Some say that the most unusual thing about Dirt Bike Baby is his dirt bike. Others say it’s his babiness. The closest answer is that it’s some combination of the two.

Dirt Bike Baby spends his mornings driving off into the sunset. His favorite color is anger, and his favorite emotion is gasoline. When he walks, people listen, and when he talks, people move out of the way. When Dirt Bike Baby was born, everyone died.

Dirt Bike Baby doesn’t go to school. He knows how a bill becomes a man. There are rumors that Dirt Bike Baby employs a body double, which he does, to pretend to be a normal baby. Occasionally, he’ll cry—tears of joy, at the wakes of his enemies.

Dirt Bike Baby never grows older—only meaner. Dirt Bike Baby can read, unlike most babies his age. He can also drive, steal, beat, burn, and brutalize. His town voted him best all-around. Dirt Bike Baby punched his town in the face for pandering.

Dirt Bike Baby kisses politicians on the forehead to remind them not to mess with him. His diapers wet themselves out of sheer terror. Once, someone tried to play peek-a-boo with Dirt Bike Baby. His eyes are shut for good.

They say that Dirt Bike Baby speaks to the Devil, to impart advice. Instead of a pacifier, Dirt Bike Baby sucks on a pistol and plays Russian roulette. He uses tummy time as a form of torture. Dirt Bike Baby has said many things. None of them are true, except for his lies.

Yet, deep down, Dirt Bike Baby is searching for love. He hopes that, one day, he’ll find it, and when he does, he’ll put a bullet in its head.

As seen in the POW! #, Winter 2024

Suicide Blowjob was born to a mother who hated her children and loved a good practical joke. Since his classmates’ parents forbade them from having playdates with him until they were eighteen, his only friends growing up were the characters he watched on PG-TV. And so Suicide Blowjob developed a dream: to host his own children’s TV show.

At school, he’d perform his routine during show and tell, and again in detention, where the teacher would send him for introducing himself. He workshopped program titles, like “Suicide Time” and “Blowjob Hour.” Whenever he’d explain that these names referred to a show, people were either extremely relieved or wildly disappointed. He even put on one-man plays at the local theater, entertaining the dozens of teens who’d thought he was a metal band.

Yet despite his talent, Hollywood hesitated. Producers said that if he’d only go by a pseudonym, he’d be the biggest star in kids’ TV. But Suicide Blowjob was too proud to change his name. He had a dream, and he wasn’t going to let some pro-life antisodomites or the FCC stand in his way.

His fortunes turned around when he met R****** ****taster, a grizzled producer who, like Suicide Blowjob, had once yearned to have a children’s TV show of his own, but was forced to give up for reasons he never disclosed. After calling in all his favors, and apologizing to the people who picked up for cursing at them, the old man landed Suicide Blowjob a national spot.

At his debut, an audience of five- to seven-year-olds chanted Suicide Blowjob’s name. But just as his earnest smile appeared on the TVs of unsupervised children across the country, they all flashed to a news anchor. “We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you breaking news: Osama Bin Laden, architect of the September 11th attacks, has been killed.” When the show switched back on to reveal all the children in tears, because one older kid had whispered to them what “suicide blowjob” actually meant, everyone was too patriotic to care. There was just this sense that anything was possible, that Al Qaeda was gone and Obama was going to win a second term because the USA was back, baby! And I remember I swooped your mother into my arms, and we kissed, long and hard, because that was before all those late nights at the office, before your mother’s handsome Portuguese personal trainer, and before my affair with his really hot sister, Loretta. It was just me and your old lady, and the future was ours for the taking because we were young, goddammit. We were alive. I miss that every day, son.

As seen in the Life is Good #, Summer 2024

Consider these moral dilemmas:

1. The trolley is coming at full speed. No one is on the tracks. If you don’t push some people down there right now, then this whole exercise will be meaningless.

2. Three innocent people are on the tracks, with the trolley approaching rapidly. Next to you is an obese man. You can talk to him, but if you do, people might think you’re friends with a fat guy.

3. You’re a doctor. You can save three of your sick patients if you harvest the organs of one healthy man. Unfortunately, you don’t have time to think about this because your hospital is a trolley and it’s about to run over a bunch of people.

4. Two people are on the tracks. One is attractive, the other, ugly. Figure out how to save just the hot one without them thinking that you’re a bad dude.

5. There are three trolleys stuck on the track, and one giant human is about to crush them. The screams of the trolleys sound frighteningly human. Is this man God?

6. There is no trolley, because it was aborted.

7. Your job is to pull a lever in case the trolley ever looks like it’s about to hit someone, though the pay is low and your boss is a real dick. Now the trolley is heading for three people, but if you pulled the lever, it would basically make you a bitch.

8. The trolley is about to kill everybody you know, yet it’s hard to say that any of this is your fault, considering that all you did was give the trolley a gun and a motive.

9. Relax. Trolleys are gonna do what trolleys are gonna do.

As seen in the Psycho #, Summer 2025

Episode 1 - Pilot / Ginger Giant

After Mayor Zany signs an ordinance requiring all city departments to incorporate animals into their work, Chief introduces the guys to the newest member of their crew. Though the gang is skeptical at first, Orangutan Firefighter’s grip strength breaks all of their hands.

Episode 2 - Learning Curve

Orangutan Firefighter makes a series of first-day blunders, including climbing up the fire pole and eating raw mangoes with his feet, earning him the nickname “monkey.” Meanwhile, someone’s been shedding hair all over the firehouse, and it’s up to Chief to figure out who.

Episode 3 - Mix-Ups and Fix-Ups

Orangutan Firefighter is placed on radio duty, but he can only use sign language. This teaches the guys a valuable lesson about communication, although the hospital does burn down. Later, Murphy and Helen finally get together, while a trip to the zoo makes Orangutan Firefighter ponder the cruelty of human society.

Episode 4 - Seeing Orange

At the annual softball game against the police department, Orangutan Firefighter builds a nest at home plate. It’s the greatest prank in precinct history. Also, when the health inspector visits the station to enforce the new mayor’s anti-animal legislation, Orangutan Firefighter has to spend the whole inspection wearing glasses. Guest star Ted Danson.

Episode 5 - Trees Company

Helen confesses to Murphy that she has feelings for Orangutan Firefighter. But guess who Chief has just assigned to join the two of them on Ladder #1!

Episode 6 - Reach for the Canopy

Orangutan Firefighter is promoted to chief after his mating call scares off all rival males in his territory. Plus, Helen shares some exciting news: she’s pregnant! This prompts Orangutan Firefighter to take the first boat to Borneo. Orangutan fathers are notoriously absent.

As seen in the Odd Jobs #, Fall 2024

To make myself look more attractive by comparison, I take an ugly 90-year-old man with me wherever I go.

Me: Hey gorgeous. Mind if I join you in that hot tub?

Woman: Aww, is that your grandfather?

Me: Please, does he look like my grandfather?

Woman: I mean, I don’t know. He smells kind of bad.

Me: I know. I smell way bette—hey, come back.

Me: Are you from Tennessee? Cuz you’re the—ugh, how does it go again?

Old Man: Because you’re the only ten I see.

Me: Okay, thanks. Let’s run it again. Are you fro—ew, no, are you peeing?

Old Man: Sorry. Can we get out of the hot tub now?

Coworker: You look amazing today.

Me: Thanks! Let’s just say I’m keeping the right kind of company.

Coworker: Seriously. You used to be, like, the ugliest guy in the office.

Woman: Hey, I just wanted to say what you’re doing is really sweet.

Me: Finally! Doesn’t he make me look sex—

Woman: It’s refreshing to meet a guy who dedicates his time to the elderly.

Me: Oh—yes. Honestly, I feel like he’s dedicating his time to me.

Old Man: Please, take me home. I just want to see my daughter again.

Priest: You may now kiss the bride.

My Wife: Daniel, does he really need to be up here?

Me: Trust me. It’s best for the photos if he is. [Engages in three-way kiss with wife and the old man]

As seen in the Life is Good #, Summer 2024

WELCOME TO ULTIMATE DEATH SHOWDOWN V! CHOOSE YOUR FIGHTER:

• PLAYER 1 SELECTS: SKULL-KRA (“Dare to fight? Dare to die!”)

• PLAYER 2 SELECTS: Representative Michael Roberson (“Hello. My name is Mich—”)

FIGHT!

• SKULL-KRA ATTACKS WITH LASER CHAIN

  • Representative Michael Roberson DEFENDS WITH HANDSHAKE

  • Representative Michael Roberson DIES

CUTSCENE:

• SKULL-KRA: “Puny mortal! You will burn in the pits of hell!”

• Representative Michael Roberson: “Unlike my opponent, I refuse to go negative, because this race is about you, the people of Ohi—”

SKIP

NEW GAME

• PLAYER 1 SELECTS: VIPRESS (“Don’t come too close—I bite!”)

• PLAYER 2 SELECTS: RANGER (“That whisky will be your last.”)

FIGHT!

• VIPRESS ATTACKS WITH MEDUSA FLARE

  • RANGER EVOLVES INTO Representative Michael Roberson

  • Representative Michael Roberson DEFENDS WITH Domestic Jobs Speech, Dayton Community Center, September 14th: “The most important industry in our country isn’t big tech, or finance. It’s coal. Because coal and the troops are the lifeblood of America. And what Washington needs is someone who knows coal like the back of his hard, callused, God-fearing right han—”

SETTINGS

DISABLE CHARACTER Representative Michael Roberson?

Representative Michael Roberson IS NOW THE SOLE PLAYABLE CHARACTER

UNDO

BLOCKED

CH-CHOOSE YO—FIGHT!

• Representative Michael Roberson ATTACKS WITH RESTRICTED IMMIGRATION 

  • Representative Michael Roberson DEFENDS WITH RESTRICTED IMMIGRATION

  • PROSPERITY ENSUES

  • HYPOCRITICAL LIBERALS FACE LANDSLIDE ELECTORAL DEFEAT

CUTSCENE: Representative Michael Roberson’s FINISHING MOVE:

• Outside the U.S. Capitol Building: Representative Michael Roberson: “So remember, everyone, get out there and cast your vote for Roberson, Friday, November 7th!”

• Representative Michael Roberson SLASHES Representative Michael Roberson’s TAXES

DELETE GAME

As seen in the POW! #, Winter 2024

The year was the Jazz Age. New York was the entire world, and Paris was at the center of it all. I was a wide-eyed and jaded Ivy League graduate’s uneducated drinking buddy, disillusioned with life, death, love, hate, us, them, and the concept of disillusionment itself—in other words, I was just like everybody else.

I first saw him in a dream, in which he looked nothing like he did in reality and a lot more like a dalmatian that was purple and also a bird. Years later, when we finally met at a random cocktail party, I knew his name before he even said it, since the person introducing us had already said it: The Good Gatsby. Though I was initially perplexed by his strange moniker, The Good Gatsby laid all my questions to rest by explaining that his name was highly unusual.

Many a night, we would talk for hours, often to different people, but occasionally with each other. For a time, I even loved The Good Gatsby, yet the things he would say to me, such as “I like you only as a friend” and “ayo bro stop kissing me,” sometimes made me wonder whether he felt the same way. Eventually, I gave up, and began loving trains, as all men do.

I often suspected that The Good Gatsby had a hidden past, though he would only ever tell me of his very well-known past that contained a great deal of romance, deception, intrigue, and betrayal. And there was no one who featured more prominently in that past than The Good Gatsby, since it was his past and all. But the person who featured the second-most prominently in that past was Laura.

It was said that the only things that could hurt The Good Gatsby were Laura and physical harm. She was as beautiful as Niagara Falls, but also a lot prettier than that since she was a lady and not a waterfall. I never really got to know Laura, on account of all the time I spent down at the railroad tracks watching trains and trying to touch them, but to The Good Gatsby, she was the sun, the moon, and the stars. I think he had a crush on her.

Alas, things took a turn for the worse when Laura killed herself via suicide. The town wept, but, curiously, The Good Gatsby did not shed a tear. Then I asked him whether he had heard that Laura died, and he broke down sobbing. It must have been the way I said it. I tried to console him by reminding him that suicide was illegal, so Laura was basically a filthy criminal who did not deserve to be mourned and who was probably currently burning in the pits of Hell, but even that could not make his grief subside.

I did not see The Good Gatsby much after that. He stopped throwing parties, but that was not much of a departure from the status quo, since he had only ever thrown, like, two parties, both poorly-attended. Ultimately, I moved out to Hollywood and became a famous dancer or politician. But the lessons I had learned—grit, truth, and good luck—would stay with me forever. And I know that, somewhere out there, The Good Gatsby feels the exact same way.

