The girl that I live with is a piñata. It’s not hard to get mad at her, because she doesn’t feel. Hugging is an issue for her. When we fight, she just stares at me, standing on four cardboard legs. She’s a donkey — paper for fur and a long neck the color of a faded Mexican flag, like green and orange cat vomit — and her paper-eyes sicken me.

I like those googly eyes you get at the craft store. I’d buy her some but she’d refuse to wear them. She’d stand and stare. Her outsides, the glue-cardboard-paper-mâché-dullness, they make my stomach turn. Her insides though, they make my mouth water, make me stick around. The first time I slept with her I slit a hole in her head. I forced a long knife through a spot behind her ear. But she didn’t even notice. Now, when she’s sleeping, I slip my hand inside her and pluck chocolates form her guts.

____________________________________________

C.J. Krakeel wears tight pants, rides bikes, plays poker and writes when he damn well pleases. He once stole the welcome mat from a strip club and he doesn’t hold hands while he’s walking because it ruins his swag.

Yesterday was a holiday for thousands of Americans. We were one of the lucky ones, and took advantage by reading — online and on pages. The best part was not having to minimize our windows or drop our book every time a person (or person of authority) slipped in behind us. That’s what we call freedom. Maybe yesterday you too were on furlough. Maybe you didn’t have to minimize your windows. If so, today’s stories will make you ache for that same kind of unregulated reading freedom. Here’s the skinny:  The Untamed goes wild, Emily Dickinson had family feuds, Marisa Matarazzo’s debut fiction stings the world and, last but not least, a note of caution from Henry (hot from the oven) de Montherlant. All told, reading is full-time work… get ready to maximize those windows.  — Andrew Geer

(more…)