The Fox in the Garage Part 15: The Second Letter to Symphony Press

June 8, 2011

September 16, 2010

Dear Tom,

My library is run by idiots! I’ve been trying to track down that Animalia journal, but my search has only lead me to more misery. Here’s what happened:

Yesterday I walk up to the library counter and ask my enemy, Sheryl Crosby, if the library has the journal. Instead of helping me, Sheryl Crosby takes one look at my baby cat Terrence, who’s calmly resting in my arms, and says, Get out of here. I’ve told you a hundred times: no cats in here. And she says it in her bitchy I’m-better-than-you-because-I-have-a-job voice. So I walk outside and put Terrence in my car and crack a window. He’s OK in there for ten minutes, but any longer and he’ll get a case of the lonelies.

I go back inside and ask Sheryl if they have the journal. She types on her computer and her fake nails hit the keys so loud that it annoys me to high heaven.

No, she says, we don’t have the journal. She says I should try the university library in the city.

Now Sheryl, I say, what sort of dumb idea is that? I can’t waltz in the the university library like I’m in college. Nothing about me says college girl. Now get this: Sheryl says that if a local library doesn’t have a book or movie you want then you can use the university’s library. But you need a special pass. Can you give me this pass? I say. And Sheryl says, Yes, I suppose I can give you the pass. She gives me the pass. But, she says, don’t bring your cat in there, and don’t wander around or do anything illegal. Like that one time in high school you…and then she says something I did in my past that I won’t repeat because it happened  long time ago and there’s no way I’ll ever do that again because I’m a changed woman now who only drinks sometimes and not all the time.

At the university library the kids are my age but dressed up. Not dressed up fancy like in tuxes, but they’re wearing Polo shirts and khakis and some boys have their shirts tucked in and I’m like, Easy fellas, don’t look at me when I’m wearing my Ween t-shirt and dirty cords. I’ll come back later in a nice get-up and you can look at me all you want to. Terrence hid in his Mickey tote the entire time.

One college boy was looking at me like woah. I wanted to say, What do you want? Don’t give me that look like you’ll die if you don’t get your dick in my cords. I hate that look guys give you like they will literally stop living if you don’t touch their dick let them do whatever they want. I’m thinking, what, college boy, you want my number? You want to find a bathroom and slurp my minnow? YEAH RIGHT, like he’d do that.

So he walks up to me and Terrence and pets Terrence’s head, which is where he likes being petted the most, and the college boy says, Are you allowed to have this cat in here?

I didn’t a see a No Cats sign, so why not? Sometimes you got to do stuff even if you think it shouldn’t be done because who knows, if take a risk you might just get away with doing something awesome that was actually legal the whole time.

The college kid says, I don’t think you are allowed, but I won’t tell anyone.

Why thank you. That’s very kind, I say. But there was the catch. Why is it that men seem so nice at first when they do something nice but then it soon becomes clear that they aren’t doing it to be nice. They are doing it for your money or your pussy, and in this case it was my pussy.

What dorm are you in? he says.

I’m not in a dorm.

Then why are you here?

I’m looking for a journal that my local library doesn’t have. It’s about animals. I have a pass to be here so don’t tell me I can’t be here.

I love animals. I can show you where the journals are.

Cool, thanks.

The college boy leads me and Terrence around the corner and into to a empty room without book shelves. This is suspicious, I’m thinking. There are tarps in the ground and the walls are half-painted. There’s a radio half-covered in white paint; I remember that and not much else. I’ve blocked it out of my head. And I won’t say what happened next. It’s too humiliating. I feel so bad that Terrence had to witness this. This college boy was not the gentleman I had taken him for. He was a bully, and he was stronger than he seemed. His loose Polo shirt didn’t show off his muscles.

After the college boy was done with me I immediately left the library. I didn’t look for the journal. I was too shaken and couldn’t bring myself to spend more time there and, to be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to set foot in the university library again. It would be too much for me to bear.

I’m still on the fence about the polar bears. I don’t know who to believe, the internet or you. The internet lies all the time, you’re right about that. But so do men. The college boy said he’d show me where the journals are, and that’s not what he did whatsoever. Your name could be Steve or James, not Tom. I have no way of knowing.

Could you make a copy of the journal article for me and mail it to the address on this envelope? If so, I would be grateful forever.

Thank you,

Linda Lauper


September 24, 2010

Dear Linda,

I, too, am a Ween fan! What a fun coincidence. Have you seen them live? I have. Five times! But I only remember two of the shows, if you feel me. I used to be so wild.

I’m so bored at work. People think that working in publishing in Manhattan must be such a thrilling job. You must go to parties and meet all sorts of cool people all the time, they say. But that’s not true. We used to have a Christmas party that was awesome but then it became the holiday party, which for some reason wasn’t as awesome, and then it was cancelled because of the economy got shitty and nobody’s buying books.

I’m so bored right now, Linda. In order to kill the boredom I will now list for you my five favorite Ween songs, in no order.

“The Mollusk”

“L.M.L.Y.P.” [Which as I’m sure you know means Let Me Lick Your Pussy. Don’t take that song selection in a weird way. It is just a song I like; there is innuendo here.]

“Bananas and Blow”

“Roses Are Free”

“Dr. Rock”

What are you favorites?

