“Death to Autofill.” My piece in the latest edition of Cartel VII.


The following is an excerpt from my essay, “Death to Autofill,” as seen within the e-pages of Cartel VII. (Don’t worry, it gets funny eventually.)

This place has fucked me up.

I was sort of normal when I moved here, just like everyone is sort of normal when they move here. Now I’m deranged, the gnarled, emotionally-mutilated product of a city known for chewing up its inhabitants and spitting them out. And it does. It literally feels like that, at least in that there has been much saliva exchanged over the course of the last four years.

I came to New York when I was newly single, eager as a pound dog to find a new home. But instead of homes, I found outhouses, poles to be tied to, backyards to wander when I wasn’t busy pawing at the glass door looking into someone else’s living room. All of these places – these homes disguised as men – were temporary, invariably horrible in their own special way. But each, for some shard of a moment, some fraction of a second, every single one had been mistaken for something promising. The drug addict producer. The cokehead narcissist. The probably-gay financier. All so full of potential! So smart, so handsome, so saturated with redeemable qualities I’d hoped our future children would inherit!

I so eagerly bought in. I met the boys. I gave out my number, but I didn’t play the game – at least I didn’t play it right.

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BUY ME! (please?)

Okay, the way I see it, all of you are EVENTUALLY going to have to pay to read my work (dear f’ing god, please). And when you do, it’ll be like $14.99 and it will be a book. For now, I offer you this chance to pay a little bit of money to read a little bit of my work. We just released CARTEL, Flip Collective’s e-magazine. Please support us (and me). Flip Collective has made me an infinitely better writer, which I hope has benefited you as a reader. Anyway, check out the excerpt from my piece by clicking through the image above and, if you like it, go to Amazon and purchase it for $2.99. It’s cheaper than an US Weekly Magazine and you won’t go to hell because of it.

Buy it here on Amazon.


Field Trip!

Check out my piece on The Flip today, co-written (and co-miserated) with Paul Shirley.  Click through on image below.

 Dear Paul,

A horrible event has arrived. No, it’s not my 30th birthday (though said birthday will come soon enough, no doubt).

I’m talking about Valentine’s Day. That pink and red and candy-coated day that has forced us to acknowledge a cold reality: Nobody wants us.

So, Paul – dear, sweet, darling Paul – distract me. Distract me from the balloons, from the flowers, from the multitude of items in my apartment I can fashion into a noose.

Tell me a story, would you?