Archive for the ‘News’ Category

New site and short

August 28, 2012

I’ve written a new short for Dan Krokos’s “False Memory contest,” a contest promoting his new book (which looks awesome.) My story is titled Queen Anne. If early voting patterns are any indication, I doubt it will be considered. That said, it’s the best thing I’ve written in a long while. So, check it out. You don’t have to be a member to read, but you do need to sign up if you wish to enter or vote.

Details are here:

Direct story link here:

~ J


Girls are Dumb

September 1, 2011

If you’re reading this, I’ve already won. You clicked on the link, not to see my argument, but to berate me for my ignorance. No, girls aren’t dumb, I don’t know any rational person whom believes that, but they are easy to manipulate.

Say, for example, you’re a large retail outlet, with so-so sales and practically no word of mouth in a down economy. How are you going to grab attention for your back to school sale? You could throw money you don’t have into tv ads, which people will fast forward through; you could buy some net space, which people will ad-block; or you can create a stupid, sexist t-shirt that’s bound to create consumer backlash.

Ultimately, you will have to pull the t-shirt and release your pre-written apology, but that is not until after you’ve leaked the story to the press through a back-channel, and the collective anger button has been pushed. Sure you’ll lose some initial sales while the anger is still hot, but anger fades quickly, and name recognition remains.

Maybe you’ll get lucky and some esoteric blogger will write an article in favor of your stupid shirt, keeping the buzz alive an extra day. He (most likely a he) could argue for free speech. He could argue for ironic hipster fashion. He could argue it’s sexist to assume that a female is voicing the abjured line, which would ultimately fall apart if the shirt was found only in the girls section, and he’d have to shift focus to the Oedipal implications of the statement instead… Or, he could go all out and take the object d’art route, where he suggests that the debate itself elevates the shirt to the status of art, which too may be lost on target market (tweens).

How ever it plays out, rage based guerrilla marketing is a hell of a lot cheaper than proper advertising, and can be much more effective – proper ads have practically zero chance at going viral/trending, not when Harry is about to wet the bed.


March 10, 2011

Random words in bold.


Dan B. remembered being excited his first day of trade school. He remembered the look on his dads face at graduation. He even remembered the thrill he got driving a bulldozer the first time. It all seemed so long ago, now, as he unleashed the wrecking ball on another home.

Thirteen connected lots needed to be cleared away for a new shopping centre, or some stupid thing. Most of the homes had notices on the door. There was multiple redundancy when it came to foreclosures, but that didn’t help. He was having nightmares.

The heavy ball struck. Bits of wood, glass, and plaster flew, as a nursery was forced to rejoin the outside world. Hints of painted clouds nearly matched the day’s sky. He swung the ball again; there was a scream. Dan tried to stop the ball, but it was too late. When it swung back, there was a flash of red as it twisted in the wind. He cut the machine. A woman was screaming from the newly opened wall. Blood and bits of flesh dripped from the ball.

That’s when he’ woke up, usually. He didn’t know if he was dreaming this time. Either way, he knew he didn’t have to work the wrecking ball anymore.

A telegram for Alan K Simpson

March 9, 2011

Dear Grandpa [STOP]

Dad says I need to apologize so I sent you this telagram [STOP]

I’m sorry I never sent you a thank you note for the cup and ball you got me for Christmas [STOP]

And I’m sorry about wearing my pants to low and not taking my hat off at dinner [STOP]

If your still alive next Christmas I promise to dress better [STOP]

From (Redacted) [STOP]

PS There’s no such thing as snoopy poop dog or enema man [STOP]

Breaking News!

March 7, 2011

Here’s another 100 word short with 5 random words. Random words in bold.


Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen’s mattress. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen’s dish. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen cult? Charlie Sheen wine. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen, chair. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen. Wisconsin, Libya, DOMA, health care, economic depression, abortion, Citizens United – Charlie Sheen.


February 17, 2011

Cairo, 11:39 PM (local)
She was smiling, a smile that said I’m listening, I care. A smile that conveyed sincerity, despite the fact that she was humoring him.

It took two years of coaching to achieve that smile. Two years to fully retrain her muscle memory. Two tedious, expensive years to fully suppress the undercurrent of smirky condescension that lost her the primary.

He continued expressing his growing concerns with the public unrest.

She nodded, reminding herself that even a simple hand on the shoulder would be disastrous.

She reassured him, he had their full support. Only someone that knew her well could see she was lying. Luckily, neither of them were present.


February 15, 2011

Something’s wrong. I’m on the ground, and I can’t move. People run. Chairs fly. Jackets left behind.

The sky flashes. Some try to cover the women, the children.

The able stand. Some carry loved ones, others bodies.

The sky flashes. More fall.

I’m cold. My body’s numb. I think I’ve shit myself.

Perspective shifts. I see Samira. My Samira. She’s looking down at me, clutching the uneaten maaledaa. There is confusion. Tears.

I tell her I love her. I hope she hears me.

cautious optimism

February 8, 2011

It was on the fifth day of the revolution that he kissed me. Against a hastily thrown up piece of plywood, he pushed me back and our lips met. While I felt his tongue explore my mouth, everything melted with me. I no longer heard the shouts, the gunfire, or even the great roar of the tank as it lead Mubarak’s thugs to safety. It wasn’t our first kiss, but it was our first in public. Such a minimal victory, amongst the chaos and confusion, stopped my melting. While the day may be won, our revolution has only just begun.