I will look into photo-copying the journal entry and mailing it to you. But please believe me: all polar bears are left-handed. Why would I lie about this? What money or glory do I have to gain by lying to you about this? We don’t have the journal here in the office, but I could go into the city and look for it. When I say “the city” I mean New York City. Well, Manhattan specifically. That’s what people call Manhattan here. Maybe you didn’t know that because you’re from Ohio, or maybe you did because people call Manhattan “the city” in TV shows and movies all the time. It’s crazy: we’re from such different places but because of mass media we’re probably not too different! This might be TMI but I’m going to tell you anyway because I’m so bored. A few years ago I fell sickly in love with a woman who was born in Miami but moved to New York when she was eighteen. We dated for five months and God, it was so easy and so right, but one morning she woke up and said, Tom, we are too different, we’re from different places. I’m from Miami and you’re from New Jersey. We can’t go on like this. And I tried to tell her that we’re from different places but we’re not too different because of mass media, and because we both live in New York now. But she didn’t feel the same way. I haven’t seen her in years but I still think about her every once and a while and this is going to sound silly, but whenever I watch the Miami Heat play on TV I get weepy-drunk and root for the other team.

I’m sorry to hear about that college boy. Boys are pigs. What did he do to you? Can I do anything to help? If he assaulted you, you should call the cops. Don’t be silent about this.

I’m thirty-five years old, no longer a pig-boy. How old are you?

And what did you do in high school that you don’t want to talk about? I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. Talking about it will help you realize it wasn’t that bad.

How about this: tell me what happened in the library, in detail, and what you did in high school, and I will send you a copy of the journal entry proving that all polar bears are left-handed. I would like to know what happened because I care about you, and even though we’ve never met each other, I feel like I know you well. Be well, Linda, and pet Terrence’s head for me.


Tom Diggs

Director of Marketing and Publicity

Symphony Press

1745 Broadway Suite #7

New York, NY 10019



The Fox in the Garage Part 14: The First Letter to Symphony Press

November 18, 2010

May 25, 2010

Dear Symphony Press,

The other day at the library I read parts of your book called Animals. I was looking for information on what foxes eat because I have a fox problem and I was trying to poison it. But that’s not why I’m writing this letter. I also read about other animals too and in your section about polar bears you say that all polar bears are left-handed. I was very pleased to learn this as I, too, am left-handed and I’ve always felt that polar bears were wonderful and learning this only made my feelings stronger.

But a few days after that I told my mailman that all polar bears were left-handed. And later on that week he said that he went online and read that all polar bears are not in fact left-handed. Some are right-handed, others are left-handed. I said, No, it says in the animals book that all polar bears are left-handed. He said there was a rumor started on the internet that all polar bears are left-handed and people started believing it because they’re too lazy to do their own research. I was very upset over this. I don’t have internet at my own house but the next time I was at my boyfriend Gary’s house I went online and looked into it and yes, a website said it is in fact a lie. A lie that you reprinted in your book.

Now, I am not a bookworm. Nor am I a librarian. I can’t tell you what you can and can’t print in your book. You can print whatever nonsense you read on the internet if you want to. If that’s gonna sell books, then go to town, sirs and madams. It won’t bother me. Say in your book that owls have two dicks. One for piss and one for semen. Say that all grasshoppers used to be people in past lives. Say that every time an owl hoots he’s saying, Oh how life is strange and changeful! If people want to believe it, so be it. I don’t care. There’s no law that says you can’t lie through your teeth in books. All books are lies anyway, right? The best ones are at least.

But if you’re going to do that then you have to call the book fiction. On the spine of Animals it says that the book is non-fiction. A.k.a. True. But it’s not true. It’s fiction. God knows how many other lies are in your book. I didn’t read the whole book, only the parts about foxes and polar bears, so I don’t know what else you lie about in there but I have a feeling there are more lies in there.

You may be asking what I want. What I’m trying to achieve with this letter. Not much, really. I don’t want a refund or anything. I didn’t spend money on your book. (I would NEVER buy your book.) It was at the library so it was free to read. But I would like an apology, and I want you to reprint the book with the polar bear lie and any other lies taken out for the sake of everyone who reads the book in the future. Do that, or call it fiction and put even more lies in there. You can use the one about owls having two dicks if you want, I won’t ask for royalties.

What if I were a child doing a book report on polar bears and I wrote in my report that all polar bears were left-handed and my teacher read it and said, No they’re not, you didn’t check your facts, you’re getting an F. It would be your fault. Heck, maybe that’s happened before. You could be responsible for a poor kid failing biology class. Some poor kid never finished high school because you were too lazy to check facts and published whatever garbage you read on the internet. And this kid was too lazy to write you a letter so the facts stayed in the book and you never put out a corrected book because it would take time and energy and you people at Symphony Press are too busy enjoying your purple martinis at parties on top of the Empire State Building to worry about your readers. That’s why I’m writing this letter. To tell you that here in Dayton we’re fed up.


Linda Lauper


August 5, 2010

Dear Ms. Lauper,

Thank you for your letter. It’s always nice to receive correspondence from a reader.

You raise some interesting points about the roles of fiction and non-fiction, and while I don’t have time to address each of them I will speak to your grievance about our book, Animals. When doing research for Animals we did not consult internet pages whatsoever. Our facts are based on interviews with credentialed zoologists as well as peer-edited reference books. I assure you that each fact in the book is true. Our team of experts and copyeditors spent over a year compiling and fact-checking each chapter, including the chapter on polar bears. In fact, before writing this letter I double-checked with our chief zoologist and he said that all polar bears are indeed left-handed. He explained it to me thusly:

Research has shown that polar bears native to the Arctic region predominantly use their left paw for hunting. When stalking prey, a polar bear will use its right paw to cover its nose, the darkest spot on its body. This way, the bear will blend into its snowy white surroundings. The bear will then use its left hand to strike the animal it wishes to kill and eat.