As seen in the Imaginary Friends #, Spring 2024

Hey there. You’re probably wondering why I pulled you over, considering that you were not speeding and I am not a cop. Relax. Driving can be confusing. Now scoot over to the passenger seat. I’m gonna teach you a lesson. About driving. I may also beat the hell out of you.

The first rule of the road is to observe the speed limit, by which I mean that there’s a fixed amount of biker crank you should do before hopping behind the wheel. My speed limit is usually all of it. Now, see that woman over there? She is not a hitchhiker. She is just a really big school bus. If you see a hitchhiker, you need to murder them before they murder you. Otherwise, there’s a hefty chance that no one will get murdered.

What else is there? 10 and 2: these are my favorite numbers, so remember them since I’ll quiz you later. And the signs. NO PARKING, which stands for Now Offroad Please, Awesome Randy (that’s me), Kick It ‘Nto Gear! This is kind of a dumb sign in my opinion because I am always offroad. Tell your kids to quiet down in the back.

That’s an interesting question. No, I don’t have a license. But you should know that it’s not running a red if you’re colorblind. I am colorblind, largely because I am actually blind. This is due to my many, many car accidents.

Check this out. This is a handicap spot, right? (Breaks own kneecaps using crowbar.) Not any more it isn’t! You get what I mean. Anyways, I’m going to need you to drive the rest of the way. We are going to the future, and I am not in the business of giving directions. I am in the business of giving driving lessons. You can pay me whenever, by the way. That’s just the policy.

Stop crying. You should consider yourself lucky to be here. When I was young, my family didn’t have a car. Just a big, metal box with seats and wheels that we used to drive to places in. I guess you and I are kind of like family now, aren’t we? No? Yeah, we are. I love you, man. What the hell—what do you say we crash this thing?

As seen in the Life is Good #, Summer 2024

The Dreammaker: Give them a try, Timmy.

Timmy: Okay, Mr. Dreammaker. But, again, I’m paralyzed. You really promise these shoes are going to make things better?

The Dreammaker: Trust me. You have my word, you won’t be disappointed.

Timmy: Alright. Wow! I—I don’t feel anything.

The Dreammaker: Are you sure about that?

Timmy: I can try walking but…oof, no, I’m definitely still paralyzed. Can you help me back up into my wheelchair?

The Dreammaker: No, I mean don’t you feel excited to have some brand new Air Jordans?

Timmy: So these are just regular Jordans?

The Dreammaker: Well, they’re not just any Jordans. These are unreleased.

Timmy: Aren’t you going to help me walk?

The Dreammaker: Ha, come on now, Timmy. I’m not a doctor. Man, those Jordans look so rad!

Timmy: Oh my god. I’m actually going to be paralyzed forever.

The Dreammaker: Hey, bud, let’s get that frown out of town! Say cheese for the camera.

Timmy: I can’t believe it. This is all just some sick publicity stunt. I should’ve listened to that kid who had cancer.

The Dreammaker: You mean that kid who had cancer and some pretty awesome Jordans.

Timmy: I actually think he had the same type of Jordans as me. Are these even unreleased?

Cashier: Sir, I need to ring you up again for those used Jordans. Your credit card was declined.

The Dreammaker: Hm? Oh, darn, Timmy, I think I’ve got to get out of here and make someone else’s dreams come true now. But remember, never give up, and always follow your dreams!

Timmy: This is so messed up. I—I honestly don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to trust anyone again.

Cashier: Really, kid, someone needs to pay for those Jordans.

As seen in the Imaginary Friends #, Spring 2024

Following the second retirement of Michael Jordan in 1998, the NBA’s Chicago Bulls found themselves at a crossroads. With their star gone, and scant promise of championship contention on the horizon, the team turned to a new strategy: deliberately losing games in order to increase their likelihood of receiving a top draft pick.

Jerry Krause, General Manager, 1985-2003: A lot of people look at the loss of someone like Michael as a problem. I like to look at it like it’s a babe who’s sweet on the eyes, and I might just ask her to dance. As soon as Mike walked out the door, I glanced down at my desk where a printout of our roster was, and I said “yum,” since I was using it as a placemat for the meatball sub I was eating. It was from Rozello’s, right on West Madison. Sadly, the joint closed down a couple years ago. Believe it or not, the health inspector found a stiff in their freezer. Sheesh! Talk about fresh over frozen, am I right? Anyways, like I was saying, once Mike left, I traded basically all of those bums.

Scottie Pippen, Small Forward, 1987-1998 and 2003-2004: It was 2 AM when I got the call from Jerry. I was almost sure I was getting moved. You play in this league long enough, you just sort of know. So, you can imagine my surprise when the first thing he asks me is if my refrigerator is gonna be in the Boston Marathon. I ask him what the hell he’s talking about, but he just doubles down. “Y’know…is your refrigerator gonna be in the Boston Marathon?” he says again. Then he pauses for a second, and adds, “I’m winking.” Now I’m really confused. “Jerry,” I ask him. “Are you trying to tell me you’re trading me to Boston?” Then he starts chuckling. “Oh, my bad,” he says. “I always mess that one up. I meant ‘is your refrigerator running!’ Then you were going to say it was and I was going to tell you to go catch it. It’s a classic that I thought you might like.” And I’m about to get mad at him for calling and waking me up in the middle of the night, along with my wife and our three infant children who sleep in the room with us and who are now bawling their eyes out, but I’m honestly just relieved that I’m not getting traded. So I laugh a bit, too, just to humor him, and he chuckles again. It’s nice. “I told you it was good, didn’t I?” he continues after a little while, still laughing. “I just wanted to let you down easy, since you need to pack your bags for Houston. The Rockets were expecting you yesterday.”

Jim Stack, Assistant Vice President of Basketball Operations, 1996-2000: Sure, Jerry’s management style could be a little harsh at times. But I believed in him all the way. This was the guy who’d built the greatest dynasty basketball has ever seen. You’re telling me you’re going to question him when he orders that we start selling tickets exclusively to opposing teams’ fans? Or when he spends 93% of the team’s revenue bribing referees to have them play keep away with the ball every time one of our players asks for it? Yeah, we might not have been winning, but the way Jerry saw things, Michael had already broken all of the records. Now, it was up to us to fix them.

Toni Kukoč, Small Forward, 1993-2000: I was one of the few members of the ‘98 championship-winning squad that Jerry left on the roster. I’ve always wondered whether he did that on purpose, or if he’d meant to trade me, but then took a nap and missed the deadline. Either way, things were rough. For a couple months, Jerry scheduled practices for the same time as games, and he forced the coaching staff to bench us if we missed practice. So, I spent most of that season on the sideline, watching the other teams pummel us, five on zero. Even his “improvements” made things worse. He bought a brand new projector for the film room, but he refused to let us watch anything on it other than episodes of that old detective show, Dragnet. Dragnet doesn’t even have any basketball in it. Plus, whenever a new shipment of balls would come in, he’d have the whole team sign them, and then he’d tell us we couldn’t shoot around with them, since they were signed, which meant they might be valuable someday. And, on top of all that, I had some serious doubts about a lot of the new guys he was bringing in.

Chuckles the Clown, Point Guard, 1998-2003: I remember, I was doing a birthday gig for some kid who was friends with Jerry Krause’s son. At least, that’s what he said to me at the time. I’ve asked around since then, and folks have told me that Jerry didn’t even have a kid—friend of the birthday boy or not. I don’t why he would make something like that up. Now that I think about it, I’m not even sure if he knew anybody at that birthday party. All I know is I was doing my juggling act, when I messed up and dropped one of the tennis balls. Jerry basically hurled himself over the kids sitting on the floor to get to me, knocking over their lemonade and stepping on their cake and stuff. Kind of out of breath, he asked me, “You ever played the point?” to which I told him I hadn’t. “Bingo,” he said, and handed me his business card. Then one of the kids whose cake Jerry had smushed brought his mom into the room, and he had to run away.

Tim Floyd, Head Coach, 1998-2001: Our starting lineup that year was Chuckles at the one, with the team doctor and the retired team doctor on the wings. Power forward was the mascot, Benny the Bull—but just the costume, no guy in it—and then we always kept the five spot open for a random fan in the crowd who Jerry would select off the jumbotron. I still don’t know how he managed to find one with no arms every goddamned time. Now, he did put Derrick Rose on our roster, who went on to win the league MVP in 2011. But back in ‘98, he was only nine years old, and Jerry also made me play him out of position, so he wasn’t much help. Things were getting so bad, I reached out to Phil, who’d managed to win six rings under Jerry, to see if he could give me any tips on dealing with the guy.

Phil Jackson, Head Coach, 1989-1998: Now (*puff*) the first thing you need to know about Jerry (*puff*) is that he (*puff*)...he gave me a boatload of pot to get me to agree to (*puff*) step away from the Bulls (*puff*)(*cough*)(*puff*). I mean a boatload. Like, two boats worth. So when (*puff*) Tim called me for advice about Jerry, I (*puff*) just told him, “Go get your ganja, my son. Go get your ganja.” Ahh. Hmm. (*puff*) Hey, you ever think that birds get scared of clouds?

Jerry Reinsdorf, Owner, 1985-Present: When Jerry first pitched his plan to tank, I thought it was a winner. I mean, I love tanks as much as the next guy. And even after he explained that his idea didn’t involve any actual military tanks, but instead consisted of trying to lose games on purpose, it still sounded pretty solid. Besides, who was to say that a tank couldn’t still slip its way in there? But when April rolled around, and we were at zero wins and zero tanks, I started to lose patience. At the end of the day, I had only bought the team to make money, as well as to safeguard and serve the franchise I had supported since childhood, and these losses were really hurting our bottom line. After a 20-0 blowout loss to Dallas (which was, in hindsight, an insanely rough shooting night for the Mavericks, but an even rougher one for us), I called Jerry into my office for one of our special “Jerry chats.” There, I sat him down, looked him deep in the eyes, and asked him if all this losing was worth it just for one number one draft pick. He looked surprised. “What? Number one draft pick?” he asked. “I traded all of our draft picks months ago.” I was furious. “Then what the hell is the point of all this?” I screamed at him. “Are you insane? What did you even trade our draft picks for?” But Jerry smiled in that way of his, where you can tell exactly what he’s thinking, but you also have no clue at all. “Take a look at your parking spot,” he said wryly, nodding his head toward the window. And there it was. Parked where my Cadillac usually sits was my very own, giant, beige tank. I couldn’t believe it. I shook both of Jerry’s hands, thanked him for his work, and told him he could do whatever he pleased with my organization for as long as he lived. Today, I’ve bought several additional tanks that I can look at whenever I like.

Michael Jordan, Shooting Guard, 1984-1993 and 1995-1998: Fans always tell me that my second retirement from the game of basketball made them cry twice. First, when I announced it. And second, months later, when the Bulls finished with the first and only negative winning percentage in NBA history. Many of them ask me if I know why Jerry Krause did what he did to the city of Chicago, if he was just going to throw all the team’s draft picks away. They call him crazy, a madman, as well as many other unsavory words that I have to ask them to stop saying because my children are with me. Some even call him Mr. Reinsdorf, if they’re confusing him with the team’s owner. But I tell those fans that I don’t think Jerry Krause was crazy. I think he was a visionary. Because even though he replaced the team jet with a giant tandem bicycle, even though he signed a deal with Crocs to make them the sole provider of the players’ game shoes, even though he forced the players and the coaches to communicate solely in Esperanto as a diversity initiative, even though the NBA briefly considered publicly cutting ties with the Bulls so as not to suffer any collateral embarrassment, and even though he strangled one of our forwards with his bare hands in the middle of a game because the guy had made a free throw, what Jerry created was a spectacle. It was the exact same thing that I had done when I was a Bull. By losing as much as I had won, Jerry Krause carried on my legacy. In many ways, he was more Michael Jordan than I was. But by the time I’m done telling them this, people have usually left because they mainly just wanted a selfie with me.

Dennis Rodman, Power Forward, 1995-1998: Visit North Korea. Pyongyang is the shit.

As seen in the Life is Good #, Summer 2024

Breaking Good is the story of a hardened meth cook who becomes a high school chemistry teacher.

Episode 1

Tired of the dope game, Garett Gray is drawn to teaching’s stable schedule and defined-benefit pension plan. In lieu of references, he provides a list of names, all of whom are dead. A terrified Principal Huggins hires Mr. Gray on the spot.

Episode 2

Despite the assistance of ten heavily-armed “teaching assistants,” Mr. Gray has trouble getting across to his students without bitch-slapping them. He also doesn’t know much about chemical compounds other than methamphetamine. The students ask Mr. Gray if he’s even read the textbook, to which he replies, “Never get high on your own supply.”

Episode 3

Mr. Gray catches two students smoking weed in the bathroom. He gives them the number of his ex-partner and tells them to try meth instead. Then he assigns the kids to detention for violating the school’s strict no-drug policy.

