I have just seen, for the second time mind ye, a sticker of Calvin, comic strip hero and existential space explorer extraordinaire, urinating. . . and only him urinating. . . and let me just spoil the surprise of what follows by saying that this is bafflingly awful. It's just him letting it run; not on an auto manufacturer, not on a political party, not on a sports logo, and not even on a map of Europe, as if any of those are justified at…

If there is rest for the dead, we don't know it at all. Sure, death looks peaceful but what do we know of loose souls and the pace of an afterlife? One cannot wait on sleep for the dead. There is virtue in stillness because what is it if not the obelus of free will? Take it easy until it's taken away. Look good dying and do it on your own time.

And what do you suppose Brian Benben dreams about? His fame for manboyish mischief and an arrested but overlydeveloped interest for boobies has long-past anything resembling earning a livelihood. One thing he probably dreams about a paycheck. He probably dreams that HBO will stop ducking his calls like a Westboro Baptist avoiding a kiss hello. He's somewhere in New York dressed in street urchin ensemble plus a blue blazer trying to trade his royalty check for a bowl of soup. Although I…

It sort of says, "I'd like to talk to you about Diabetese and frisk you aggressively." It sort of says, "All you minors are coming with me." It sort of says, "I'm a life-long victim of circusrape with a darker than usual past." It sort of says, "When I shave this out of humiliation, I'm going to sew it secretly into a robe I've been making since I was fifteen." It sort of says, "All you miners are coming with me."

"Pull back the curtain," Alicia purred, "tell me what you love about me."

I heard their bodies shift on the den couch as Corbin pulled her closer to him before he replied, "I love the little things, the big ones too. I love how close we've feel, how far we've come so soon, and I love what you give me in return for killing your fear of living."

She said, "You love me for my blood money."

"Of course," he affirmed, "it's a currency beyond exchange and a commodity I wouldn't…

And so I met Alicia, Corbin's new girlfriend about a week after my wash out in the bathroom. Alicia Kellogg was a comfortably adjusted young woman, fresh off her older sisters' clothes hangers which she said was why she always smelled like cigarettes. Judging by Corbin's photo of her family, she was the pretty one with the exception of her unblinking pitch black eyes, these precociously elegant black eyes somewhere between fish, deer, and paintings of dolls. I don't think I ever saw her…