If you would like further proof, there is a scientific essay you should read. It’s called “Fractures of the Radius and Ulna Secondary to Possible Vitamin D Deficiency in Captive Polar Bears (Ursus maritimus).” It can be found in the autumn 2004 issues of the journal Animalia, which is published biannually by SUNY Purchase. In the essay researcher Karen V. Tennis writes that scientists have found evidence of left-handedness in all polar bears. One study of injury patterns in polar bear forelimbs found injuries to the left forelimb to be more frequent than those to the right, suggesting left-handedness. The point being that polar bears are using their left hand more often than their right hand. The essay is unfortunately not available online. Your library might subscribe to Animalia, but if they don’t, you should consider asking the librarian to order the autumn 2004 issue for you. The essay is a good read and I feel it will clear up many things for you.

So, thank you again for your interest in Animals. We will not be changing the chapter on polar bears. Nor will we be calling the next version of the book (due out October 2012!) a work of fiction. It is non-fiction, a.k.a True.


Tom Diggs

Director of Marketing and Publicity

Symphony Press

1745 Broadway Suite #7

New York, NY 10019

NEXT: In the Barn



The Fox in the Garage Part 13: Say My Name

November 9, 2010

[Linda and Sam are talking on the driveway. Linda is holding Terrence and drinking a beer.]

Linda: SHERYL CROSBY. YOU FUCKED SHERYL FUCKING CROSBY. I can’t believe this.  First Gary and Angie talk things out and then you fuck Sheryl Crosby. I thought we were friends.

Sam: We are friends.

Linda: Friends don’t fuck their friends’ enemies. When did you do it?

Sam: Yesterday.

Linda: Was it good?

Sam: Yes.

Linda: How did you do it? In what ways?

Sam: I’m not telling you that.

Linda: I need to know. If we’re going to be friends, you need to tell me.

Sam: I was on top of her. And then she got on top of me. And that’s it.

Linda: Did she suck your dick?

Sam: No.

Linda: Did you ask her to?

Sam: Yes.

Linda: Why didn’t she?

Sam: She didn’t say.

Linda: Did you ejaculate?

Sam: Yes.

Linda: Did she, you know?

Sam: I don’t think so.

Linda: Did you ask her if she did?

Sam: No.

Linda: Where did you ejaculate?

Sam: Out of my penis of course.

Linda: I mean, did it go inside her, on her face, on her stomach, on your stomach, where?

Sam: It went in a condom that was inside her at the time. Then I threw the condom in the trash can.

Linda: Was it your condom or her condom?

Sam: It was her condom. I don’t carry condoms around with me. I don’t plan on having sex during my route, I’m not that confident.

Linda: Did you check it for holes? She could have poked holes in it so she’d get pregnant and then you’d have to pay child support. Women do that sometimes.

Sam: I didn’t check it for holes.

Linda: Does she say stuff?

Sam: What do you mean?

Linda: Does Sheryl Crosby say stuff during sex? I need to know.

Sam: She said GO GO GO a lot. Like we were racing. Like I was a race horse.

Linda: Did you say stuff?

Sam: I kept quiet. I was so shocked the entire time. I couldn’t speak. She’s a babe, though, the hottest babe I’ve ever had sex with.

Linda: So you’re delivering her mail and she pulls you inside the house and kisses you and then a minute later you’re in her bedroom? That’s how in went down?

Sam: She was waiting outside for me think. I gave her mail and then she said, Come inside. I need to show you something in my fridge. And I said, What is it? She said that there’s some of kind weird fungus in there that she wanted me to check out. We walk into the kitchen and she opens the fridge and a nasty-ass smell comes out of the fridge. I’m like, yeah, something is rotten alright. You should take care of that. And she says, How should I do that? I’m not so hot at cleaning fridges. Can you do it for me? I say that I’m a mailman, not a fridge-cleaner. Cleaning fridges isn’t in my job description, honey. And she says, What is your job description? Only delivering mail? That’s all you can do, deliver mail? I say that sometimes I sort the mail if we’re short staffed at the office. But yeah, I usually just deliver mail all day. Then she grabs my arm and says, That’s all these arms can do? They can only deliver mail? Surely they can do other stuff. Strong arms like these can do all sorts of things. I’m like, yeah, they can do other stuff. They can shoot pool. Ooh, she says, I love pool. She said she always wanted a pool table but her mean daddy never bought one for her. She asks me if I’m mean and I say that sometimes I am and sometimes I’m not. I don’t remember what she said after that but soon we were fucking on the floor next to the stinky fridge. We never made it to the bedroom.

Linda: Who fucks in the kitchen?

Sam: Sheryl Crosby does I guess. Oh, and she asked about you.

Linda: WHAT? What did she say?

Sam: She asked if we were having sex. She said she knows that we’re friends.

Linda: And what did you tell her?

Sam: I told her that we are not having sex. Because we aren’t.

Linda: Hmm. Maybe you should have told her we are.

Sam: Why’s that?

Linda: To mess with her. And so she thinks that you’re a busy man, a man with women, a man that other women want. You don’t want her to think that she’s the only person you’re having sex with. You want her to think that you have women. WOMEN. Plural. Next time you fuck her you can tell her that we fuck sometimes, that’s OK with me.

Sam: I’m not going to tell her that. I think it was a one-time thing.

Linda: Did you get her phone number?

Sam: Yes.

Linda: Did she ask for yours?

Sam: Yes.

Linda: Then it wasn’t a one-time thing. She wants to see you again.

Sam: What should I do?

Linda: Have sex with her again. Duh. And next time you should say stuff. During. Let’s have some fun with her. Say weird stuff.

Sam: Like what?

Linda: I don’t know. Jell-o pudding pop. Say that. Or how about: I’m the mailman and you’re the mailbox.

