There was a void in Todd’s life, ever since his fight with best friend, Steven. They hadn’t spoken in weeks and he was afraid things might never be the way they used to be again. The fight was over some dumb shit, nothing even worth mentioning (if you must know, Todd threw up in Steven’s driveway and refused to apologize until it was far too late).
Todd tried to buy things to fill the void. He bought a new phone and a fancy new tablet. He played with them for a few hours and he started to feel the sadness creep back in. He missed his friend. So he bought a new motorcycle and rode around town thinking about things. Maybe he should apologize one more time, try to make things right. He pulled into his own driveway, vomit-free incidentally, and sat on the bike. Once again, he needed his friend. So he bought a TV. A big TV. Like, 60, 70 inches. It was huge. He put it in his living room and he watched all of his movies and he forgot all about Stewart or whoever.
Life was good. That TV was amazing.
Saturday night alone leaves him feeling, well, alone. Staring at the ceiling, wishing he had super powers or friends or a genie to give him super powers or friends, he feels that void growing.
Sunday morning alone almost made him feel better, the void is awfully comfortable, and so he doesn’t get out of it until well after noon. He eats cookies for “breakfast” and thinks about her. She liked cookies. Everyone likes cookies.
Sunday night alone is the saddest of all. He thinks about the past and feels regret. He thinks about the future, well, shit, somehow that’s worse. He thinks about the present and he crumbles entirely. He cries himself to sleep.
When he wakes up on Monday morning, all he can think about is that Barenaked Ladies song, “One Week.” It’s been two days, she hasn’t come back, she isn’t coming back. Maybe tomorrow he’ll meet someone new and then next week he can think about how he fucked that up too. Maybe not. Instead, he’ll just go to class, stare at the professor, never hearing a single word about organic chemistry, and eat a bunch of shitty grilled cheese for dinner.
On Tuesday morning, a car runs him over while he’s crossing the street. Technically, he was jaywalking, but it’s hard to make the car seem sympathetic in a car-on-human collision. The woman who hit him gets out of her car and looks down at him. She is able to deduce that his leg is either broken or he has always had a backwards leg.
Tuesday night, she visits him in the hospital. They actually get along, apart from the underlying resentment that he has, probably because she hit him with her car. She says she will come back tomorrow.
He believes her.
what the what.: 50 Albums -
My buddy, Nick (@nyid07), has a pretty neat writing project going on where he discusses 50 albums that changed his life.
I would appreciate it if you all checked out his project. Who know, you might even find something in there that changes your life. Or maybe something that already has.
I guess it wouldn’t hurt to share this here. Also, thanks Ramon.
For the low monthly payment of your soul (and seventy-three cents), you can own the 2041 Chevy Drivecar. It has all the features: it’s a car, it drives, sometimes the lights turn on. Don’t be fooled by imitators, there’s only one Chevy Drivecar.
Please give me your soul.
James visited the local yard sale in hopes of tracking down some old records to add to his collection. While perusing through a stack of Damn Yankees vinyl, something else caught his eye: an old refrigerator with the words “TIME MACHINE” stenciled onto the side. James asked the owner how much he wanted, and balked at the $10 asking price. After some expert haggling, James got the so-called “TIME MACHINE” for $6.50. Pleased with himself, James rolled the monstrosity home on a dolly and plugged it in outside his house.
James decided that the future was a bit too intimidating for the time being, so he figured he’d try out traveling to the past first. He set the fridge to its coldest setting, indicating the furthest back in time, or so he hoped. He climbed inside, shut the door, and waited. It was remarkably cold and not a whole lot seemed to be happening. Three days later, James kicked the door off, caked in ice shavings and smelling of old bologna. But it had worked. James emerged into a world so primitive that they were no iPods. Befuddled, James asked the nearest person what year it was. “Uh, 1993,” said a confused and decidedly rude stranger.
However, after spending four minutes in 1993, James knew that this world was not for him. He climbed back into his refrigerator and traveled back to his own time. However, something was different. At first, James was having trouble piecing together what had changed, but after four minutes he realized that he no longer had legs.