Episode 4

Mr. Gray’s bottom girl discovers he’s been teaching, threatening his side-gig as a pimp. He makes up for his loss in income by taking a JV coaching job, where he discovers that boys’ lacrosse is just like pimping, except that the hos are student-athletes and the sex is teamwork.

Episode 5

With the AP test coming up, Mr. Gray teaches the kids how to get a score of “clean” by sneaking in urine from a sober friend. No one in the class scores above the fifth percentile. 

Episode 6

Mr. Gray’s old rival, Chalk King, tracks him down and wastes him in the middle of class. He then fills in and becomes the best darn substitute Plainview High has ever seen.

As seen in the In the Lab #, Winter 2024

• Wait, wait. I thought I wished for a Ferrari.

• This is Ferrari, the most beautiful prostitute in the Ottoman Empire.

• That’s not what I meant. I want a Ferrari. Like, the car.

• I do not understand. Do you wish for me to behead Ferrari?

• No, no! She’s great! I love Ferrari! I just also want a real Ferrari.

• To love a prostitute is a dangerous game. It has been the downfall of many a sultan.

• Just give me a normal, red Ferrari supercar. The one with 600 horsepower.

• Here. This is Princess Alara. Her dowry comes with 6,000 horses.

• I don’t want to marry Princess Alara. And what am I going to do with all these horses?

• I know you lust for Ferrari, but wedding Alara will do much to secure peace with her father to the east. You may keep Ferrari in your harem, should you desire.

• Okay, listen, it doesn’t even need to be a Ferrari. Just give me something sturdy I can get around in, like a Nissan, or a bike. No princesses, no prostitutes.

• I can give you all the princesses and prostitutes in Arabia.

• Fine.

As seen in the imaginary Friends #, Spring 2024

12 PM. Time to close this deal. Where? Sushi. When? 12 PM. Pay attention. Why? Their ravioli is divine—the name’s a red herring. Closers expect the unexpected.

I’m in my seat sending back wine by 11, but Smith’s beat me by a fortnight. Bastard. He smells awful. I need the upper hand. I order for him—veal-braised beef. Too slow again. Smith’s eating cold McNuggets out of his briefcase. Zero sauce. Wharton guys are good.

No more messing around. I order risotto, branzino, amalfi, and ambrosia. Smith orders carrots. Damn. I shoot back with carpaccio and Placido. Domingo? No. Domino’s. Thin crust. Smith is on the ropes. He asks the waiter for ice water and my firstborn. “Lose the ice,” I tell him. He shaves his beard and puts on deodorant. Deal.

Back at the firm there’s talk of another lunch meeting, this one at dinner. I tell The Bossman no can do. I’m busy arriving early for breakfast. “You can do anything,” she says. That’s why her father Mr. Bossman put her in charge. “You got it, lady,” I reply. She loves it when I mention her gender. Equality.

On the way, I grab a burger. Feels nice. I give it to a homeless man and head upstairs to Mahoney. Psych. The homeless man was Mahoney all along, and now he’s got my burger. Good thing I’ve got his house. We trade, and Bossman makes me partner. I can’t even read all the zeros on my new paycheck. It’s for $5,111,111.67. Breakeven money. Lunch is expensive.

As seen in the Raincheck #, Summer 2024

We hear these terms all the time, but what do they actually mean? Check out these examples to get a better idea.

Job

Blue-Collar: Mining.

White-Collar: Mining for gold.

Crime

Blue-Collar: Things like robbery, assault, vandalism, plus all other crimes.

White-Collar: Same as the above, but no one gets arrested.

Family

Blue-Collar: Humble. Proud. They get their hands dirty, then make a home-cooked meal: love (grits).

White-Collar: Son is a DJ. Mom is a DJ. Dad is also a DJ. Together, they run an investment bank.

Drug

Blue-Collar: Television.

White-Collar: Cocaine!!!

Romance

Blue-Collar: He’s a blue-collar boy, but she’s a white-collar girl. They can never be. It’s a modern day Romeo and Juliet. 

White-Collar: He’s a white-collar boy, but she’s a high-end escort named Juliet Romanov.

Dance Move

Blue-Collar: The Macarena.

White-Collar: The Macarena (ironically).

Superhero

Blue-Collar: Jesus.

White-Collar: Reagan.

Shirt

Blue-Collar: Collarless.

White-Collar: Collared, white or blue.

As seen in the Odd Jobs #, Fall 2024

McCarthy: Wait! Don’t throw me in the fire! What if I told you that man there is a Communist?

Satan: Who, Stalin? I know he’s a Communist. There’s a ton of us here.

McCarthy: Us?

Satan: Yeah. There’s a reason everyone gets thrown in the same fire.

McCarthy: Oh, the pain! You really are the devil!

Marx: What do you mean? I’m Karl Marx. I was just making small talk with you.

McCarthy: Yes, and it is a torture worse than anything I’ve experienced!

Marx: Even worse than the impaling?

McCarthy: I didn’t hear anything about impaling.

Satan: Break’s over, lads! Drop your pants and line up. We only had enough money for one pole.

Satan: And then, I’m going to go to town on your balls with the hammer and sickle.

McCarthy: Okay, but how come Lenin and Mao get to sit in that jacuzzi over there?

Satan: Because. Those two are in the politburo. They’re exempt.

McCarthy: But…I thought you were all about equal treatment! Communism! What happened? 

Satan: C’mon, McCarthy. You should know. Communism never really works in practice.

As seen in the POW! #, Winter 2024

We look great in this inauguration photo, Mr. President! Can you just do me a small favor and have the media guys edit out the bunny ears you’re doing behind my head?

—

Sir, the war is getting extre—woah, noogie monster, you got me!—but seriously, the death toll is astronomica—okay, it doesn’t work if I see you coming.

—

Yeah, boss, you’re right, you do look like a ninja! Could I have my tie back now though?

—

Nice one! Okay, maybe we should take those beer cans down from the roof and give the secret service guy his gun back now. No, please don’t tell him it was my idea.

—

Mmhmm sir… I’m a bit busy with this briefing—oh, I bet your form is great, I just can’t watch your push-ups right no—wow, okay, nice ones…alright, take care—oh, again?

—

Mr. President, my wife just received a bomb threat to our hous—ahh, you! Crazy guy! Please stop doing that, though.

—

You’re not going to get me to say anything. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Of course I’m not gay! Okay, okay, fine. That British chick is pretty hot. Anyways—so sorry we cut you off, Madam Prime Minister.

—

Thanks for the beer, sir. I know you like to bust my balls, but it’s cool that we can just hang out like this, as friends. Haha. Why are you laughing? Wait. No. No! You told me you didn’t piss in this one!

As seen in the POW! #, Winter 2024

In Game 5 of the 1997 NBA Finals, Michael Jordan put on one of the most legendary performances in basketball history while suffering flu-like symptoms. He played so well, in fact, that he soon began to intentionally seek out other illnesses in hopes of improving his game.

Announcer: And there’s a classic taunt from Jordan, sticking his tongue out as he slams it home!

Co-Announcer: He’s really letting his opponents have it. Wagging that tongue right at them!

Announcer: Oh my. Is he trying to… lick them?

Co-Announcer: They’re pushing him away—but he just goes for the floor. God. So vigorous.

Announcer: Can we cut to commercial?

Agent: I’m sorry, Mike. There just aren’t any more Make-A-Wish kids who’ve asked to see you. You’ve visited them all.

Michael Jordan: Then I’ll visit them again! Especially the contagious ones!

Agent: That’s not how it works. You’re only allowed to visit them once.

Michael Jordan: How about you? How are you feeling? Your voice sounds a little scratchy.

Agent: C’mon, let’s talk about this later. Hey, you ever read that script for Space Jam: Baseball?

Michael Jordan: Cough on me!

Interviewer: You possess a relentless drive to be the best. What’s your advice to all those out there who want to “be like Mike?”

Michael Jordan: You gotta be willing to get your hands dirty. Put them in weird places. Toilets. Dirt. Never wash them, and touch your eyes often.

Interviewer: I—I meant more in a work-ethic sense.

Michael Jordan: Efficiency is also key. I eat all my meals at Chuck-E-Cheese. That kills two birds with one stone, since it maximizes your risk of both food poisoning and diabetes.

Wife: Alright, honeybun—where does my 5-time NBA champion want to go for vacation?

Michael Jordan: The Democratic Republic of the Congo. Haut-Katanga province.

Wife: That sounds, uh… lovely. They just opened a Sandals resort there, didn’t they?

Michael Jordan: I would be surprised. It’s a hotbed for malaria.

Wife: Oh.

Michael Jordan: Even if the malaria doesn’t take, they have a pretty big cholera problem, too.

Michael Jordan: So! Magic… weird question—

Magic Johnson: Don’t even think about it.

As seen in the Booksmart #, Fall 2025

When I started at the baby factory, I was just a baby, myself. Money, cars: these were things I didn’t have back then, nor were they words I could pronounce. All I owned was the denim onesie I wore to work each day, caked in puke and broken dreams.

We worked from sunup to naptime. Our foreman was a real tough guy, the type who’d only cry when he was hungry. He’d come down on you hard, but I found that the trick was just to avoid him and he’d forget all about you, as he hadn’t yet developed object permanence.

The work was brutal, and it didn’t help that half of us didn’t know how to stand. We had a union, though their negotiations with upper management never progressed beyond conversational babbling. Our only relief came at lunch, when we’d all head down to the boob around the block. Then, it was back to the baby factory. What did we make? Hell if I knew. I was only a baby.

At the end of the day, I’d go home to my baby wife (my babygirl) and our two kids—both babies, since that was all we could handle back then. Open up a can of baby food, lean back in my high chair, and watch the baby Celtics play. Why they never won, I still don’t know.

As seen in the Odd Jobs #, Fall 2024

Host: Hello, and welcome back to Dementia Talk Show! Our first guest tonight is…Leonardo DiCaprio!

Audience: (applause)

Leonardo DiCaprio: Thank you, thank you! It’s a pleasure to be here.

Host: Who are you?

Leonardo DiCaprio: Well, that’s a good question. I suppose I’m an actor first, but I also like to think of myself as a humanitarian, an activist, even.

Host: You look like that actor guy…action man…

Leonardo DiCaprio: I’m Leonardo DiCaprio.

Audience: (applause)

Host: Yes! You look just like him. So, what’s your name?

Leonardo DiCaprio: Haha, do you mean—is this a bit? Hold on now—am I being Punk’d? (folds arms, rolls eyes playfully at camera)

Host: Hi, sir, can you please move off the stage? We have a show starting soon.

Leonardo DiCaprio: What? Yes, I know, I’m your guest. I’m Leonardo DiCaprio.

Audience: (applause)

Host: Yes, Leonardo DiCaprio—

Audience: (applause)

Host: Leonardo—uh, he is our guest tonight. That’s why we need you off the stage. Quickly, please. Security?

Leonardo DiCaprio: Wait! Stop! Don’t take m—did they just forget to grab me?

Host: Hello, and welcome back to Dementia Talk Show! Our first guest tonight is…Leonardo DiCaprio!

Audience: (applause)

Host: Ahh! Loud sounds! Loud sounds! Where am I?

Leonardo DiCaprio: I don’t think I’m getting paid for this.

As seen in the Odd Jobs #, Fall 2024

I am so handsome.

Me: Hey, baby. 

Girl: Oh my god! Are you a centaur?

Me: Yeah. Surprised you noticed. Most people can’t stop looking at my gorgeous face.

Police Officer: I’m placing you under arrest.

Me: Why? For looking too fine?

Police Officer: You’ve kicked and killed the last five people who’ve walked behind you.

Me: Serves them right for checking out my ass. The show’s up here!

Lawyer: I honestly don’t know how to proceed. Legally speaking, we’re in uncharted waters.

Me: Just wait till the judge sees me. He’ll drop the case—and his pants! Can I get a “hell yeah”?

Lawyer: I mean, it’s quite the dilemma. Is a half-man truly entitled to the rights of a full one?

Judge: Considering the abnormalities at play, this case has been deemed beyond my jurisdiction.

General: That’s right, your honor. The U.S. Army will take it from here.

Me: Is this for a photoshoot? Because I do not do camo. It clashes with my luscious gold locks.

Me: I know what you’re thinking, and no—Brad Pitt and I aren’t related.

Military Scientist: Please, sir. The genome extraction process requires you to be totally silent.

Me: I’m usually pretty good at leaving people speechless. Do you have a mirror I could look at?

General: The boys in the lab are using your DNA to create a race of centaur super soldiers. You’re going to help us take down China, son.

Me: Wait—so they’re all going to have my sculpted nose? My dreamy eyes? My chiseled chin?

General: No. Only your equine strength and speed.

Me: But they’re missing out on the best parts!

