Despite the fact that I’m blogging about the following media, they’re “nothing to write home about.”
It Follows (horror movie, theaters).
Proposal: Cancel all Sex Education classes until the end of time. Show young people this instead.
The frozen denizens of Snow Village are caught mid-breath. They halted mid-coitus, mid-skate, mid-job, mid-death-rattle. Their pets are trapped into loyalty.
It was supposed to be the pizza delivery driver’s last day. She lined up a new job working in the Flamingo Hotel’s cleaning staff with her aunt. It paid better. She would stop gaining weight from the restaurant’s in-house buffet. Her clothing was shrinking and contorting into painful shapes around her hips and stomach.
Snapping linens into place and vacuum-dancing would suck the pasty white from her middle and deposit it… where?
Did one poop out excess fat? Did it evaporate with sweat?
She had no one to ask; her mouth was porcelain-sealed shut. Her body was trapped in this form, her arms in this pose, her cheek singeing slightly from the air venting from the box.
People told him that an off-lead dog would become roadkill.
He hoped so.
The dog smelled like beef jerky, ass, and metal. He took the dog in the shower with him and felt-self conscious under the gaze of the sopping cotton ball at his feet. He scrubbed the dog with a special shampoo that smelled like coconut. The dog came out smelling like wet Hawaiian jerky, ass, and metal.
Its nose dripped. When he read the paper on the couch, the dog would rest its nose on his thigh. The wet stain spread as he progressed from the main section to the sports to the crossword.
His son wanted a bunny. Bunnies didn’t save boys from wells. He purchased the boy a dog, a solid American mutt puppy from the pound.
His son never played with the dog. His son joined the Navy.
People raved about how old the dog had gotten. People complimented his parenting skills. The dog lent him a reputation of dependability. The dog also oozed its smell and fur onto everything he owned.
The dog wouldn’t die, no matter how many times the man crossed the street.