Sam: That’s cheesy. I like Jell-o pudding pop better.

Linda: What about this: Linda, Linda, oh Linda. That will freak her out too.

Sam: I’m not saying your name.

Linda: Just do it. Say my name. It will be fun. She will think that you love me and then we can mess with her even more. She’ll think that she has to compete with me for you. It’ll be a fun way to pass the time. Life can be so boring sometimes, you know.

Sam: What if I don’t want to mess with her?

Linda: She’s going to mess with you. Trust me. Sheryl Crosby always messes with boys. She messed with this kid Jeremy so bad one summer that he got all religious and never dated any one else until he was twenty and even then the girl he dated was gross-looking. He was aiming low because Sheryl Crosby messed with him so much. If you don’t think she’s going to mess with you then you’re an idiot and you’re asking for it.

Sam: She did send me a text message last night.

Linda: What did it say?

Sam [takes out phone and reads text]: It said, That was really fun we should do it again sometime.

Linda: HA. I told you. It’s starting. She’s messing with you so hard right now.

Sam: You think so?

Linda: Have I ever lied to you before?

Sam: Many times. You are a liar.

Linda: Maybe. But this time I’m for real. Say my name the next time you fuck her and see what happens. She might be mad at you, but at least you’ll have the upper hand. It’s all about having the upper hand. Especially when you’re dealing with someone like Sheryl Crosby. So. Does Sheryl Crosby have a fat pussy or what?

Sam: It’s pretty big, yeah.

Linda: I knew it. Jeremy told me he fell in love with that fat pussy. Mine’s small. Have I told you that?

Sam: No.

Linda: Not too small, though. Gary says it’s perfect.

NEXT: The Fifth Laundromat Hang



The Fox in the Garage Part 12: The Fear

September 28, 2010

[Sam approaches the driveway. He walks up to the garage. The garage door is open but he can’t see Linda.]

Sam:  Linda. Hey Linda. You around?

[No answer. Sam walks in the garage and knocks on the door to the house. He can hear Terrence scratching on the other side of the door.]

Sam: It’s Sam.

[Sam opens the door and pets Terrence. He walks into the kitchen. The room smells like garbage.]

Sam: You home?

[Linda walks slowly down the hall towards Sam. She’s wearing one of Gary’s Bengal’s jerseys and a pair of his red Umbros.]

Sam: There you are. I need to tell you something. Remember a while ago when you said that you went to the library and read that book about animals and it said that all polar bears are left-handed? You were doing research to find out what foxes eat. And you read that animal book. It’s not true. All polar bears are not left-handed.

Linda: I was just saying what the book said. I’m sorry.

Sam: It’s an urban legend. Or maybe it’s called an animal legend when it’s about animals. It’s a myth is what it is. I was on the internet last night bouncing around my sites like I like to do and I decided to look up whether or not Canadian geese are the only species of geese that can fly because the other night at the bar Hanna said she read somewhere that only Canadian geese can fly and other geese can’t. So I look it up, and she was wrong. Other geese can fly. But what’s important is that on that same web page there were a few other animal myths and one of them was that polar bears are all left-handed. It’s not true. Some asshole started a rumor that they were all left-handed and God knows why he did it because I can’t imagine anyone getting satisfaction knowing that they tricked lots of people into believing that all polar bears are left-handed.

Linda: Interesting. So the book is wrong and the internet is right. People say that the internet is wrong more than books. That’s why we need books. Because anyone with fingers and a keyboard can put facts on the internet and no one’s going to check them to make sure they’re true.

Sam: You’re right. So. Don’t take this the wrong way, but it smells like a butt in here. When’s the last time you cleaned?

Linda: Oh Sam, I’m so sorry. I know it smells in here. Things have been going bad lately. It’s what I need to tell you about. There are two things. Which one do you want to hear first: the bad one or the devastating one?

Sam: The bad one.

Linda: I got fired. My douchebag boss fired me. It’s because I lost both of my work shirts. But it wasn’t my fault. Someone took them from the laundromat, I know it. I told him that I would pay for them, but it was the second time that I needed new clothes and he said it was restaurant policy to fire any employee who loses their shirts twice. The first time I didn’t lose it. I spilled red wine all over one and the other one got pizza grease all over it because Luke and I used to have pizza-and-wine night and things got out of hand one night and we started a food fight. Then we started a fist fight. But that’s beside the point. The point is, I got fired. And now I’m broke.

Sam: Can’t you live at Gary’s? Can’t he help you out?

Linda: And that brings me to the devastating thing. Gary’s girlfriend Angie is back in town.

Sam: He has a girlfriend?

Linda: Sorta kinda. A week ago he said it was completely kaput. She was at her sick mom’s house taking care of her mom but she came back last night and Gary said she wanted to have a chat with him and I know, I JUST KNOW, that they’re going to get back together and I’ll have to sleep in the garage again and that damn fox is still whining at night and it’s driving me crazy and this morning the Fear came back. It was a bad Fear, too. I sunk into my bed and couldn’t climb out.

Sam: What’s the Fear?