As seen in the Psycho #, Summer 2025

Typically, presidents near the end of their term are worried about how they’ll be remembered. I’m much more worried about finding my next job.

It’s my fault, really. I was dumb enough to take a position that had neither long-term security nor opportunities for advancement, and why? To network? My entire cabinet will also be out of a job after inauguration day.

The scary part is that presidential success has little bearing on post-presidential job prospects. In fact, 100% of people who don’t get elected president go on to do something else. The same can’t be said for men like FDR and JFK, and they were some of the finest to occupy the White House. At this rate, I’ll be on the street, wishing I hadn’t cut unemployment benefits so severely.

Picture this. I’m applying for a sales role at Walmart, and all the manager sees on my résumé is eight years in the highest office in the nation and zero retail experience. When she asks how I’d handle a difficult coworker, I recap the lessons from my nuclear standoff with Russia. “Sorry,” she says. “The right answer is to go to HR.” See how stupid I’d look?

Reporters ask me when I’ll bring the troops home. I tell them never, it’s hard enough finding work without extra competition. Though Congress writes hundreds of bills, they won’t write me one letter of recommendation. I’ve thought about going back to college, but I could never get in these days—I’m only the president of one organization.

Besides, in this recession I’m responsible for, it’ll be tough to be jobless when the aliens take over. Yes, you heard that correctly, the generals have told me that aliens are real and they’re coming, and when they arrive, I’ll be lying to people at parties about being an “entrepreneur.” Hopefully our extraterrestrial overlords will keep me on as a lab rat.

As seen in the POW! #, Winter 2024

Monday, March 30, 33

If Jesus is a miracle worker, then why is my project taking so long?

Jesus cannot walk on water just to build you a dock. Unless God really wants you to have a dock. And Jesus will know if God wants that, so do not try to lie about it because you will go to Hell. Likewise, despite requests from customers, Jesus lacks the ability to “snap his fingers and make a patio appear.” He can, however, make a patio appear by assembling one manually over the course of a business week, which is actually half the time Three Wise Men Carpentry takes. 

Do I have to tip Jesus’ posse? 

Peter, Andrew, Philip, Simon, John, Bartholomew, Thaddeus, Thomas, Matthew, James, James, and Judas are Jesus’ apostles and creative consultants. They do not physically assist Jesus because they are busy praying that he will complete your project at the high standard that Christ Carpentry is known for across the Greater Jerusalem area. They commune with Heaven so your home can look like it. Please tip unto them the amount you would have them tip unto you.

Jesus preaches, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” Are his carpentry services free?

NO!

I am dying of leprosy. Can you please send Jesus to perform a miracle to save me? 

Contractually, the sole time during the week that Jesus is permitted to do anything other than carpentry is between 12:00 and 1:00 PM. That, however, is his lunch break, and the only miracle he likes to perform then is making himself a tasty sandwich. Thus, it would be blessed if you could wait until an evening or a weekend to contact Jesus for any miracle-related needs—unless your leprosy is really bothering you, in which case you still owe Jesus his hourly rate.

Is there anything that Jesus will not build?

Jesus is a vocal opponent of Roman rule. Nevertheless, that does not exempt him from honoring his commitment to Christ Carpentry, which is an apolitical business that relies on government contracts. For example, last week, Jesus fulfilled a request from the governor’s office to build a series of giant wooden crosses. Though he will not admit it, it is some of his finest work to date.

As seen in the Entirely Secret & Completely Optional #, Winter 2025

I hired legendary quarterback Kurt Starr to be my life coach.

Day 1

• Kurt, I need to get my life together. Where do I start?

• The key to a perfect spiral is to put your fingers on the laces.

• [Throwing ball] Wow, amazing!

Day 2

• Kurt, what happened to all the junk food in the cabinet?

• I threw that crap out. You need to start eating better.

• But you replaced them with footballs.

• Only one way to get better at football.

Day 5

• Kurt, I don’t have the motivation to go to work today.

• How come?

• It’s my boss. He’s constantly harassing me—I don’t know how much longer I can take it.

• Let him. Your coach knows best. Remember that.

• He grabs my ass, Kurt.

• Coaches do that sometimes.

Day 7

• Kurt, I’m flying to the funeral now. What do I say to Mom? God, I should’ve been there. 

• Like Jones.

• Huh?

• Bo Jones. Wide receiver. Never got to the spot in time. He’s like you.

• I always thought I was kind of like you.

• No. You’re like Jones.

Day 10

• Kurt, I think I have to fire you.

• I get it. You were hoping I’d show you what it takes to be successful, but you’ve realized that the journey to success looks different for everyone, and the path that I know well is quite different from the one you hope to tread. I’m proud of you, both for realizing that, and for having the fortitude to act on it.

• That’s…exactly how I feel. Maybe I was wrong about you, Kurt. Forget what I said. Now, go long!

• No way. We agreed, I’m quarterback.

As seen in the Odd Jobs #, Fall 2024

G.I. Bill was an action character created by the government after WWII to encourage modest usage of the G.I. Bill.

Welcome home, serviceman. You’ve saved the world from the brink of disaster—good on you! Now that you’re back, you probably aren’t sure what to do with yourself. On one hand, you could spend tens of thousands of dollars of the government’s money. On the other, you could be a good American, like G.I. Bill! Let’s see how he’s readjusting to life on this side of the Atlantic.

G.I. Bill doesn’t waste his hard-earned time at four-year colleges or universities. He spends it down at the public library, reading. Look at G.I. Bill, consuming the very same knowledge as an Ivy League student, without paying a dime! He knows that just because the government offers a program, it doesn’t mean that the federal budget wouldn’t still take a major hit if everyone took advantage of it. Doesn’t he look patriotic?

But beware! Evil Communist forces are trying to tempt G.I. Bill into taking advantage of his nation’s generosity. They want him to get a bachelor’s degree, maybe even a master’s! Thankfully, G.I. Bill already has a master’s—in loving America. He vanquishes the Commie scum with a series of powerful action moves, yet he does so quietly because he is still in a public library. G.I. Bill never disturbs the peace!

Everywhere G.I Bill goes, he is beloved by his fellow citizens, partially for his valor in war, but primarily for his sparing usage of government subsidies. Every Veterans Day, the town throws a parade in his honor. The owner of the local diner promises him free meals for life, but G.I. Bill insists on paying. He knows that it is important for the economy for small business consumer spending to remain high.

See all these new homes that G.I. Bill would only be able to afford with the help of a federal loan? G.I. Bill doesn’t live in any of them. Rather, he stays with his mother, because if he didn’t, he would essentially be saying that he didn’t love his mother! You love your mother, don’t you?

As the sun sets on another beautiful American day, G.I Bill sits down to a romantic dinner cooked by his wife, Rosie the Riveter, who has easily settled back into domestic life after three years in the factory. Gosh, she can’t keep her hands off him—he’s just so strong and frugal. In fact, every time G.I. Bill saves the government a dollar, his biceps grow a full four inches! He will surely have employable skills a decade from now.

As seen in the Skin of My Teeth #, Fall 2025

• Batman, the Joker is headed for City Hall—wait, what happened to the Batmobile?

• Oh, I went for an upgrade. This is the new Batmobile. Now get in!

• This looks like a Prius.

• It is. But it’s not just any Prius…

• I knew it! What’s it got? Invisibility? Heat-seeking missiles?

• Close: it has special crime-fighting front-wheel drive!

• I think that’s standard.

• Not anymore. They discontinued it after 2008.

• Batman, we can’t save the city in this. For God’s sake, the car is tan.

• The Bat-Prius is champagne. Slick, right?

• It’s not very fearsome. And what’s with all these newspapers in the backseat?

• Just move them over. But don’t crease them! I can’t piss off Mr. DeLuca again.

• Mr. DeLuca?

• Nothing. Buckle in. We have to make a couple stops on the way. If I don’t finish delivering by 3:00, I only get half pay.

• Listen, I wasn’t going to say anything, but the last paycheck you gave me bounced.

• We need to stop the Joker.

• It’s alright. I don’t need it. But is everything okay? Money-wise?

• …*sob*...

• Batman?

As seen in the Raincheck #, Summer 2024

Man: I think I’ve lost my wallet!

Mounted Police: I’m on the case! Was it stolen?

Man: Wait, never mind. It was in my other pocket.

Mounted Police: Oh. Well, you let me know if it gets stolen.

Woman in Medieval Costume: Thou art a thief!

Mounted Police: Where? Everybody put your hands up!

Woman in Medieval Costume: No! Stop! We’re doing Shakespeare in the Park, you idiot!

Mounted Police: Gee. Um. My bad. For what it’s worth, you guys are really convincing actors.

Mounted Police: Hey there, sorry to bother you. I just wanted to tell you that if anything of yours gets stolen, you can call on me!

Man: Agh! Get away from me! I’m allergic to horses! (Starts choking)

Mounted Police: Oops! Sorry. I guess I’ll call 911?

Mounted Police: Is that a robber over there?

Passerby: No, just a happy, strolling couple.

Concerned Citizen: Please, officer, we need you! The crowd at this protest is out of control!

Mounted Police: Is there a robbery for me to stop?

Concerned Citizen: Not that I know of, but there are hordes and hordes of angry people who are about to injure each other!

Mounted Police: Sorry. I’m on my lunch break.

Family Being Robbed: Help us!

Mounted Police: Never fear—I’m on my way!

Segway Police: (Arrives there much quicker)

Mounted Police: That lady and her small child look lost! Maybe I can give them directions.

Small Child: Can I pet the horsey?

Mounted Police: I am a real police officer.

As seen in the Raincheck #, Summer 2024

There are two famous John Taylors: one, the bassist for the 1980s new romantic band Duran Duran, the other, a prominent macroeconomist.

Mick Jagger: I’ve been told we have a legend in the crowd tonight. Get on up here, J.T.!

John Taylor, Bassist: Gosh, Mick, well, if I mus—

Mick Jagger: Psst! John! What are you doing? I was talking about J.T.

John Taylor, Economist: Make some noise if you want to learn about the Federal Reserve!

Crowd: (Goes wild)

John Taylor, Bassist: Simon! It’s been so long. What do you say we hang out tonight?

Simon Le Bon, Lead Singer of Duran Duran: Oh, hey John. I’ve got a, uh, thing, tonight.

John Taylor, Economist: (Honking horn) Let’s go, Simon! That cocaine isn’t going to do itself.

John Taylor, Bassist: Honey, I’m home! It turned out Simon was bus—my God!

Wife: I’m sorry, John. He just knows so much more about labor markets than you do.

John Taylor, Economist: It’s true. I’m also a Sex Machine—get it, pal?

John Taylor, Bassist: That’s a James Brown song, actually. Now please get out of my bed.

POTUS: Gentlemen, I’m scrapping the Federal Reserve and replacing it with a new romantic band. I need someone to play bass.

John Taylor, Bassist: Oh, just give it to the other John Taylor already. He’ll probably do a better job than me, anyways.

John Taylor, Economist: Don’t talk like that, John! I know I like to show you up, but you’ve got some real talent. You deserve this.

John Taylor, Bassist: (Tearing up) Do you really mean that, J.T.?

John Taylor, Economist: Of course, buddy. Besides, I’ve already agreed to be the frontman.

As seen in the Booksmart #, Fall 2025

Odysseus spent years trying to return home and win his wife back from her suitors.

Ugly Odysseus: Behold, the Trojan Horse!

Greek Soldier: Wow! But are we sure that’s a horse? The face looks a lot like yours.

Ugly Odysseus: Are you implying that I have a horse face?

Greek Soldier:No. I honestly just thought that was supposed to be you.

Ugly Odysseus: [Tying himself to the mast] Watch out, men! Though those maidens on that rock may be tempting, in truth, they are sirens, out to kill you. Beware their deadly song!

Sirens: It’s okay, you can calm down. We’re not interested.

Ugly Odysseus: I have been your captive in this palace for seven years. I beg of you, release me!

Calypso: Sure.

Ugly Odysseus: Just like that? I thought you were madly in love with me! If not, why keep me here for so long?

Calypso: I was hoping to start a freak museum.

Zeus: You have done much to vouch for this Odysseus, Athena. Are you certain you wish to cast your favor upon him?

Athena: Almost. Let me just take a look at him first.

Zeus: [Sculpting a bust of Odysseus] Here.

Athena: Hmm. I think I’ll wait to cast my favor upon Bradley Cooper instead.

Ugly Odysseus: My dearest! I have returned to rescue you from your suitors once and for all!

Ugly Odysseus’ Ugly Wife: Don’t worry, babe. I don’t have any suitors.

As seen in the Raincheck #, Summer 2024

At Black Tie Hospital, the emergency room is invitation-only.

