Humdrum Places - BlogFlock

🎉 Weekend Edition Vol.096 - foofaraw

2026-06-14T22:35:51.000Z

It's already Sunday so let's get right into it!

The Week That Was

🚘 The Devil Went Down to Georgia Auto Mechanics

Sarina Dorie

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Another new entry into Sarina Dorie's Devil's Delight series, with more on the way later this year!

Sarina Dorie

An interview with the author of The Devil Went Down to Georgia Auto Mechanics

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Sarina graciously took some time to talk automobiles and the art of buying and selling souls.

🔭 The Work Essay

#26

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Nick is back with another wonderful column.

Negative Space

Rusty Epstein

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And I couldn't be more excited to debut ur first (of many) cartoons from the wonderful Rusty Epstein.

💡

A Mirage, Medical Debt, and a Machine of Nonsense

The Back Page

Sarina Dorie - foofaraw

2026-06-12T16:00:13.000Z

💡

Read The Devil Went Down to Georgia Auto Mechanics now!

If you were to sell your soul for a car, what kind would it be?

I am probably superstitious, because I will not say the words, “I would sell my soul for…”

And would you do it if it never meant having to fix it or get an oil change ever again?

It is tempting.

When’s the last time you had bad car trouble?

All my life. I am sure this car is inspired by every car I had in the past. I finally have a tolerable one–and I didn’t even have to trade my soul for it.

What’s your dream car, if you have one?

I’m not much of a car person, but I am fond of Back to the Future’s DeLorean DMC-12, followed by the Batmobile.

What would your personal hell look like?

I used to be a public school teacher. That was hell. I still like teaching but I do not enjoy the politics, a classroom with 40 kids and not enough desks or supplies, administrators

How many times has this story been rejected by other markets?

Most stories are rejected dozens of times. Sometimes even forty times. This one I sold to the first market I sent it to. I am aware that is very unusual, but it was also part of a series. The first story in the series was rejected at least two dozen times.

What book are you reading right now?

I am reading the Princess Academy. It’s a YA book. It’s good, but I would probably only recommend it to 13 year old girls who like historical with made up countries but isn’t really fantasy because it doesn’t have magic. It is kind of a weird, in-between genre.

Before that, I was reading the Bone Witch trilogy. I loved it and highly recommend it. It is a secondary fantasy world with women who have a profession like geisha but with magic–and necromancy.

I am about to release Web of Lies and Supernatural Blonde, from the series The Hex Files with Felix Thatch. The main character is a magical detective who solves paranormal mysteries. It is a spin-off from my bestselling series Womby’s School for Wayward Witches. You think you know the world of magical boarding schools? Not from a teacher’s perspective at a school for at-risk youth.

For now, these series and other spin-off series are only available on Amazon. Some of my other books are offered elsewhere.

Our kindest generosity to Sarina for the chat on cars and souls!

🚘 The Devil Went Down to Georgia Auto Mechanics - foofaraw

2026-06-11T21:13:43.000Z

Joyce Ferguson considered it a coincidence that a man in a baby-blue suit happened to walk up to her stalled Toyota Camry seconds after she muttered the words, “I would sell my soul to the devil if this car never broke down again.”

“Do you mean that?” the stranger asked in a voice as silky as soymilk in a vegan latte on a hot Georgia day.

Which it was. Only Joyce didn’t have anything to quench her thirst. She thought she’d be home from work thirty minutes ago. Sweat soaked through her work blouse, and she’d thrown her blazer in the car.

She didn’t see where the man had come from. There weren’t any other cars pulled over onto the side of the road beside hers.

“Be careful what you wish for.” His smile was charming, disarming.

Joyce laughed and waved him off dismissively. She didn’t believe in souls, or the devil, or any of that nonsense.

This was the third time Joyce’s car engine had died this month, each time a different problem—which meant she’d needed to fork over $200 or more each time. Despite what the last overpriced mechanic said, she knew it wasn’t the battery.

It was hard to save up for something better when she had to keep investing in her current money pit. Still, it was better than the last Honda with the moldy truck, lack of functional air conditioning, and oil leak that had run it into the ground.

Sometimes she felt like Job being tested in the Bible—before she reminded herself that she didn’t believe in that story. She was a born-again Buddhist.

“Why don’t you pop your hood?” The man removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves. “I know a thing or two about this kind of problem.” His smile was calming, reassuring, like the father she’d never had.

“Are you a mechanic?” She eyed the pristine baby-blue suit, doubtful.