Linda: If I don’t stay busy, the Fear consumes me. The Fear is the worst thing on the planet. It’s worse than breaking an arm, and it’s worse than being dumped. When the Fear’s around you can’t get out of bed and if you do manage to get out of bed you don’t know what to do with yourself. You think, Maybe I’ll make bacon. But then you change your mind. You don’t even want bacon. You don’t want to eat ever again. You think, Maybe I’ll pet Terrence, but once you start petting him you lose interest in that too, and you start to think that Terrence hates you because you never buy the food he likes because it’s too expensive and even though you try hard to believe that he’ll always love you, the Fear makes you think that he would be better off living in the street. That he’d be better off dead. And you’d be better off dead too. Today around 2 in the afternoon I rustled up the strength to get out of bed and make bacon, but I overcooked it because I got distracted by cleaning the walls. There’s still soot on the walls in the kitchen from the fire and when the Fear consumes me I start cleaning the soot, even when I’m doing something else. So I try to stay busy because only staying busy will keep the Fear away but when I try to start doing something to stay busy I start hating the thing I’m doing like the game I use to play when I toss cigarette butts into my bucket. I used to do that to stay busy when I wasn’t at work but the bucket got burned in the fire so I don’t even have that anymore. It was my only game and I lost it. I don’t own a bucket anymore, and I don’t have any hoses now that the fox has chewed them to bits. What kind of woman doesn’t own a hose or a bucket? What kind of woman can’t get out of bed in the morning and fry bacon?

Sam: Maybe you should talk to someone. Like a therapist.

Linda: I would do that. I’ve thought of doing that. But I don’t have insurance now that Burger King fired me.

Sam: Some places have it for free maybe. I could look into it for you.

Linda: OK. You want to know another thing about the Fear? When the Fear is around I can’t stop thinking about Grandma and how she was so good to me and I was such a cunt to her. She would buy me all sorts of stuff but it was never enough for me. She bought me an mini electric car once and I rode it around the block a few times and then I got sick of it and never rode it again. She’d buy me chocolate fudge and I’d say, I’ve told you so many times that I hate, hate, hate chocolate fudge so why do you keep buying it for me? Can’t you remember just one thing about me? And she’d say that she was sorry, she forgot. When she got older she’d forget things like all old people do but I couldn’t understand that that was the normal way things go and I should’ve been understanding of that. And one time for Christmas I asked for a Nintendo 64 and a few games – Smash Brothers, James Bond and another one I think — and when Christmas morning came around I saw a big gift and I opened it. It was the 64. But there weren’t any games. So I said, What the fuck is this shit? No games? And Grandma said that the 64 was expensive and that it was the only gift I was gonna get, but for my birthday in February she would get me the games. But I didn’t want to wait. I wanted the games now. I said that I wish she would’ve bought me new parents for Christmas instead. And I think that made her upset. And I never said I was sorry for that and a few years later she died. When the Fear is around I also can’t stop thinking of how I shouldn’t have left Terrence’s sister under Luke’s deck and how he must think about her every day. I used to drink more and do other bad stuff when I was with Luke and my mind was all crummy and I’d do bad things sometimes and leaving his sister under the deck was the worst thing I did. She probably died of starvation and it was all my fault.

Sam: You can’t blame yourself for these things. You were young back then. And you shouldn’t live in the past too much. Try to live in the here and now.

Linda: But in the here and now Gary is over at Angie’s having make-up sex and I’ve got a fox in the garage chewing my hoses and all my clothes are missing and my baby angel Terrence is all sorts of sick. He’s been sleeping all day and he won’t eat. Maybe the Fear has him too.

Sam: What have you been doing to stay busy now that the bucket is burned up?

Linda: I WAS going over to Gary’s and doing nasty stuff with him. We would get so disgusting together and it was a wonderful thing. I tasted his shit. He didn’t even ask me too; I just did it because I wanted to. That’s how I was keeping busy: by getting busy with Gary. But now that Angie’s back God only knows how I’ll stay busy.

Sam: Two things: You don’t know that he’s going to get back with her. You have to be patient. Say that you want to talk with him.

Linda: But that’s the thing girls say that makes guys run away: let’s talk. I want to talk. Grandma said if you ever want to send a man running for the hills you should say that you want to have a talk. That’s why you have to trick him into having a talk after you’ve just given him the business better than any girl has given him the business before. That’s what I always do with Gary. Or: That’s what I DID with Gary.

Sam: Fair enough. The other point I wanted to make was that you have to find other ways to stay busy. Gary can’t be the other only thing you do to stay busy. And flicking butts into a bucket doesn’t count either. Join a club. Hang out with a friend. Volunteer with the Optimists.

Linda: Those Optimists are asking for it. They sell Christmas trees for forty bucks. Eff that. If I wanted a Christmas tree I could chop one down for free. And Sheryl Crosby is in the Optimists. If I joined she’d tell the other Optimists about the stuff I used to do at parties and they would start calling me Burn My Pants or she’d tell them about softball and they’d call me Flips Flops. Like you said, I need to live in the here and now and if I’m around Sheryl Crosby it will put me back in high school when I’d wake up to the Fear every morning.

Sam: Maybe you shouldn’t join the Optimists then.

NEXT: Can You Make Pasta When You’re Drunk?



The Fox in the Garage Part 11: The Rake

September 10, 2010

Linda: Mark my words, Sam. The fox in the garage is asking for it. And it = torture. Then death. How would you torure a fox?

Sam: I wouldn’t.

Linda: I might sodomize him with a rake. I’ll shove the handle through his body and out his mouth and then I’ll roast him like a pig on a spit just for an excuse to have a party. We could start a fire pit in Gary’s backyard and have everyone over.

Sam: How is Gary?

Linda: Good. He said he’d come over and try to kill him for me, but he’s been too busy being Dayton’s hangbot sheriff. I don’t know what sort of pleasure he gets from walking around downtown swinging a tire iron. I don’t what he’s thinking about most of the time but you don’t have to understand your man; you only have to support him and surround him with love like you’re some sort of love fog.