Patients arrive in limousine ambulances. As their stretchers are rolled down the lobby’s red carpet, paparazzi snap photos of their injuries with X-ray cameras, and Vanity Fair reporters ask them for their insurance information. The wealthiest tip the orderlies for a cot with a prime location. Once there, they’re told to put on a backless satin gown and, if it’s flu season, a Venetian mask.

Every diagnosis is paired with champagne. There’s a VIP section for patients with rare diseases, and an HIV section for patients with that. Physical therapy takes place in the ballroom to the music of a band of autistic savants. Recovering addicts make small talk with psychiatrists over cocktails. Visitors are allowed, but only if they have a connection to the New York Dursts.

At the habitually sold-out operating theater, tonight’s show is a heart transplant. The patient lies on an antique fainting couch below a crystal chandelier providing light. The surgeon, a graduate of Juilliard Med, performs his task with both feeling and grace, improvising in all the right places and not letting a drop of blood stain his crisp, white tuxedo. When the operation is over, the audience demands an encore.

Yet at Black Tie Hospital, truly anything goes. People take sedatives like hors d’oeuvres. For the right price, someone will stick their hand down your pants and tell you whether you have testicular cancer—if you’re into that. Numerous high-profile patients have even been murdered, though here it’s just called medical malpractice.

Still, it remains the hub for everybody who’s anybody who’s sick. The waiting room magazines are imported from France. The vending machines only carry caviar. Every doctor is fashionably late, and all the nurses have law degrees. The sole ailment that isn’t contagious is a failure to follow the dress code.

If wealth is a disease, then the patients at Black Tie Hospital are terminal. And they are. A lot of them really are going to die soon.

As seen in the Odd Jobs #, Fall 2025

As seen in the POW! #, Winter 2024

Chief: Goddammit O’Reilly! I thought I told you to stop watching those prank shows on the job.

O’Reilly: No, this one was filmed near Lahey Park last Wednesday. It caught footage of the strangler in the background. Look.

• IT’S TIME FOR…PRANKS IN THE PARK!

Chief: This just seems like pranks.

• JIMMY THINKS HE’S OUT FOR JUST A REGULAR WALK…

O’Reilly: Hold on a second.

• BUT HE’S ABOUT TO GET A FACE FULL OF CASSEROLE!

Chief: Wait! Is that the strangler in the back?

• LOOK AT THAT WET, JUICY CASSEROLE, DRIPPING DOWN JIMMY’S FACE!

O’Reilly: Yeah, right in the top left corner. Haha, that’s so much casserole.

• BUT IT’S NOT OVER YET! HERE COMES PAPA GOODLES!

Chief: What’d you say?

• HE’S GOT ONE CASSEROLE IN EACH HAND…AND HE’S READY TO SHARE!

O’Reilly: Nothing. Top left corner.

• READY OR NOT, JIMMY—HERE COMES YOUR CASSEROLE!

Chief: I can’t see the strangler anymore. There’s casserole covering half the camera!

• BOY, THAT CASSEROLE SURE LOOKS STINKY! DON’T PUKE, JIMMY!

O’Reilly: I know, so great, right? Classic Goodles!

• JIMMY ISN’T DOING TOO WELL…BUT PAPA GOODLES SURE IS!

Chief: That’s enough, O’Reilly! Is this clip going to help with our case or not?

• THAT’S WHY THEY SAY, “IF GOODLES IS THE MAN, CASSEROLE IS THE PLAN!”

O’Reilly: Sorry, sir. Yes. The strangler actually kills everyone in the show right…here.

• AND WHO DO WE HAVE HERE? IS THAT ANOTHER PRANKST—OH GOD! GOD! NO! NOT PAPA GOODLES! HE’S STRANGLING GOODLES! HELP HIM, JIMMY! WIPE THE CASSEROLE OFF YOUR EYES AND HELP HI—LOOK OUT, JIMMY! NO! HE GOT JIMMY, TOO! PLEASE! SOMEONE! HE’S COMING FOR ME! AHHHH!

Chief: Wow.

O’Reilly: I know. It’s tough to watch. But the good news is I’ve just run a scan of the footage and was able to find both the strangler’s identity and address. He’s ours. Now what do you say we go put that bastard in cuffs?

Chief: Sure, but…can you rewind the video first?

• IT’S TIME FOR…PRANKS IN THE PARK!

O’Reilly: Of course, sir. Here. Do you think I’m missing something?

• JIMMY THINKS HE’S OUT FOR JUST A REGULAR WALK…

Chief: Shh. No. It’s just—this next part’s really funny.

As seen in the Raincheck #, Summer 2024

A crowded nightclub. A beautiful woman approaches Ginuwine on the dance floor.

“I’m just a bachelor, looking for a partner,”

Time stands still as she reaches out to Ginuwine, sensually. She hands him an instructional booklet titled How to Ride a Pony.

“Someone who knows how to ride,”

Ginuwine leans in to kiss the woman. He fakes her out at the last second and shoves her away. He knows how to ride a pony.

“Without even falling off,”

All of the dancers in the nightclub remove their masks, revealing themselves to be ponies. Ginuwine mounts the sweetest one, Amber Sage.

“If you’re horny, let’s do it,”

Together, Ginuwine and Amber Sage lead the ponies out into the street. Ponies pour out of buildings across the city. The sun shines above. It is the revolution, and it is beautiful.

“Ride it, my pony,”

Flashback to a ten-year-old Ginuwine pointing to a photograph in a magazine of a pony for sale. His father shakes his head “no.”

“My saddle’s waitin’,”

Bounding across time, Amber Sage smashes through ten-year-old Ginuwine’s front doorway. “Take my hand, little one,” he says in his deep, Indian accent.

“Come and jump on it,”

The pair rendezvous with adult Ginuwine in the future, and go on to have many adventures across various planets and historical eras. Each one reminds them of friendship’s true meaning.

As seen in the Raincheck #, Summer 2024

I work as a male stripper. What does that mean? Lots of people think that a male stripper is a man who takes his clothes off in exchange for money. Those people are wrong. I am a male stripper, which means that I take off men’s clothes, often for money, but also sometimes for charity.

Now, the man losing his clothes? That’s the male strippee. The male stripper and the male strippee are often confused, but make no mistake, they could not be more different. In fact, they are opposites. For example, by the end of the act, a male strippee is dressed in approximately zero clothes. In contrast, a male stripper is always dressed in tan khakis, brown leather shoes, a light brown blazer with dark brown elbow patches, and a red or brown tie.

I should clarify, us male strippers are not necessarily male. Yes, that’s right, male stripping is not just another male-dominated profession. The women who male-strip are known as female male strippers. I hope you’re writing all this down.

Now, those of you who are interested in stripping have probably seen some performers who take their own clothes off. They call themselves “male strippers” when they’re really more like male self-strippers or autostrippers who are male. Be warned: THIS IS NOT MALE STRIPPING. I’m not saying you can’t work as a male stripper and as a male strippee, but I beg of you, do it separately. These new-age male autostripping clowns blatantly disregard the delicate interplay between male stripper and male strippee that makes traditional male male-stripping so special. What they do would be like if a member of a band tried to both play the guitar and strip the guitarist. It’s a fad, and it’s not going to last. The female version of autostripping, however, is hot.

As seen in the Odd Jobs #, Fall 2025

I am addicted to MDMA. The taste of MDMA, that is. It is so scrumptious. I am vehemently opposed to recreational drug use.

My favorite flavor of MDMA is strawberry. I eat it all the time for the delicious feeling in my tastebuds. Then I spit it right out so I don’t get any sinful feelings in my brain. “Why don’t you just eat regular strawberries?” people ask me. The answer is because strawberry MDMA is yummy. A better question, I tell them, is why people feel the need to get high.

I have lots of MDMA at parties, because I spend so much time at them telling people not to do drugs that I like to reward myself with a tasty treat. Sometimes, someone will offer me some MDMA, and I’ll say, “Ooh, yes, I love snacks with friends!” Then they’ll actually take the MDMA instead of tasting it, and I’ll be like, “What? This leaves me with no choice but to call the police this very minute!”

MDMA can be great in a variety of dishes, like my signature MDMA with water. I like to make it for people who are addicted to MDMA to show them that there is more to life than drugs, like cuisine. I also make it for my friends who aren’t addicted to MDMA, but a lot of them end up getting addicted to MDMA after they have it, so I have to make it for them again to get them un-addicted.

There is so much MDMA at my house that my neighbors are starting to get suspicious. Last week, they called the police on me, but I did not mind since I had been asking the police to come over for months to discuss drug prevention initiatives. When the officers arrived, I offered them some cheese and crackers because I was so hungry that I did not feel like sharing my MDMA. Silly me. Those policemen saw right through my big lie! They brought in a dog who was so hungry for MDMA that he found my entire secret stash. Now I am in prison for lying, greediness, and being an all-around bad friend. It just goes to show that if you love something, you should share it, especially if it’s some tasty MDMA.

As seen in the Psycho #, Summer 2025

Fuck, no, that’s definitely cyanide.

As seen in the Before I Go #, Winter 2026

Wake up, fellas! The modern woman is sharp, bright, intelligent, and a genius. You’re a fool if you think that she’s going to be wooed by your vulgar and simplistic “yowza”s or “BOING YOING YOING”s. To win her heart, you’ll need to match her wits—cleverly. Thankfully, the art of smart seduction is one that can be learned. Just master any of the following lines, and watch the female Einsteins you desire swoon… with love:

• I’m in awe of your brain.

• Would your brain like to get drinks sometime?

• Let’s have a threesome… me, your brain, and your best friend.

• I’d really like to do your brain.

• Your brain has good boobs.

As seen in the Booksmart #, Fall 2025

Me: (waking up violently) Ahh! The horror! The horror!

My Wife: Honey! What’s wrong? What happened?

Me: I have no fucking clue, but it’s gonna be super awful.

Post-Pre-Traumatic Stress Disorder

Me: (waking up violently) Ahh! The horror! The horror!

My Wife: Honey! What’s wrong? What happened?

Me: I have no fucking clue, but it’s gonna be super awful. (waking up violently, for real this time) Ahh! The horror! The horror!

My Wife: Shut the fuck up, Derek! I’m trying to sleep.

Me: I forgot how mean you are.

Pre-Post-Pre-Traumatic Stress Disorder

Me: (waking up violently) Ahh! The horror! The horror!

My Wife: Honey! What’s wrong? What happened?

Me: I have no fucking clue, but it’s gonna be super awful. (waking up violently, for real this time) Ahh! The horror! The horror!

My Wife: Shut the fuck up, Derek! I’m trying to sleep.

Me: I forgot how mean you are. (waking up violently, for real this time, actually) Ahh! The horror! The horror!

My Mistress: Babe! What’s wrong? What happened?

Me: I have no fucking clue, but I know that it’s gonna be super awful after I have no fucking clue what will happen but I know that it’s gonna be super awful. It’s a whole thing. Anyways, you’re so much nicer than my wife.

Pre-Post-Pre-Traumatic Stress Disorder Trauma

Me: (waking up violently) Ahh! The horror! The horror!

My Wife: Honey! What’s wrong? What happened?

Me: I have no fucking clue, but it’s gonna be super awful. (waking up violently, for real this time) Ahh! The horror! The horror!

My Wife: Shut the fuck up, Derek! I’m trying to sleep.

Me: I forgot how mean you are. (waking up violently, for real this time, actually) Ahh! The horror! The horror!

My Mistress: Babe! What’s wrong? What happened?

Me: I have no fucking clue, but I know that it’s gonna be super awful after I have no fucking clue what will happen but I know that it’s gonna be super awful. It’s a whole thing. Anyways, you’re so much nicer than my wife.

My Wife: (barging in) I knew you were cheating on me! I’m gonna kill you!

Me: (dodging my wife’s ax throw) No! This is gonna cause some really complicated psychological problems for me down the road!

As seen in the Life is Good #, Summer 2024

• Hey dad? Can we talk about the animals?

• The animals?

• You know. The two of each animal from every single species on Earth that live with us in the ark?

• Oh, the animals. What about them?

• Well, they’ve been having a lot of sex. Like, everywhere.

• I know. Good.

• I just thought they weren’t supposed to do that until after the flood.

• Flood? Oh. No. I just made that up so your mom wouldn’t complain. Why are we outside? Let’s go back inside. I want to see what those animals are up to.

As seen in the Imaginary Friends #, Spring 2024

A foreign land. A jungle of death. A battle for the soul of Southeast Asia. In Call of Duty: 1969, you will experience none of these things as you assume the role of a young hippie living in San Francisco.

Feel the fire of the ‘60s firsthand as you light up joint after joint after joint and dance around various bonfires. Survive on nothing but locally-grown vegetables and a generous allowance from your parents, who, yeah, are well-off Republicans, but you’re not really down with their whole ethos. Annihilate intolerance.