Three cars passed by, one of them kicking up a rock that the man effortlessly dodged. He waited until the rumble of vehicles faded before speaking. “Not exactly. But I am good at fixing things.” He winked at her. “It’s my specialty.”

Joyce had a suspicion he was flirting. She pretended she didn’t notice. The last thing she wanted was for this guy to think she found him attractive. Just because his white shirt hugged a muscular chest and he had a chiseled jaw, did not make him god’s gift to women. But if she didn’t play the part of the thankful damsel in distress, and firmly told him she wasn’t interested, he probably wouldn’t look at her car.

Joyce popped the hood. She drew up beside him to watch him inspect the engine. He wiggled a few cords, checked her oil and radiator fluid, and eyed her battery. Already it had been corroded with blue powder around the metal, even though it had only been a week since she’d called AAA and purchased a new one. Unfortunately, she’d already used her two towing benefits she was allotted this year.

She should have paid for the more expensive plan. But if she had, she wouldn’t have been able to afford her rent.

The stranger grunted as he examined the engine. Joyce suspected that was a bad sign.

“How long have these connections been corroded like this?” he asked.

“The tow truck from AAA just replaced it a week ago. It didn’t look like that when it was installed.”

“AAA,” he muttered in disgust. “Such a waste.”

Joyce wiped the sweat from her upper lip, smearing lipstick on her arm accidentally. “Do you think the guy with AAA sold me an old one?”

He picked up a stick from the side of the road and scraped the blue corrosion off the bolts holding the battery. “It’s possible. Or it might be your problem was never the battery.”

“Before that, it was the serpentine belt.”

“And before that?” His eyes were inky and black, like a void.

She felt like she could fall into the dark depths of his eyes and lose herself there. She found herself leaning closer. The heat of the day faded for the briefest moment, and she swayed on her feet.

Was this what love at first sight felt like?

A truck drove past too quickly, startling Joyce out of her stupor.

It took her a moment to regain herself before she answered. “How’d you know there was a time before that?” She found herself twirling her hair around her finger like when she flirted with an attractive woman at the salsa club.

She forced her hand to be still. She didn’t even like men.

At least, not most men.

“Call it intuition.” He lowered the hood of her car and slammed it shut. “Try it now.”

Joyce hopped into her car, turned the ignition, and it started up. Cold air blasted in her face.

“How’d you do that?” she asked.

Wiggling a few wires and scraping the corrosion off the battery shouldn’t have worked.

“It isn’t going to last long.” He shrugged back into his jacket. “What you need is a good mechanic that provides quality services to diagnose the problem.” He removed a business card from his pocket.

It was powder-blue, like his suit. The cardstock was embossed with raised patterns around an indistinct business name. Before her eyes, the words shifted from a blur to a readable font. It had to be the heat playing tricks on her eyes.

The name on the card was Georgia Auto Mechanic. The font was fancy and elegant, something at odds with every mechanic she’d been to so far.

“Yeah, thanks.” She stared at the card. “It’s just so expensive to go to a mechanic, and I already paid to fix this twice this month already.” At this rate, she wasn’t going to be able to pay rent.

Her aunt might let her borrow money again, but she hated to ask.

Joyce’s eyes burned. She didn’t want to cry in front of this stranger, but her frustration threatened to overflow. After all the research she’d done on the best used cars within her budget, how could she have gotten stuck with another lemon of a car? It was so unfair.

“I understand.” He nodded with empathy. “Tell them Cain sent you, and tell them he insists on letting you use his discount. If that still isn’t within your budget, they can work out a payment plan with you.”

“What kind of discount?” She was still trying to figure out why a man would wear a business suit out in this heat. “Are you the owner or something?” Cain might have known his way around a car, but he didn’t look like he had worked a day in his life with his polished shoes and a manicure nicer than hers.

He shrugged. “I work as a consultant. I send them referrals.”

“Okay, thanks.” She stared at the business car, uncertain. He probably was going to get a referral commission, which was fine, if it was a good mechanic.

It was just that none of them had solved her car problems.

“Go over there today before your car dies again. They have someone who can drive you home.” He patted the car door as if to send her on her way.

Joyce skimmed the address on the card. It was just down the road from her house. She could walk home if she needed to.

When she looked up from the card, the man was gone. The long stretch of road was empty. She hadn’t seen where he’d arrived from either. She hadn’t noticed any cars pulling up behind her. The only place he could have gone to was across the road to the ditch and through the switchgrass. But it was unlikely a man dressed as nicely as the stranger would walk into a field of weeds.

She reasoned she must have been too hot to notice him depart.