Here’s why the fox is asking for it now more than ever: So the other day I come home, right? and I see the fox curled up asleep in the litter box. Terrence’s turds and clops of pissy litter were all around him. I said, Oh my God, you are so asking for it! Get out of there. He woke up and looked me in the eyes. His eyes are small and black. And I hate to say it but looking into his eyes makes me want to cuddle him because he’s such an adorable hellion.

So he wakes up. And guess what he does? He yawns. His mouth opens all the way. It’s way way open, like he’s a python unhinging his jaw to accommodate an antelope. And his tongue shoots out and it’s curved up with a string of spit coming from his gums and I say, You’re tired, aren’t you? Fine. You can stay in the litter box, but if Terrence needs to piss or shit, you need to leave. You got me? Hey. I’m talking to you. Yes you, you adorable beast. If Terrence comes over and needs to go, you need to go. If you don’t go when he wants to go, well, I don’t know what will happen but it’s not going to end well. See that rake over there? The one hanging on the pegs. Take a good look at it because that rake’s going through you if you don’t leave the litter box when Terrence needs it. It will go in your butt and through your guts and out your mouth. Or maybe in your mouth first and then out your butt. Do you have a preference? If I were having a rake shoved through me I would opt for ass first, no question. What about you?

Sam: In the mouth, I suppose.

Linda: I wouldn’t deal well with it going down my throat, scraping against my windpipe and then puncturing a lung. Would it puncture a lung? Or would it bypass the lungs completely and poke a hole in the stomach first?

Sam: It would scrape.

Linda: Put the rake in ass first and you have a higher chance of being dead or unconscious by the time it reaches your throat. Imagine the coroner’s report: Linda Lauper, 1984-2010. Cause of death: rake through the guts.

Maybe I’d rather take the rake up my ass because that’s the way I feel about Gary. I mean, his dick. When we’re in bed he always tries to put it in my mouth and sometimes I say OK, but if I’ve had a long day or if I can feel a cold coming on, there is no way he’s getting it in my mouth. I would let him more often if he wasn’t so forceful about it. He won’t just lay there and let me go to work. He needs to grab my hair and treat my mouth like a vagina and pound away. He’ll try to get the balls in too, and if I’m real drunk or it’s his birthday, I’m game. But on any old day, that is way too much for your average homegirl.  The first time he face-fucked me it was kinda fun, but will he be fucking my face every night? No way. In his dreams maybe. I’ll take it in the butt any day over one of Gary’s face-fuckings.

Sam the mailman: Listen. I really think you should let me call animal control. I’ll even pay for half of it.

Linda: I love how you pretend like I didn’t say all that nasty stuff about Gary and that we were only talking about the fox in the garage. It’s like you hear what you want to hear.

Sam: Maybe you’re right.

Linda: Everyone in Dayton so uptight about sex. It’s stupid. In other cities they have sex meet-up groups, I think, and tons of sex shops and you can find someone in a park and just start fucking them there.

Sam: Where can you just start fucking a stranger in the park?

Linda: I read a story online about a guy in Copenhagen, in Denmark, who would walk around in the parks and talk to random girls and then after he’d get to know them he’d fuck them, right there in the park. He got famous from this. If there were people around, they’d go in the woods. Isn’t that sweet?

Sam: Why is it sweet? I think it’s creepy.

Linda: It’s sweet because he’s not a pussy and will actually talk to strangers. And then if they hit it off, bam, they’ll fuck in the woods. Most guys today are the exact opposite, unless they’re drunk. The average guy today would never walk up to a girl in the park and ask her about her day, or where she got that dress, or if she’s in school or has a job or whatever.  They need to get over themselves and start talking to girls again.

Sam: Maybe you’re right, but the problem is that if I talk to a random girl in the park then she knows I’m only talking to her because I want to have sex with her. If I say Where did you get that dress? I might as well say Will you have sex with me? They can see through that. And then I’m a creep who’s creeping in a park, like that Danish guy.

Linda: Maybe some girls want to be taken in the woods.

Sam: So I should ask a lot of girls about their dress and one might want to me to take her in the woods?

Linda: If one of those girls was me then yes. If I weren’t with Gary. I’m not a cheater.

Sam: You’re saying that if I would’ve have seen you in Carillon park a month ago and asked you about your dress then you would’ve wanted me to take you in the woods and have sex with you on the dirt and branches and stuff?

Linda: Depending on my mood, yes. That’s the other thing you have to watch out for. Those girls in Denmark, their hormones must have been asking for it real bad.

Sam: Speaking of Gary, is that his Bengals jersey you’re wearing?

Linda: It is. Most of my clothes are missing. Stolen, probably. I dropped ‘em off at the laundry and went out for a quick bite and an hour later they were completely gone.

Sam: That sucks, I’m sorry.

Linda: There’s a chance I’ll get them back, though. A really cool hangbot who works at the laundry is on the case.

Sam: Do hangbots make good detectives?

Linda: I guess we’ll have to find out.

NEXT: The Top 5 Why Reasons ABC Is the Worst Channel



The Fox in the Garage Part 10: The Second Worst Thing You Did to Me

August 26, 2010

[Luke parks his car in Linda’s driveway. A white streak runs across the front door. Luke steps out. He has a baseball bat in his hand. Linda approaches him.]

Luke: Where’s this fox?

Linda: Hi.

Luke: Oh hello there.

Linda: Thanks for coming over. I’ve been trying to kill it but he’s so quick. He’s chewed my hoses to oblivion.

Luke: What do you need hoses for anyway? You don’t have any plants to water.

Linda: I know but it’s nice to have a functioning hose in the house, that’s all.

Luke: Maybe that fox did you a favor. Maybe those hoses were just taking up space. Look at all this crap you got in the garage. You’re living like one of those hoarders on TV who hoards garbage in the attic.