Where in previous installments of the franchise you turned everyday objects into deadly weapons, in CoD: 1969, you’ll turn everyday objects into drums. You’ll navigate the map through a first-person pink-sunglasses perspective, and monitor the first health bar that tracks your in-game STD risk. Free love can be yours for $60.

Dive into multiplayer modes like Peaceful Protest, Jam Session, and Team Deathmatch, which has been revamped as an additional jam session. Buy the Denim Edition for exclusive access to virtual jeans. Immerse yourself in danger by hitchhiking with strangers to Woodstock. Go nuclear and officially drop out of college. Then quickly re-enroll to avoid the draft.

CoD: 1969 gives you the tools to live out your most violent fantasies, provided that your most violent fantasy is crafting flower crowns while on LSD.

As seen in the POW! #, Winter 2024

• Hydro-Clean, America’s #1 detergent!

• Hydro-Clean, we are aware of the developing story; our hearts go out to those affected!

• Hydro-Clean, the best detergent for any purpose, except poisoning your wife!

• Hydro-Clean, you should never poison anyone, period!

• Hydro-Clean, it’s only poisonous if you drink it!

• Hydro-Clean, be careful who you marry!

• Hydro-Clean does not blame victims, and Mr. Johnson must be held accountable if the allegations are true!

• Hydro-Clean, available in strawberry scent!

• Hydro-Clean is in no way legally responsible for the actions of its customers!

• Hydro-Clean did not defame David Johnson, as we made no indication as to whether we believe in the validity of the said allegations, nor did we state his full name, now $10.99!

• Hydro-Clean, all press is good press!

• Hydro-Clean, formerly endorsed by Oprah!

• Hydro-Clean, Tide is also poisonous!

As seen in the In the Lab #, Spring 2024

JULIET: Dearest Romeo, upon what will we feast this romantic eve?

ROMEO: Our love shall content us, sweet Juliet. Our love, and dinosaur chicken nuggets.

JULIET: But, pray, assure me that you have not procured some unsatisfactory brand of nugget.

ROMEO: For my love, only the best shall suffice. These are Nelson Brand™.

JULIET kisses ROMEO passionately, then begins eating nuggets, more passionately.

ROMEO: Lo! I hear trouble approaching.

TYBALT entersthe Nelson Brand™ Dinosaur Chicken Nugget Castle, incensed.

TYBALT: Surely, Romeo, you did not think you could escape sharing your nuggets with me!

ROMEO: But of course, Tybalt. Nelson Brand™ dinosaur chicken nuggets are the perfect party snack.

TYBALT: Many thanks. Could you do me the honor of passing me a triceratops?

ROMEO: Here, friend. Mine is a T-Rex.

ROMEO and TYBALT pretend to make their nuggets fight. EVERYONE wins, as there is nothing better than good food and fun times. This is the Nelson™ way.

JULIET: Hast thou heard the legend of all-new Nelson Brand™ Ranch-Up?

ROMEO: Do not tempt me! Dost thou refer to ketchup and ranch, all in one bottle?

TYBALT: Aye! ‘Tis a delicacy now abundant in most grocery stores in the tri-state area.

JIM NELSON, CEO of Nelson Brand™ enters, distributing Ranch-Up coupons to the audience

JIM NELSON: That’s right, Tybalt. It’s just one of many new Nelson Brand™ products we’re excited to showcase here at the Nelson™ Center for the Arts and Poultry Processing Facility.

TYBALT: Ay. But, alas, Romeo, the real reason I am here is because your time has come—

JIM NELSON: To enjoy a delicious Nelson™ meal with the people that Nelson™ matter. Because, as we like to say…

ALL: Nelson™ families eat together!

ROMEO murders TYBALT, then drinks a vial of lethal poison. JULIET stabs herself and dies. JIM NELSON stands center stage, savoring Nelson Brand™’s mouth-watering and nutritious signature dinosaur chicken nugget recipe. Cue applause.

As seen in the Life is Good #, Summer 2024

A priest, a rabbi, and Caitlyn Jenner walk into a bar. BANG! BANG! BANG! The only one who walks out is Keith McBooty. This is his story.

Keith McBooty is the man.

He smells like teen spirit and looks like trouble. The push-up was named after him. What he lacks in intelligence, he makes up for in penis.

He’s broken every bone in his body, and does it twice on Sundays. He asks his doctors if they do happy endings, and even if they don’t, more often than not, they’ll make an exception. 

When Alcoholics Anonymous gave him his bronze chip, he ate it, then chased it with a beer. He used to have a drinking problem, but now it’s much more severe.

Not much else is known about Keith McBooty. If you’re curious, a good person to ask might be his mother. But if you want to talk to Keith McBooty’s mother, you’re gonna have to go through him, punk.

P.S. She’s dead.

But for all his musk, one fateful day, Keith McBooty’s world was turned upside down. You see, that day, a stranger came to town. And if there was one word that filled Keith McBooty’s mind when he heard “stranger,” it was “doom.” And in the eyes of Keith McBooty, doom was no good.

Our hero tried to play it cool, at first. He shook the stranger’s hand, then crushed it, then shook it a little more. Still, the stranger didn’t like that. He even called the police. And in the eyes of the police, Keith McBooty was no good.

So now, Keith McBooty is sitting in the county jail, trying to make his case to the judge that he’s an innocent man and a red-white-and-blue-blooded American, but it turns out the judge is all the way in FLORIDA because of his daughter’s wedding, so Keith McBooty is there all alone! And, let me tell you, as soon as Keith McBooty realizes this, well, heck, he just walks straight out of jail.

After that escape, practically every girl in the state threw herself at good old Keith’s feet. But each time one landed there, he’d just tell ‘em, “raincheck, babes,” and head off with his boyfriend, Ricardo, because he was gay.

As seen in the Raincheck #, Summer 2024

As a researcher, I know that it is unethical to experiment on humans without first administering the same treatment to animals. Thus, I am applying this principle to my dating life.

Trial 1 - Wild Brown Rat / Rattus Norvegicus (Bethany)

Asked the subject to a candlelit dinner, causing her to salivate intensely, a sign of either physical attraction or rabies. Throughout our meal, the subject repeatedly scurried onto and nibbled at my linguine, taking intermittent breaks to defecate on the tablecloth. Concluded that poor table manners are a definite turnoff.

Trial 2 - European Rabbit / Oryctolagus Cuniculus (Sarah)

Took the subject for a sunset stroll in the park, attempting unsuccessfully to hold hands. Though the subject displayed a significant disinterest in my questions about her favorite movies, she did display a strong interest in foraging for dead grass. At the conclusion of our walk, the subject suddenly birthed a litter of five bunnies from a previous relationship, and we politely parted ways after I explained that I am not yet ready to be a father.

Trial 3 - American Shorthair Cat / Felis Catus (Dave)

Had a lovely time, but the subject’s inability to arouse me sexually confirms that I am not bisexual.

Trial 4 - Beagle / Canis Lupus Familiaris (Bella)

Though petite, the subject was full of things to say, primarily barks. Split two entrées with the subject, a medium-well sirloin and a raw sirloin. Received positive signals from the subject, but was wary of competition from the golden retriever at the next table who vigorously checked out the subject’s ass.

Trial 5 - Chimpanzee / Pan Troglodytes (Lucy)

The subject loudly masturbated multiple times during our date, upsetting many of the children at the mini-golf course, and making me question whether I could ever be involved with someone so forward. Despite this, discovered that the subject and I have a lot in common, primarily 98.8% of our DNA. Considering a second trial.

Trial 6 - Girl Next Door / Homo Sapiens (Emily)

Evening progressed well until the subject mentioned her love of animals. Some differences are just irreconcilable.

As seen in the In the Lab #, Spring 2024

The Old Guy at My Office: Zoom

The Old Guy at My Office: Zoom!

The Old Guy at My Office: Zoooooooooom!

Me: what are you doing

The Old Guy at My Office: I want to make this video go faster.

The Old Guy at My Office: ZOOM!!!

The Old Guy at My Office: It is still not working.

As seen in the Odd Jobs #, Fall 2024

Mother: The baby’s coming! Where’s the doctor?

Nurse: Don’t worry—we’ve got the most awesome midwife in the city: Charles!

Charles, the city’s most awesome midwife, roller-skates into the delivery room, followed by a perfectly racially- and socioeconomically-diverse group of applauding children. He backflips out of his skates and lands in neon Air Jordans, proceeding to engage in choreographed play-fighting with the numerous masked ninjas entering the delivery room through the windows. Defeated, the ninjas unmask themselves, and each one is revealed to be Ronald McDonald. Take On Me by A-ha plays in the background as a grinning Charles directs the Ronald McDonalds to distribute cheeseburgers and free solid-color t-shirts to all the children. Finally, Charles takes his position at the foot of the delivery bed, whips out a giant telephone, and leaves an encouraging voicemail for his buddy, Rodney, who’s been feeling a little down lately. The children fist-bump him one by one, before he hoists each of them in the air to help them fulfill their lifelong dream of dunking a basketball. He then gives an engaging musical presentation on saying no to drugs, before leaping into the air to catch the game-winning touchdown pass, landing in a split.

Nurse: Thank God you’re here, Charles! We’ve got a baby on the way.

Charles: Baby? You know I’m afraid of babies!

Nurse: Agh, so sorry, Charles. Totally forgot. Can I get you anything else ma’am?

As seen in the Odd Jobs #, Fall 2024

The door-in-the-face technique is a persuasion strategy in which one makes a big request expecting it to be denied, and then follows it up with the smaller request that they actually wanted all along.

Me: Miranda, you stir something in my heart that no other woman ever has. Will you marry me?

Miranda: Are you insane? For god’s sake, I’m your brother’s wife!

Me: That’s cool. Can you pass the salt?

My Brother: We’re not just going to move past that, man. What the hell are you thinking?

Me: Sorry dude. Mind jacking me off real quick?

My Brother: Egh—what?!

Me: It’s okay if you don’t want to. Just forgive me instead.

As seen in the Before I Go #, Winter 2026

I am a science genius.

I know physics, chemistry, and biology’s definitions. My life is an experiment. My initials are DNA. My phone number is the periodic table. I wasn’t born in a test tube, but I plan to be buried in one.

I am a science genius.

I won the Nobel Prize for Best Actor. I avoid cold temperatures, so I don’t get hypothesis. When I defecate, it’s called chemical engineering. The laboratory is my playground, and I am not allowed within 500 yards of it.

I am a science genius.

I know how the storks who deliver babies can fly. I’m on trial for breaking the law of gravity. Magnetism is a figment of my imagination. I can make the sun, the moon, and the stars disappear simply by closing my eyes. The Bible is my lab report.

I am a science genius.

Explosions don’t work on me.

As seen in the Booksmart #, Fall 2025

I wake up in my casino and drive to the casino. Ten supermodels sit in the passenger seat of my Ferrari. I speed so fast their hair blows off. Now they’re just models. When I arrive, I toss the parking attendant a lit cigar. He jams it into my ignition and the car explodes. The flames are red, my favorite color. Today is my lucky day.

Outside the casino, it’s 3 PM. Inside, it’s nine short hours from midnight. The dress code is black tie/naked, so I take off all my clothes and replace them with bow ties. Heads turn because people say I smell like cash. In truth, only my cologne does. I grab a firstful of poker chips. Eat them. Then I spit them out. I forget I’m allergic.

Time is money. But not for me. I spend hours picking the right table. Too many men, that’s a sausage fest. Too many ladies, what if I want some sausage? Forty days and forty nights later, I settle on a group with a perfect ratio, fat to old, skinny to wealthy. Bet my entire net worth, first hand. The dealer tells me the game is full. That’s cool. I can wait. Patience is my only vice.

Roulette. I’m colorblind. Slots. I’m deaf. Blackjack. You can’t say that anymore, but that’s never stopped me before. It’s all fun and games, except when everything’s on the line. Luckily, everything’s on the table. It tastes delicious. A good buffet is a beautiful thing.

Casino’s closing, since it’s almost time for them to open. I don’t want to go. Security grabs me, kisses me, pats me on the back. They throw me in jail—then I remember: here, there are no rules. We’re in Italy. Spain. Where is Monte Carlo? Don’t ask me. I know only one thing, and that’s the secret to my success: victory.

As seen in the Skin of My Teeth #, Fall 2025

Hi, and welcome to the first episode of Wizard Cooking Show. I am your host, Wizard Michael, but you can just call me chef. Today, we’ll be making lasagna.

But, before we begin, my producer is indicating to me that I should answer a few key questions. Yes, I am a real wizard. What does that mean? It means that I have magical powers that allow me to do things most humans could never even dream of, and also that I identify as a man. A man who loves to cook! Alright.

