Photo by Joel Filipe on Unsplash

“Don’t wash reds with whites. “Lemon and water exorcise the stink of fish,” and “No knob polishing in the living room.” Just a few tips from Dad. The twentysomething had grown up with a trove of this sagely wisdom and followed it all to the letter. When Dad left for the convention, his son was trusted to babysit the colonial, set back between Lilly and Baker. Dad left a ballpoint list, the most important rule in a stern red.

DO NOT FEED THE FERAL AFTER DARK!

Pete (the twentysomething) had known about Dad’s companion. A ragdoll of rutty white, with…


Myopic ideas of morality clash with art as power

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Once again, the stagnate status quo has cornered an artist. The Conservative Cackle comes for Lil Nas X, a cub in the music industry with the roar of a lion. It’s not off-brand for the reactionaries to go after someone in the creative sphere. Even going as far as attacking the Beatles, the right wing has committed to silencing artistic voices.

The problem with the opposition, among many, is that they want the culture back after squandering it with their policing and myopic idea of morality. Now all they can do is vilify it when it doesn’t serve their narrative…


A Bi writer says bye to a men’s magazine ahead of its time

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We are here to say goodbye to one of the best publications on the Internet. I stumbled upon MEL magazine in 2019. C. Brian Smith, described as a gonzo journalist, wrote about his session with a spanking therapist. I couldn’t comprehend how someone could be so comfortable with divulging such a story. MEL explained their mission:

There’s no playbook for how to be a guy.

So at MEL, we’re trying to figure out how to live without one. A lifestyle and culture magazine, we cover sex, relationships, health, money, work and culture from a male point-of-view — even though we’re…


You can be your child’s first advocate or their first bully

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Quarantine has brought about an abundance of hetero humping. The baby baker is working overtime, dishing dozens of little bundles fresh out from the oven. They are opening their big eyes to a big world that still has a lot of work to do. Now, straight millennial parent, you are probably wondering why I am singling you out. You say you are raising a wellspring of untapped potential, the sky’s not the limit, a flag on the moon is proof enough?

Knowing what you can be is just as important as knowing who you are.

There is a possibility your…


Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

2021 brings some color to the Whitewashed House. A mausoleum of dead horses and Rag-red Christmas trees. The Democrats are promising to deliver us from this desiccation, flipping Trump’s orders like pancakes, Right Rage the syrup.

President Biden has called for unity, as makes sense for a moderate, and as Republicans are creatures of habit, the Grand Old Party expects it, reaching over the table to take fries. They dine and dash, leaving Liberals to pay the bill. Truth is, the Right has nothing to give in return, unless it’s reactionary resentment, contrarianism, and let’s not forget the racism and…


Photo by Dollar Gill on Unsplash

Skipping out of the gaping Hades that was 2020, I can say with utter conviction that I will follow through with my New Year’s goals. It is the beginning of a new decade, and thirty is breathing down my neck. As the grays march in, it’s time to put my nose to the grindstone and give all my ideas a chance to breathe. …


Photo by Lilibeth Bustos Linares on Unsplash

We stumbled into each other on a lazy afternoon when I was fifteen. I was in the shower and I remember hearing thunderheads rolling in. I don’t remember who the guy was, but he had been on my mind for a while. One of the many diamond-cutting jawlines in Tinseltown. I was soaping up, and I remember the suds dripping down my thighs in sleek trails. My skin was electric with sensitivity and every nerve was on high alert. You took my hand, your chin on my shoulder, and guided me to my groin. You coached me on as the…


Photo by Conor Brown on Unsplash

Brett ran down Ebony Street and took a right at Cliff. The front of his shirt was dark with sweat. The sun was peeking out from the skyline, bringing out a flare of vivid pink that clashed with the early-morning blue. Brett stopped at the curb to snap a pic on his phone, and checked the time. He got home ten minutes later, taking a final swig from his water bottle before heading into the house. Mom was in the kitchen, starting the coffee.

“Hey, Mom.” The teenager kissed her on the cheek.

“Hey, track star. Good run?” Brett pulled…


Photo by Alexandru Acea on Unsplash

My first taste of horror as a kid were the warning adds for smoking. Between the bright colors and goofy antics of my Saturday morning cartoons, one of these commercials would pop up like a prom night pimple. I watched puffs of curling smoke corrode throats, the pink healthy tissue of lungs desiccate and blacken, and pearly whites veer to yokel yellow.

Later, drugs were the villain of these parables: literally deflated teens, frying eggs to represent the frying of brain cells, and a somehow really uncomfortable stop-motion drawing with a guy and his dog.

However, I’ve noticed something that…


Photo by Ivan Aleksic on Unsplash

Show of hands: Who else is sick of the c-word? It’s plastered all over timelines, polluting every comment board, and is coveted by Generation Z as if they invented it. I am so tired of cringe. Everything today is cringe or cringey. Forget so-called “political correctness” or its sister scam, “cancel culture.” Cringe needs to be our top priority.

The dictionary definition of cringe: “bend one’s head and body in fear or in a servile manner.” But by today’s standards, cringe is synonymous with “something I don’t like,” rather than how it was originally intended.

Like when you’re at a…

Nick Bundarin

Taking myself less seriously one story at a time. Lover of the weird, horrific and the fantastical. A touch of nerd is my cherry on top.

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