Linda: Why are we arguing already? [she looks at his car] What happened there? Did you swipe something?

Luke: Looks like it. Sometimes when I pull out of the garage I scrape the side of the thingy, no big whoop.

Linda: I know why you scrape the side of the thingy.

Luke: And why’s that?

Linda: Don’t worry about it. So let’s get to it. [they walk in the garage] The fox usually hangs out near the litterbox but today’s he’s been MIA so we’ll have to hunt for him. [in British accent:] It’ll be a fox hunt, like we’re British.

Luke: You know what I think? I think there are two foxes in this garage.

Linda: No, there’s only one.

Luke: Nah, I can sense it. There’s definitely two.

Linda: If we see two, then we see two. But let’s just concentrate on getting the first one.

Luke: Wait. It’s really close. I can smell it. Don’t move.

Linda: How can you smell it?

Luke: Don’t move. Shh. Don’t say anything. [he grabs her by the hair.] Got it. What should I do with it?

Linda: Let me go. You’re crazy.

Luke: Get it? Because you’re a fox. A foxy lady.

Linda: You need to keep those thoughts to yourself, mister.

Luke: Have I ever told you how much I like it when you when you put your hair up like that? Because then I can see your face. You used to cover your face all the time. Why was that? Did you think you weren’t pretty or something? If that’s why then you used to be crazy because you were the prettiest girl in school.

Linda: Hey mister, you should keep those thoughts to yourself. Did you come over here to kill a fox or to get in my pants? Don’t answer that. You had five years to say all that stuff and you never did and now you come over all drunk and start calling me a fox? That’s not fair.

Luke: Easy, foxy.

Linda: I’m with Gary now and if he heard you calling me a fox he’d come over here with his tire iron and I don’t know what would happen but it wouldn’t be pretty.

Luke: Come here. Why did we break up anyway? It’s so stupid to stop seeing someone over small shit. Come here. Are you still mad at me because I owe you money for Wendy’s? Because I can pay you back.

Linda: You owe me for the ketchup too. The ketchup was two dollars and eighty cents. I don’t know how much the Wendy’s was, but let’s say five bucks. So you owe me seven eighty. But that’s not what I’m mad about. I’m mad because I asked you to come over here to kill this fox and now you’re getting all love-y love-y on me and I just can’t deal with it. I don’t really care about the ketchup. I did care about the time you said I should let Devin Jeffers put his hand up my shirt because he hadn’t felt a boob since 2001. And I’ll always be mad at myself for letting him do it. That was pathetic.

Luke: Devin Jeffers. Man. I wonder what he’s up to right now.

Linda: And while we’re on the subject, do you remember the time I drove you to buy pot from that girl in Oakwood and I waited outside while you went in and got it? And it took a half an hour because you said she had a hard time finding baggies and she had to break it up. I knew you were lying. I knew you guys got high and did it. Or, if you didn’t do it then you at least did stuff because it doesn’t take a half an hour to break up an eighth of pot and put it in baggies. You did stuff with her while I waited in the car. And then I drove you home and you did stuff with me even though I said I didn’t want to.

Luke: I don’t have anything to say about that day. I was in a weird mood.

Linda: Were you in a weird mood the time we were hanging with the dudes in that other dude’s pool? And you said it’d be cool if I swam around naked and then I did it, because whatever, but then you and the dudes took my clothes and hid them in your car. So I had to put those paper plates over my shit and go in that dude’s house. I didn’t even know him and I had to ask his little sister if I could borrow a shirt and shorts. That was the second worst thing you did to me. Do you remember that?

Luke: I do. That was pretty mean, I guess. But we were kids.

Linda: We weren’t kids when you did the other thing. The worst thing.

Luke: I’ve apologized for that so many times. And I was drunk. You can’t blame a man for stuff he does when he’s drunk.

Linda: Doesn’t matter. I still think about it a lot.

Luke: Let’s find that fox.

Linda: You’re not gonna find him. You’re too drunk.

Luke: I’m just the right amount of drunk to kill a fox. If I were sober I wouldn’t have the balls to hunt a fox with a baseball bat.

[Luke walks over to the litterbox and says hi to Terrence. He walks in a circle, lifting up a rake and a boogie board. He kicks a basketball out of the way and says Here, foxy foxy and swings the bat. He lights a cigarette and turns to Linda and says:]

Luke: I don’t see it.

Linda: He goes away sometimes. Maybe he’s out right now.

Luke: How about you call me when he’s back in the garage and I’ll come back and take care of him for you?

Linda: I don’t know if you should come by anymore.

Luke: Why’s that?

Linda: Just ’cause. I’ll ask Gary.

Luke: Because you’re afraid I might try something. And you might like it. Something like this.

[And he grabs her hair and pulls her head to his and kisses her. She pulls away and says:]

Linda: Goddammit! I’m telling Sarah. This is bullshit, you know that? You are asking for it. Big time. You are so asking for it.

Luke: It’s your fault for looking so hot today. I can’t help it. I’m going to go now.

[He gets in the car and drives away. Linda walks back in the garage and picks up Terrence. They have a cuddle. She sings a few lines of “April Anne” by John Phillips:]

Linda: April Anne, with a red bandana ’round your head. Pretty Anne, with a peacock-feathered fan said that the sash around your waist had turned to lead. And your jingle-jagged faggot friend was dead. [talking to Terrence now:] Now, this song is from an album called John, the Wolfking of L.A. Grandma said that album is the only good thing to ever come from California. Out there everyone is either too high up in the mountains, too close to the water, or they’re delusional winos, she’d always say. Grandma lived in Los Angeles for a year. She calls it the year she lived in gypsy hell. [singing again:] And the wine we spilled, it stained your pillows red. And the midnight cowboys came and quickly fled. Oh, the whole thing was bringing her down.