Now, whenever you’re cooking something Italian, you’ll likely need cheese and/or tomatoes. You can get these by conjuring them. I am pretty confident that this is the only way to obtain either of these ingredients. Additionally, you’ll want some flat pasta, which you can find at your local grocery store. Once you have everything ready, it is time to cast the “lasagna spell”. This is my fun little term for combining the ingredients by hand, and then baking the result.

After about thirty to forty-five minutes of cooking, your lasagna should be ready. I recommend spending the waiting time flying a broom, as this can be very, very fun. Your lasagna should look great, which is unfortunate because, if you’re anything like me, you will be unable to eat it. Lasagna is extremely deadly to wizards, and is, in fact, the only thing known to be able to kill us. Not even time can kill us.

I hope you enjoyed the show, and please be sure to tune back in next week, when we will be baking cookies!

As seen in the Skin of My Teeth #, Fall 2025

• Okay, the fortune teller said that this doll will control Brock’s every move.

• Let’s give that bully a taste of his own medicine! How should we start? Atomic wedgie?

• I’ve got something better. Check this out.

• Yeah! Make him…sit?

• I’m having him study. We have a math test tomorrow, and Brock’s been struggling.

• What? No! I want to get back at him for all the times he’s stuffed us in the trash can.

• Trust me. A lot of Brock’s anger issues stem from his poor academic performance.

• C’mon man! Make him hurt. We spent all our lunch money on this doll!

• Fine. Can you hand me that bigger doll over there?

• Don’t tell me. This controls an even bigger bully who you’re gonna make beat Brock up!

• This is Brock’s father, Kenneth. He spends a lot of time at the office. It’s time they talked.

• Oh, yeah, because he’s abusive!

• No! Because Brock’s behavior clearly shows that he lacks a positive male role model.

• Can you still make the dad hit him?

• Look. There’s the real Brock over there. He’s talking to Kate.

• Kate? Like, my girlfriend Kate? Oh my god! They’re kissing! Stop making him do that!

• I’m not doing anything. This is all Brock. His self-esteem has skyrocketed.

• This is awful! Your stupid doll is ruining my life!

• Well, look at it like this: now he’ll be much too busy having sex with Kate to beat you up.

• Wait. He’s coming over here. Brock! Stay away from my gir—no! Not the trash can! No!

• Haha, sorry. That one was me. I just missed seeing that.

As seen in the In the Lab #, Spring 2024

• Hello, Jim. I am Doctor Van Helsing.

• Ha. You must get a lot of Dracula jokes.

• Jokes? Oh, no, no, dear boy, Dracula is no laughing matter. He is a brutal, vile murderer.

• Yeah, that’s cool. Anyways, I’ve been having a lot of anxiety lately.

• How could you not? It is frightening to live in a world where a creature like Dracula roams free.

• Totally, totally. Do you have anything for anxiety? Something I could smoke, maybe?

• I have these cloves of garlic. I prefer to keep them around my neck, but I suppose you could smoke them. In fact, doing so could make the very air around you poisonous to the beast, preventing him from ever coming near.

• Mhmm. Wow. I don’t know if that’s really what I’m looking for.

• Alas, you are correct. Tempting as it may be, I cannot content myself with merely keeping Dracula away. It is my duty to lure him to my wooden stake, and put an end to his reign of darkness once and for all!

• Marijuana. I want marijuana. Can you help me out or not?

• Oh, of course. I personally smoke a great, great deal of pot.

As seen in the Imaginary Friends #, Spring 2024

Love Poem

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Sunflowers are yellow and brown

Haiku

This is not a haiku

This is not a haiku

This is not a haiku

Acrostic

Poop

Opoop

Epoop

Mpoop

Spoop

Spoop

Upoop

Cpoop

Kpoop

As seen in the Skin of My Teeth #, Fall 2025

Hot Frankenstein is by far the hottest Frankenstein our matchmaking service has to offer. He’s like Frankenstein if he wasn’t made out of total uggos. His face pairs Audrey Hepburn’s eyes with Morgan Freeman’s freckles. His biceps are made out of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s face, and on his tattoo of Marilyn Monroe, he has Dennis Rodman. He’s got Julia Roberts’ boobs and Russell Crowe’s man boobs. What more could you ask for in a lover?

Well, maybe you’re looking for something deeper, in which case Sensitive Frankenstein might be right for you. His smile is twice as wide as the average person’s, and six times as toothy. We’ve tricked him out with a heart of solid gold, which has caused some severe blood flow issues. Maybe he takes you dancing, maybe you take him and switch up traditional Frankenstein-female gender roles. Every moment in your relationship with Sensitive Frankenstein is guaranteed to be lovely, since each is made up of lovely moments from other, dead people’s relationships.

But I’d get it if you wanted to skip romance altogether and jump to starting a family. I’d show you Child Frankenstein, but most people find him extremely upsetting. You hear that barking over there? That’s Cat Frankenstein. My assistant screwed up and gave him the wrong voicebox. It’s also cool if you want to go the inanimate route. People have been quite happy with our various Frankenstein sex toys made from rotting eggplants and cucumbers. I won’t drop any names, but a couple of local senators have been some of our most enthusiastic customers.

Hmm. No one’s ever asked me that before. I suppose we could set you up with someone who wasn’t a Frankenstein. But…why?

As seen in the In the Lab #, Spring 2024

Though people say that healthcare in America is too expensive, you just have to know where to look. I like to go to my guy Frankie Pete under the bridge, where appointments are always free and never not at nighttime. Today, I’m seeing him for my annual checkup, which happens weekly since Frankie Pete doesn’t do dictionaries and has a loose grasp of linear time.

Frankie Pete begins our appointment by rubbing my chest with the wetter of his two hands. “Stethoscopes are a hoax,” he grumbles. He then takes a quick glance at the outside of my jeans. Turns out I’ve got AIDS. Frankie Pete breaks the news to me gently, though, with a lip kiss, which is safe because he also has it.

Worried about malpractice? Frankie Pete’s got you covered. Every appointment’s videotaped by his trusty assistant, Nurse Earl. “My name’s just Earl,” says Nurse Earl. He films me during the physical endurance part of the checkup, where Frankie Pete has me clean his tent and stroke his shoulders a little. “Cleanliness is next to godliness, and the government owns all the diseases,” muses the doc while scrubbing dog poop off his pants with gutter water.

Since Frankie Pete has no medical specialty, he has every medical specialty. As my gastroenterologist, he gives me a colonoscopy, but as my therapist, he asks me how the colonoscopy makes me feel. No matter how I answer, Frankie Pete always tells me that the colonoscopy makes him feel great.

But Frankie Pete is more than my doctor—he’s also my pharmacist. After scratching around for a while, Frankie Pete removes his hand from his underwear, holding a packet of powder. He tells me it’s the stuff LeBron James takes, if LeBron took a lot of suspect street drugs. Perfect. I’m the LeBron James of saving on healthcare. I inhale the whole bag as F.P. watches with a smile.

As the sun rises and Frankie Pete drags his tent back into the sewer, I can’t help but wonder why more Americans don’t take advantage of the valuable public service he provides. You’re paying an arm and a leg for a hospital bed, while I’m paying nothing to lie in an underpass, paralyzed by Frankie Pete’s medicine, as my arms and legs turn blue. Now tell me that deal doesn’t sound too good to be legal.

As seen in the Life is Good #, Summer 2024

As soon as you catch sight of her, your heart begins to pound. You’ve been planning this moment for ages, but suddenly you feel lost. You think that maybe you should just go home. She looks busy. But are you really going to wimp out again? Man up. You take a deep breath, before opening your mouth to speak. Here goes nothing.

“Put your hands up and open the safe! This is a robbery!”

Idiot. Put her hands up and open the safe? How is this teller supposed to open anything with her hands in the air, Kevin? God.

But it’s too late to back out now. All you can do is hope that she and everyone else was too frightened by your gun to notice your slip-up. Your gun…which is still in your backpack. Crappp. Quickly, you swing your bag off your shoulder, unzip it, and​​—fuck it’s stuck, stupid thread, c’mon, yes—pull out your gun. Now they’re screaming. Phew. What comes next?

A couple dozen seconds later, you remember. Firing a round into the air, you shout, “Everybody get d—ouch!” Is that plaster? You make a note to not aim directly above your head next time. That really hurt. You want to cry, but you can’t. You cry a little.

Thankfully, several people have begun to sob, drowning out the sound of your tears. You lower your voice to sound more masculine. “If nobody tries anything, nobody gets hurt!” You sound ridiculous. Deep voice. Who are you trying to kid? Be natural! Pathetic.

You face the teller again, pointing your gun at her in such a way that she can’t see how sweaty your pits are. “Open the goddamn safe, woman!” you command, right before hiccuping. “That was the gun,” you assure her, then hiccup again. Do they have a water fountain in here?

Unfortunately, while you’re scanning the walls for one, or at least a vending machine to use once the heist is done, the teller leaps back toward her desk and smacks a button beneath it. An alarm starts blaring, as red lights flash from the ceiling. This is not good. You look terrible in red light.

Fleeing for the exit, you trip on your shoelaces. Stupid, stupid. You never tie them tightly enough. Now the police are swarming you. You’re in handcuffs. But it’s fine, you tell yourself. You didn’t even really want to steal from this place, anyways. You were just trying to get to know it. When the time is right, you’ll rob the bank that’s meant for you.

As seen in the Raincheck #, Summer 2024

On Saturday, November 3rd, Sarah Mulroney and Torgon, Titan of Death, were married at the Hotel Kansas City in Kansas City. A reception was held in the Underworld.

The bride, 34, is a veterinarian in Kansas City. She attended Fordham for her undergraduate degree and Purdue for her DVM. She is the daughter of Frank and Sheryl Mulroney of Leawood.

The groom, ageless, intercepts damned souls on their journey to Hell and eats them. This is a fate far worse than anything Satan is capable of. He did not attend college, but he knows all. He has claimed your soul, and for every moment you spend thinking about what this means, he will remove a month from your life.

The couple met in 2023 while walking their dogs in Penn Valley Park. They were married by Torgon’s close friend Klebenschnecht, Torturer of Angels.

As seen in the Before I Go #, Winter 2026

Mr. Smith: Now that you’ve cut through the epidermis, you should see the gallbladder.

Charlie: Is that this gold thing?

Mr. Smith: My heavens Charlie! That’s no gallbladder—that’s Wonka’s final golden ticket!

Charlie: I don’t get it. Where’s the gallbladder?

Mr. Smith: Damn the gallbladder Charlie! I’ll give you $100 for that ticket—nay, $1000!

Charlie: You can just have it. It has a lot of frog blood on it.

Mr. Smith: What fortune! But are you sure, Charlie? Do you truly know what it is you sacrifice?

Charlie: Yeah, chocolate factory, I know, I’m trying to lose weight. How did the ticket get in there?

Mr. Smith: I don’t know, maybe he ate it—do you mean to say you don’t eat chocolate, Charlie?

Charlie: But if he ate it, it’d be in his stomach. It wouldn’t, like, replace his gallbladder.

Mr. Smith: Listen, Charlie. Not everything you see can be explained by “science.” There are such things in this world as miracles, and you must learn to treasure them, for they come all too rarely! All. Too. Rarely. Now, boy, think! Do you really wish to give up your one golden ticket?

Charlie: Okay, I guess when you put it that way… I’ll keep it!

Mr. Smith: Too late! You already declined. Mr. Wonka despises indecision. I’ll send you a card from Candyland! Tee hee hee!

As seen in the In the Lab #, Spring 2024

Living in a small, isolated Communist nation definitely comes with some baggage. For instance, last week, my family received a week’s worth of bread, along with several imaginary toys. Awesome. The catch? Supreme Leader made me leave my family forever and move to the capital to become his chief nuclear scientist.

I don’t know much about being a chief nuclear scientist, partly because I’m a wheat farmer, but mostly because the last ten guys to have the job were executed. On the bright side, Supreme Leader thinks it’s a positive to have someone who’s not another “small stupid science man who insist on American lies like plutonium and funding.” He said he doesn’t care what I do as long as I “make bomb explode big, kaboom! Big, big kaboom!” He also said that he’d raze my family’s cottage if I don’t finish by Sunday. 

To catch up, I’ve tried doing some reading on nuclear physics, but I’ve discovered that I can’t read. I guess that’s what happens when Supreme Leader abolishes education before you’re born, y’know? Thankfully, my lab assistant is a PhD-holding nuclear physicist. Unfortunately, Supreme Leader sent him away to take care of the wheat farm while I stay here to work on this bomb. So, most of my “reading” thus far has just consisted of listening to recordings of Supreme Leader making explosion sounds with his mouth.

Sure, I know there’s a chance that I won’t be able to get the job done, and, yeah, that chance is 100%, but I’m more focused on the big picture: the giant one of Supreme Leader’s face on that wall over there. I think it’s watching me, which doesn’t make much sense because Supreme Leader is also here in the room watching me. 

