mr. Hodge has an ostensibly stellar credit history. By the standard scoring method, he received an “excellent” score of 830. He pays all his credit cards and bills on time, save one instance when he was hospitalized after attempting to save an elderly man from a burning house. So his credit is, on the surface, largely immaculate. However, we at FASTidious do not like surface impressions, such as that of the sun in a calm lake; underneath, the lake may contain violent fish. Anyway, we dove into the lake of Mr. Hodge’s credit and found a mess of broken promises. Also, a child’s boot, which was rather macabre, but irrelevant. Thus, we recommend that you decline his application. READ MORE
It always happens the same way. I'm minding my business when, suddenly, a shout: "Look! It's Tim Roth!!!"
No. For once and for all, no. I am not Tim Roth. I am Senator Mitch McConnell.
I guess Tim Roth and I share a passing resemblance. People say we look alike. But it's starting to get old. Every day it's, "I loved you in Reservoir Dogs!" or, "Boy did you deserve that Best Supporting Actor nomination for Rob Roy!" or, "Dude, you're the British Guy in Pulp Fiction! Honey Bunny Guy!" I'm not. I'm United States Senate Minority Leader Guy. I'm Relentlessly Filibuster Executive and Judicial Appointments Guy.
Even as someone who isn't Tim Roth's uncanny doppelgänger, you can imagine how annoying this gets. It's not mining coal for non-union wages like so many freedom-loving, God-fearing, bootstrap-pulling Kentuckians, of course. But it's hard. Almost as hard as staring into the mirror before yet another humiliating Obamacare repeal vote and seeing the face of Tim Roth staring back at you. READ MORE
I must take issue with your rules about the transportation of liquids, posted on your website and at airports around the country. As the President, CEO, and CFO of Spivak’s SealSaks, I feel your mention of “Ziploc©” bags, rather than a generic equivalent, creates an undue and unfair competitive advantage.
The TSA does not otherwise show corporate favoritism. The various warnings and decrees issued by your agency do not specifically mention Boeing planes or Delta flights or AirJohn toilets. Why Ziploc©? I feel this arbitrary and inconsiderate decision has much to do with Spivak’s SealSaks currently controlling only .02% of the market (mostly in Walla Walla, where we’re based, and, for some reason, a smattering of towns in rural Alabama).
If you do insist on using corporate names, perhaps you could consider balancing your approach by specifically naming Ziploc© only half the time and Spivak’s SealSaks the other half? Using my skills as a CFO and graduate of multiple math classes at Walla Walla Community College, I calculated the cost to change the appropriate verbiage, signage, and internetage to be a mere $8 million (and that’s if we ensure full compliance at every airport and every internet within a week. Perhaps two weeks would be acceptable if you’re strapped for cash?) READ MORE
Mr. Carlson, I assume? Please, come in and have a seat.
Mr. Carlson, although the dictates of modern propriety obligate me to thank you for coming in today, I must assure you that, of the surfeit of emotions your presence has today initiated, gratitude is certainly not among the foremost. Quite the opposite, in fact. You may perhaps be wondering why, then, would I have gone to the considerable trouble of arranging today’s little tete-a-tete, when doing so would be sure to cause me no small degree of aggravation, and would, in fact, cause me to disregard other pursuits of an irrefutably higher necessity and an undeniably greater worth. The answer is simply that, in the face of what I have recently been confronted with, and at your hand, I simply could not be silent. As I am sure you have at this point surmised, I have asked you here today in response to your recent “True-Life Reader Submission” to our publication.
First let me say that I am appalled. Truly and completely appalled. Never, in all my years as editor of this publication, have I looked with such abhorrence upon a literary submission as I do this…how do I even describe it…this flotsam! My good sir, do you think that this is Cheri Magazine that you are writing to? Do you think that this is Barely Legal, perhaps? Do you even know which publication it is to which you are submitting? READ MORE
And how’re brass knuckles out but live-tweeting’s in?
Sharing 140 strategic characters with your preppie chums, in real time? Posting Vines on how to properly full nelson unsuspecting Greasers? Sounds plenty weaponized to me.
Naturally our gang ain’t savvy on Socs media.
Now if MySpace blogging were still permitted, we’d be aces. Ain’t a crew around can beat a Grease blogging. Give us a pack of Lucky Strikes and we’d knock off 200 pages about tough Stingray cruisers and gold n' silver sunsets, no sweat.
Wasn’t long ago you could blog, swing bicycle chains and wield busted pop bottles—all in open-toed shoes. And if your beef was with a crew south of Canal Street you didn’t need prior authorization to book the Rumble Pool. READ MORE
Jasper, step into my office.
Now, I realize the student body has gone a little bonkers over the annual magazine subscription fundraiser. This year we really tried hard to round up some great prizes that would encourage you all to give it the ol’ Robert La Follette Middle School try. But in the rush to sell the most magazines, I'm afraid some students haven't been totally honest.
I’ll get right to the point. Jasper, I don’t think you actually sold 473 subscriptions of Lowrider Magazine.
At first I thought, “Maybe he filled out the form incorrectly. He probably sold 47 subscriptions of the magazine that celebrates the underground scene that rose from the Chicano Movement of the late 1960s, not 473.” But after some time, I came to the conclusion that it was unlikely that you sold 47, 73, or even 3 subscriptions of Lowrider Magazine to the citizens of Sheboygan, Wisconsin. READ MORE
Alex Semmelmeyer is my future husband but since he’s the punter of the football team he’s too busy to know I exist! But that’s OK because here’s what I did today to make him realize I was born and one day he’s going to raise four babies with me:
• I stood outside his Bio class and when he walked out I talked really loudly about Peyton Manning so he would be interested and look in my direction.
• I stuffed notes in his locker that were anonymous but were in my really distinct poetic voice.
• I stood outside his Gov class and talked really loudly about Archie Manning so he would be interested and talk to me.
• I went up to him and asked him if he knew anyone named Julia to see if he would say “Isn’t your name Julia?”
• I made a cake for everyone in the class so he wouldn’t know it was just for him but then I wrote “I Love You Alex” in the frosting so maybe he would guess it was. READ MORE
849 Valencia St.
San Francisco, CA
Sept. 1, 2013
Dear Mr. Lints:
We are writing to notify you that McSweeney’s will no longer be accepting any submissions you send for publication on their website, Quarterly magazine, Believer magazine, Wholphin (we don’t think you know what this is), or any other platforms of publication created in the past, present, or future. Accordingly, you are hereby directed to
CEASE AND DESIST ALL SUBMISSIONS TO MCSWEENEY’S