Feeling a twinge of buyer’s remorse, James climbed into the time machine to warn himself not to buy the time machine. Upon arriving at the yard sale, James fell out of the time machine, directly into a sink hole. He watched helplessly from below as his past self haggled the price down to a clean $6.50 and rolled his time machine away. James rolled over in the sinkhole and started to cry.
After years of speculation, rumor, and doubt, it was finally ready. Dr. Dre had finished Detox. It was a labor of love, a rap album that some had said would never see the light of day. Upon its completion, Dr. Dre decided to celebrate by watching internet pornography.
And Dr. Dre said, “I think I will watch some internet pornography to celebrate.”
Dr. Dre logged on to his favorite pornography website and began browsing around.
And Dr. Dre said, “Ah, yes, here we are. This is some of the pornography that I enjoy.”
Dr. Dre clicked on a pornographic video on this website. Suddenly, he was inundated with pop-ups and his computer crashed. Upon a reboot, Dr. Dre found that his computer was infected with a virus that was slowly deleting his hard drive. And so, Dr. Dre watched, helpless, as Detox was destroyed. The only copy of the album flushed down the toilet by internet pornography.
A single tear rolled down Dr. Dre’s cheek. He added fresh $20 bills to the inside of his pillow case, fluffed the pillow, and settled in for a night of restless sleep.
Sarah lived alone for nearly ten years before she finally met Brett. She found him charming, caring, and funny, his sense of humor is what really drew her to him. The two dated for several months before finally deciding to get an apartment together. But Sarah knew that moving in with Brett meant moving on from her home, and from her past. She had never told Brett about the man she loved before him, and she had tried to put it off for as long as she could, but with the move just days away, she was left with no choice.
While Brett was helping Sarah pack up her things, she mentioned that there were a few things that they should get out of the attic. Brett pulled a chord hanging from Sarah’s hallway ceiling and watched the attic stairs unfold in front of him. He had never noticed it before. The two of them ascended the stairs and stepped up into the attic. Brett gasped, and Sarah burst into tears.
The attic was filled, wall to wall, with vinyl copies of Eddie Murphy’s “Party All The Time.” Years ago, Sarah had heard the song whilst partying and became convinced that she was Eddie Murphy’s girl. Shortly thereafter, the song disappeared from the airwaves, for reasons Sarah could never piece together. She built a shrine in tribute to her lost love and hid it from sight in her attic.
Brett was having second thoughts.
Baseball is back, folks. It has been years, decades, since America’s Pastime has been enjoyed in its purest form. The cloud of performance enhancing drugs that has hung over Major League Baseball for years now has finally lifted, and the sun is shining through. With the recent suspensions of Ryan Braun, Alex Rodriguez, Nelson Cruz, and a number of other prominent players, PEDs have finally been eradicated from baseball. At long last, Americans can rest easy. The game they love so dearly is clean once again. The days of shame are over. The days of second-guessing are over. The days of adversity are over.
David Eckstein flourished in the face of adversity. He was so white! He was so short! But there are no “you must be this tall to ride” signs for Major League Baseball, and certainly no height requirement to be the Most Valuable Player on a World Series team. There are countless superlatives that describe Eckstein, but perhaps the most fitting is the superlative that he received in his high school yearbook: most helpful.
From the beginning, David Eckstein was willing to help others any way that he could. The people around him took notice. This makes for a great teammate and, more impressively, a great person. The most helpful baseball players will do anything for their team. David Eckstein would bunt those other guys over from second to third. He didn’t mind recording an out, he wasn’t selfish like the steroid cheats of the day. The stat geeks can have their cheaters, my MVP – Most Valuable Person – from the so-called steroid era was David Eckstein.
Along with this era’s rise came a change in a way the game of baseball is played. Gone were the days of small ball, gritty guys laying it all on the line to win one for the LaRussa. In its place: home runs, showboating, vanity muscles, and worst of all, selfishness. These selfish glory-seekers put the truly great players, the hustlers and grinders out of sight and out mind for most fans, and that’s a darned shame.