But otherwise, it’s been great.

As seen in the POW! #, Winter 2024

• They say that war never changes, but I had way more sex in Vietnam than in Iraq.

• The cool thing about war is that you can go number one in the draft even if you suck at basketball.

• My most dangerous weapon? My bare hands. I have charisma for hands.

• Everyone’s cool with calling the world wars WWI and WWII, yet my wife gets pissed when I call her WI.

• Everybody’s talking about war, but no one’s talking about my new album. My mom says it’s awesome.

As seen in the POW! #, Winter 2024

• That looks like an iceberg, Captain.

• Oh! Steer around it.

• Okay.

• Say, are those penguins over there?

• Yeah.

• Awesome.

• Crashes into other iceberg

As seen in the Life is Good #, Summer 2024

Last Tuesday, my buddy Kyle was possessed by a demon. It happened when he grabbed a glowing red Bible off the sidewalk as we were heading back to the frat from Taco Bell. I called him a litter-picking-up bitch, but instead of laughing, Kyle keeled over and clutched his stomach, saying he didn’t feel so hot. No duh. Dude had just downed seven, eight chimichangas. Then his eyes turned black and his soul shot out of his mouth, along with some beans, all over my Bills jersey. I mean, seriously, bro, if you’re gonna hurl, turn the other way.

Anyways, since that day (or “rebirth,” as Kyle likes to call it) he’s been a total pain in the ass. Whenever I ask him what’s up, he just says a lot of weird shit about how my parents are gonna die after the blood moon, and he keeps insisting that I call him Gædelwilth, servant of the underworld, even though I’ve told him that junior year is not the time for a rebrand.

He’s also been way more of a cockblock than usual. At Delta on Friday, I was doing this sick party trick where I blow on a deck of cards and the cards go, like, everywhere—but then Kyle came in and recited some ancient runes which set half the people in the place’s eyeballs on fire, and of course the blonde whose phone number I was trying to get went home with him instead. 

But that’s not to say that Kyle turning evil has been all bad. Our new pledge class has two guys from the basketball team and six hundred and sixty-six from something called the Order of Lucifer, which is sick since we were starting to get pegged as a hockey frat. And his switch from vodka Gatorades to lamb’s blood has meant there’s way more alc for the rest of us, plus I’m also of course super happy and stuff that Kyle is getting sober.

He’s even made up for the cockblock stuff by landing us a ton more attention from goth chicks. Last night, Kyle and I doubled with this reclusive gray-haired woman and her hot roommate at Chili’s. When the waiter came to take our order, Kyle’s gaze caused the guy’s body to burst out in boils and explode, making the roommate shriek and jump into my arms. Way to wingman, dawg. 

Back at our place, Kyle and his date interlocked their fingers and began chanting, opening the gates of Hell in the middle of our kitchenette. As screams and lava bursts emanated from the nether realm, Kyle sprouted giant, leathery wings. Then he ripped the old woman’s head off, let out a deathly cry that warned of the impending apocalypse, and flew her body into the abyss, the portal closing behind him in a gigantic fireball. “Wow,” I said from the next room, too busy with my date to really pay attention to Kyle. “This is the best handjob I’ve ever had.”

As seen in the Imaginary Friends #, Spring 2024

Guy: (*ringing doorbell*)

Homeowner: Can I help you?

Guy: Pardon me, sir. Did you just watch Top 10 Funny Cat Moments – November 2021?

Homeowner: Uh, yeah. My friend just showed it to me.

Guy: (*making tally mark on clipboard*) Excellent. Good day!

The Apprentice of the Guy: Sir, I apologize if this is out of line, but may I ask you a question?

Guy: Go ahead, neophyte.

The Apprentice of the Guy: Well, I—I just noticed that that man back there said he and his friend watched the video, but you only made one tally mark. Shouldn’t that count as two views?

Guy: (*smiling knowingly*) No it should not…(*chortling*)…not it should not.

As seen in the Odd Jobs #, Fall 2024

Open on a homey living room, featuring a couch in front of a set of stairs. BIG BEN is sitting down. The time is noon.

BIG BEN: DONG! DONG! DONG!

WESTMINSTER ABBEY bolts down the stairs.

WESTMINSTER ABBEY: Big Ben! What did I say about chiming when I’m trying to hold mass?

BIG BEN: Uhh…to do it if it’s on the hour?

WESTMINSTER ABBEY: No! Christ, you’re the most annoying little brother ever! Why can’t you be more like the twins?

Pan to TOWER BRIDGE’S NORTH TOWER and TOWER BRIDGE’S SOUTH TOWER, who are working studiously on their science fair project: a miniature bridge.

BIG BEN: Hey, I’m not little! I’m big!

BUCKINGHAM PALACE and THE TOWER OF LONDON enter from the left.

BUCKINGHAM PALACE: Now, now, kids, I decree that you stop fighting!

Laugh track plays.

THE TOWER OF LONDON: Your father’s right. Big Ben, how was school today?

BIG BEN: Okay, I guess. The Shard made fun of my outfit again. He looks so new and cool.

BUCKINGHAM PALACE approaches BIG BEN. Sentimental music plays.

BUCKHINGHAM PALACE: Hey buddy, bullies just say stuff like that because they’re jealous. Don’t you ever forget, you’re Britain’s premier example of Gothic revival architecture. Now gimme a hug.

“Aww” track plays. Neither of them have arms, so the hug doesn’t really work.

BIG BEN: Thanks, dad. When I grow up, I want to be just like you. 

BUCKINGHAM PALACE: That’s sweet, but physically impossible. Say, what’s that sound?

THE LONDON EYE runs in from the right, spinning in circles.

THE LONDON EYE: I’m spinning! I’m spinning!

WESTMINSTER ABBEY: Oh, The London Eye—you’re so goofy!

ALL laugh. Frame freezes. Outro music plays.

As seen in the London #, Spring 2025

Late on a snowy night, a young woman answers a knock at her door. Standing on her doorstep is a royal guard holding a stack of giant, white cards. From inside, the voice of the woman’s new husband asks who’s there. The royal guard holds up his first card.

SAY IT’S CAROL SINGERS

The woman smiles. “It’s carol singers!” she calls back inside. She meets the royal guard’s eyes. He smiles back at her. He flips to his next card.

I REALLY AM A CAROL SINGER

She looks at him confused, yet playfully so, as if he is telling a joke she does not yet understand.

AS IN I CAME HERE TO SING CAROLS FOR YOU

YOU SEE, I’VE ALWAYS WANTED TO SING CAROLS

BUT ROYAL GUARDS ARE PROHIBITED FROM SPEAKING

THANKFULLY, I FOUND THIS NIFTY WORKAROUND

Before the woman can say anything, the royal guard pulls out a boombox from behind him and hits play. An instrumental version of “Silent Night” echoes out into the crisp, winter air. He resumes flipping.

SILENT NIGHT

HOLY NIGHT

ALL IS WELL

ALL IS BRIGHT

ROUND YON VIRGIN

…

As seen in the London #, Spring 2024

It’s a little-known fact that the London Eye is but one of a series of anatomically-named places throughout the city.

The London Third Eye: A British-owned marijuana dispensary located two thousand miles from the London Eye in Brooklyn, New York.

The London Kneecap: While it might seem like a whimsical name, the London Kneecap is actually the name of an alleyway in which the British branch of the Crips (locally known as the Crips, Innit?) kneecapped (or shot the kneecaps off of) thousands of British teenagers between the years 1980 and 2010. Some say that if you walk through the London Kneecap at night, you can still hear the cries of young men who will walk with a limp for the rest of their lives.

The London Circumcised Penis Head: Originally designed as a nightclub, it was recently converted into a school for underprivileged youth!

The London Dick: This was not a structure at all, but the name Prince Albert went by on Epstein’s Island.

The London Boob: The London Boob was built in—come on did you really think someone would come up with a structure called the London Boob, you misogynist pig? Stop reading our magazine!

The London Breast: First built by Richard Breast in 1930, the London Breast was the first mental asylum in Europe to offer at-will, no-questions-asked lobotomies. Winston Churchill was actually a patient at the London Breast before ceding the entirety of Europe to Adolf Hitler.

The London Clit: Based on our travels so far, we are fairly certain this does not exist, and if it does, we cannot find it.

The London Anus: More commonly known as the Tube.

The London Heart: A tiny house occupied by the Keating family. The man of the house, Jonathan Keating, works an honest job, and every night he returns home to a lovely home-cooked meal by his wife of forty-nine years, Bethany Keating. Throughout their long marriage, Jonathan has given Bethany every gift she ever asked for—that is, except for the one gift she always wanted: that of motherhood. Deep down, she resents him for it. Though Jonathan tried every night—and trust me, Jonathan tried like hell—his silvery bullets were never anything more than hollow casings, barely rippling the surface of Bethany’s uterine kevlar vest.

The London Belly Button: McDonalds!

As seen in the London #, Spring 2025

Co-written with CLHC ‘26

Fair Lady: Ahhh! The bridge is falling down!

Some Guy: This would lowkey make a fire song.

As seen in the London #, Spring 2025

The Milgram shock experiment examined obedience by testing how willing subjects were to administer an electric shock to another person when instructed to by an authority figure. The Milgram shot experiment was similar, but differed in one crucial way.

Authority Figure: Shoot this man.

Test Subject: Okay.

Authority Figure: There’s no way you actually just did that.

As seen in the In the Lab #, Spring 2024

Teacher: Remember, class, you’ll have a sub Tuesday.

Me: Fuck the police!

Policeman: I’ll let you off this time with a warning. Just slow down, okay?

Me: Fuck school! Burning nearby schoolhouse.

Grandma: Have some cookies, honeybun.

Me: Burning nearby grandma with a sick roast about her poor baking skills. I eat the whole plate and thank her for having me, though, because I am a good grandson.

Boss: Just try to have it on my desk by next Friday-ish. No rush.

Me: Taking my boss’s Cadillac for a joyride, then driving it into the marina. Who’s employee of the month now

Cashier: That’ll be $29.50.

Me: Sowing the seeds of dissent among the proletariat in an effort to build class-consciousness.

Neighbor: Some clouds, huh?

Me: Leading the charge to the capital. Kicking down the doors to the presidential palace, and killing El Dictador with my own two hands, the very hands his mercenaries stomped on, dirtied, bloodied, and broke. Walking out onto the balcony and lifting the severed head of the tyrant before hordes of chanting people. Feeling a single tear run down my cheek, as my heart swells with pride. ¡Viva la nación! ¡Viva la libertad!

Therapist: What’s really going on here, David? It seems like there’s neither rhyme nor reason to your actions, just…rebellion.

Me: I recently read Rebel Without a Cause, and I have a tendency to emulate the media I consume.

Therapist: You’re aware that that’s a movie, yes?

Me: I know. All it took was the title. Bitch.

As seen in the Imaginary Friends #, Spring 2024

Everyone you know just died in a horrible fire. That’s okay. Here to get you through it is your Judeo-Christian Best Friend.

Your Judeo-Christian likes long walks on the beach and communion wafers. He goes to Church on Christmas, as well as every day besides that. His favorite book is your Bible. He exercises by praying. You don’t remember how you met your Judeo-Christian Best Friend, but he does.

Your Judeo-Christian Best Friend identifies as a Protestant Catholic. He claims to speak Hebrew, yet only a dialect that sounds just like English. Mountains are important to him. So is kindness. Your Judeo-Christian Best Friend isn’t Jesus, but if he were, he’d keep it a secret.

The only places your Judeo-Christian Best Friend has been to are Bethlehem and your hometown. All of your Judeo-Christian Best Friend’s clothes are hand-woven at his cottage. All of your Judeo-Christian Best Friend’s clothes also all have tags from The Gap. 

Your Judeo-Christian Best Friend can turn water into wine, though that doesn’t matter to him because he’s already drunk on life. Your Judeo-Christian Best Friend likes to read the Book of Job. That’s his name for the newspaper’s classifieds. His friends are God’s children. Mainly the grown-up ones. There’s a secret Eleventh Commandment that only your Judeo-Christian Best Friend knows. It’s to follow the first Ten Commandments.

In the evenings, your Judeo-Christian Best Friend turns out the light and tries to tuck you in. He has trouble doing this because it’s hard for him to see in the dark. Sometimes, you cry, and your Judeo-Christian Best Friend dries your tears by blowing on them. When he blows, he whistles due to what his doctors call a genetic irregularity. Your Judeo-Christian Best Friend prefers to call it a miracle.

As seen in the Before I Go #, Winter 2026

Are you from Tennessee? Because you look like you work at headquarters.

As seen in the Odd Jobs #, Fall 2024