NEXT: This Is A Screwdriver. You Can Open Things With It



The Fox In The Garage Part 9: The Ocelot Dress

August 17, 2010

The best part about going over to Gary’s is the internet. He has wireless internet so I can use his laptop and cuddle him on the couch while he watches ESPN. I’m not much a technology nut but I like this wireless thing because it lets us each do what we want to but still be together at the same time. I don’t like watching ESPN, and he doesn’t like to do what I do online: look at dumb clothes that dumb rich people wear. I never had internet at my house so I didn’t know about all dumb clothes people wear. I’m talking about stuff they wear in New York City and California and probably Boston too. I’ve seen dumb clothes on TV before, but they don’t show you the prices on TV. You have to go online for that.

On the Bloomingdale’s website there’s a Diane von Furstenberg dress called the Beulah that sells for $795. I don’t even want to know what Beulah means but if I had to guess I’d say it means spoiled cunt in Italian because only a spoiled cunt would wear that dress. The website says its airy chiffon cascades to the floor in dramatic drapes, while sparkly gold sequin pailettes adorn the bodice. Adorn the bodice: that’s funny to me for some reason.

-Hey Gary, this website says that this fancy dress adorns the bodice. A-dorn. The. Bod-ice. Is that funny to you too, or just me?

-Everything is funny to you when you’re drunk.

-Hey Gary, you want to buy me the Dolce and Gabbana Ocelot-Print Chiffon Party Dress? It’s only $1,295.

-Sure. And I’ll eat canned tuna for a year.

Anyone who wears that ocelot dress is asking for it. The model who’s modeling the ocelot dress on the website is asking for it too. She doesn’t even look like a real person. Her arms are shiny and her elbows are sharp, like they’ve been whittled by a grandpa on a porch somewhere. Her face doesn’t look like a real human face but rather like the mold of porcelain doll’s face that was modeled off of the prettiest girl in the world. Since when was it hot to look like a mannequin? That’s why young girls are so sad all the time. Because they look like real people but the girls they see on the internet don’t so they think that something must be wrong with them when in fact it’s the girls on the internet who have all the problems. These Bloomingdale’s models have been sexually abused, I’m sure.

When I was a teenager I would get sad because I thought I didn’t look right. There were twenty-four super-pretty girls in my class. Twenty-three after Heather Bee moved to Lansing. Sheryl Crosby was one of them. I always thought she was their leader because she was always talking and the other girls were always listening to her. In science class Sheryl would talk about which boys bought her lunch and whose dick she’d touched. I always thought that was tacky. Sheryl looked like Britney Spears and for Halloween freshman year she had the gall to dress up like a Catholic school girl so she looked Britney Spears in the hit me baby one more time music video. I was a bug that year.

I always thought I looked weird and I felt bad about it until I read an article about how unhappy Britney Spears is most of the time. That made me feel better. I like to think that all the good-looking people on the planet are the saddest and all the regular-looking people are the happiest. And it doesn’t matter anyway because I have Gary now. Who does Sheryl Crosby have? Nobody. I heard her boyfriend left her because he was sick of how dudes would always hit on her at bars and how dudes would come into the library and pretend to browse the movies near the front desk but really they were just looking at Sheryl. Sheryl is beautiful but show me the most beautiful girl in the world and I’ll show you a guy who’s tired of fucking her. He should have listened to that song Grandma always put on in the car, the one that goes: If you wanna be happy for the rest of your life, never make a pretty woman your wife. I wish more dudes would take that advice to heart and give us regulars a chance.

The Tourino Mouflon boots by Dolce and Gabbana drive me bonkers. They are, and I quote, military inspired booties. But they’re just tall boots with high heels. Just ‘cause they’re boots how does that make them military inspired? The people writing these websites will write anything they think sounds good no matter how wrong it is. And who wants to wear boots with high heels anyway? Is it so you’ll look taller when you’re out camping? Or so you’ll look rugged when you’re drinking purple cocktails on top of the Empire State Building with your gal pals? So you can be all like, I hope Fabian comes this rooftop party so he can see my military inspired booties. Because I want him to think that I’m rugged and elegant. He doesn’t want a girl who’s too fancy or one who’s a dyke. That’s why I wear these booties. So he thinks I’m riiight in the middle. Fabian bought me the ocelot dress I wanted so badly so I let him put his thumb in my butthole.

The Tourino Mouflon boots cost $995. If I had $2290 I’d buy the Tourino Mouflon boots and the ocelot dress and I’d go as a coastal cunt for Halloween. That is, if I still dressed up for Halloween. Then I’d return them because earlier I said I’d murder anyone who wore that stuff and I’m a woman of my word. If I kept wearing them I’d have to murder myself and Terrence would have to live at Gary’s  all by himself and he would not like that at all.

-Hey Gary, if I died tomorrow, would you take care of Terrence for me?

-I guess so.

-I like you, Gary Welles.

-I like you too, Linda Lauper.

[a kiss.]

[100th post!]

NEXT: The Hangbot Sheriff



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Published Work

Page 1: The Fox in the Garage

How I Started a Family

Do We Need Cynar?

Gary 1 and Gary 2

I Work at a Fashionable Hotel Called the Hudson

C.O.D.Y. the Robot Who Hangs Out

Ann and Her Birdhouses

Luke and His Bobber

The Fox in the Garage in 3-D

105 Stories About Ohio


The Slugman of Herbert Street

Harold and the Purple Women


Dos Factotum

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