An unfortunate side-effect of the steroid era was the rise of sabermetrics, the supposedly in-depth statistical analysis of baseball. While Barry Bonds was shattering records set by the great players of the past, nerdy statisticians were finding new metrics to show how great Barry Bonds was. OBP? OPS? O-please. The greatest legends of baseball respected the game they played, whereas Barry Bonds respected only his own personal gain. Meanwhile, Eckstein quietly embodied all of the qualities of baseball’s true legends: effort, loyalty, whiteness, tact, respect, and being on time. There are no statistics to demonstrate the brilliance of David Eckstein, but anyone with two eyes and a beating heart could see it. The man moved with purpose, to win, to play, to bunt.
The wistfulness and nostalgia that floods the heart when thinking about David Eckstein is indicative of a greater hole left in the sports landscape. Performance enhancing drugs tore the greatest sport in all the world asunder, and left it for dead. But the tiny white hope, David Eckstein, would not let the tradition and spirit of the game die. In his wake, he inspired a renaissance of true baseball hustlers like Skip Schumaker and Nick Punto who carry his legacy forward into a new era. An era full of hope.
This is the game that everyone fell in love with, this is white guys bunting, this is baseball.
Max wrote love letters to no one in particular whenever he was feeling lonely, which was most always. He wrote them by hand, believe it not, because he felt it lent a more personal touch. He would drop these letters in the mailbox addressed only to “you.”
Max was 34 and lonely, and his mail carrier, Steven, was 56, and also lonely. Steven read each and every one of these letters; they were addressed to him, after all. They made him feel a little better about the way things were going.
College courses rarely deliver on their promises. Ancient History failed to even make mention of that time that Shawn stole Kevin’s girlfriend. Water under the bridge. And Classics didn’t cover Star Wars. Fucking Star Wars. What’s more classic than Star Wars? Some Greek shit? Sure.
At least Food Science can’t possibly disappoint.
Construction on the Great Pillow Fort completed in August of 2021. After nearly ten years of steady work, the Martinez brothers had perfected their design and implemented it flawlessly. During the process, the boys grew into men and the fort grew into something more than a pile of pillows: a really big pile of pillows. With several rooms constructed carefully from a variety of different pillows, this pillow fort was truly something to behold.
Then dad walked in, tripped over the dog, and destroyed the Great Pillow Fort. Ten years of work, gone in mere seconds. The Martinez brothers, unfazed by the setback, began the rebuilding process. Perhaps, in time, the pillow fort could fill the void in their lives left by their mother a decade earlier. But probably not.
Eric grew up in a remote town more than 100 miles from civilization. He was brought up in a society where there were no automobiles, no television, and not even electricity of any kind. Not knowing any better, Eric lived his life as though this was the typical modern life.
One day, a fellow inhabitant of the town, Craig, entered Eric’s room and presented him with a light bulb. “I just came up with this thing, it’s called electricity, it lets me generate power.” Eric was stunned.
The next day, Craig came into Eric’s room and gave him a television. “Using electricity, I can power this machine and pick up messages from around the world.” Eric was stunned, yet again.
The following day, Craig came into Eric’s room with a DVD player and a single DVD. He handed it to Eric and told him to watch it before leaving. Eric sat enraptured by the film for about 100 minutes, but then during the final eight minutes became enraged. He walked over to Craig’s room, thrust the copy of “The Village” into his chest and said, “go fuck yourself.”
In an effort to remain useful in 2094, at the age of 126, Will Smith takes a job as a greeter at a Wal-Mart Corporation space station. As passengers disembark, Will sighs and mutters, “welcome to Earth.” He hands these people a smiley face sticker patterned to look like the Earth and he thinks about the way things used to be. He thinks about all the great times he had filming the Legend of Bagger Vance with his close and personal friend Matt Damon. Matt Damon had succumbed to the harsh realities of old age several years before when he was brutally murdered by his butler.
Will Smith thinks back to his youth and thinks about how his parents would never understand space travel and then he sighs loudly and mumbles “welcome to Earth” to the next passenger. Will Smith is very sad.