At Georgia Auto Mechanic, the sign over the building was the typical bold, blocky letters she associated with testosterone, football, and mechanics. It didn’t resemble the swirling script on the card. But fonts weren’t important to anyone outside an advertising agency. Only the quality of service mattered.

Joyce parked her car in one of the empty spots, spying men through the doors of the open garage bay. Most of them were working on cars, but one man in jeans leaned against a red convertible, tipping back a bottle of water, a stream of liquid running down his chin and his naked chest.

His ripped, naked chest. Once again, Joyce felt that strange sense of ethereal attraction, like she’d felt with Cain, even though she didn’t typically find herself attracted to men. It was unnerving how she’d felt the same uncanny sense of carnal desire twice in the same day—and neither for women.

Now that Cain was gone, she couldn’t even remember what about him had been attractive. She could remember no distinguishing feature except his blue suit. “Devil in a Blue Dress” played in her head.

She didn’t know what had come over her today. Maybe it was the heat. Or hormones? Stress?

The front lobby and reception smelled like buttery movie popcorn. The room was empty, save for a receptionist with a nametag that said “Bub,” but Joyce guessed that wasn’t the receptionist’s real name.

“Cain sent me,” she said to the woman behind the counter. “He told me to ask for his discount.”

The receptionist wore her platinum hair in a high ponytail, showing off high ebony cheekbones. From the grease on her overalls, she looked like she might also have doubled as a mechanic. Though, most mechanics didn’t show off this much cleavage.

Joyce did her best to keep eye contact. Bub was ruggedly feminine in an endearing way that Joyce typically found herself drawn to.

Bub looked Joyce up and down. “Bless your heart, darlin’, I’m guessing you’re going to need a payment plan?”

Joyce bit her lip. Was it that obvious? Or did she just have a sweaty, downtrodden look to her after being stuck alongside the road for thirty minutes? “How did you know?”

The woman leaned across the counter, whispering confidentially. “I bet you would do anything to have a working car again, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, I mean, I would pay whatever I need to. But I’ve already paid for it to be fixed multiple times, and it’s always so expensive. I don’t know if I’ll be able to afford the price. Cain mentioned payment plans?” Joyce hoped if she said she needed a payment plan upfront they wouldn’t refuse her.

The receptionist nodded with understanding. “Honey, Cain only sends us the most desperate customers, people with cars that should probably be in a trash compactor.”

“Oh. Maybe I should go. ” Joyce suspected she was wasting her time. Maybe she needed to start taking the bus to work, which would take close to two hours instead of seven minutes. It would be miserable. But she would be able to start saving for a new vehicle.

Bub grabbed her hand before Joyce withdrew. “Sit tight. The mechanics haven’t even looked at your car. Let them run a diagnostic first.”

“How much does the diagnostic cost?” Sometimes the diagnostic was so expensive, she couldn’t afford to fix whatever they found.

“Don’t you worry about that. It’s free. Do you want to wait in the lobby, or do you want someone to drive you home and wait for a phone call to hear how much our services cost?”

Bub explained it would only take about thirty minutes to run a diagnostic, so Joyce decided to wait. She ate the free popcorn from the machine and drank a cup of coffee in a Styrofoam cup. She indulged in the luxury of extra creamer, which she always skimped on at home because she’d been trying to save money—usually to pay for repairs to her car.

Thirty minutes later, Joyce printed out a list of repairs needed. There were twenty different problems with the vehicle. The only thing that wasn’t a problem was the battery. Replacing the alternator was the most expensive item on the list at $730, but all the other parts and labor added up to a whopping $2,666.00. A cold lump of dread settled in Joyce’s gut. At this rate, it would just be cheaper to buy a new car.

She was probably going to be taking the bus to work for an entire year so she could afford to buy a more dependable vehicle.

“Also, your tires are worn so low, you’re lucky one of them hasn’t blown out.” Bub skimmed the list. “The brakes are close to shot, and you need to get the oil changed, but you can wait and have those done later down the road.”

“Yeah,” Joyce said, feeling a mountain of despair threatening to bury her alive. “Is that with the discount?”

“I’m so glad you reminded me!” Bub said with a wink. “You were sent in by Cain, so that means you get our special pricing plan.”

Bub printed out an additional paper. “Just sign at the bottom of the last page, and we can get started working on your car today.”

Joyce read over the contract. The print was so small, it rivaled the size of print in the Bible. She had to get out her aunt’s magnifying glasses from the glovebox, something Aunt Saga had accidentally left during last month’s visit. The two of them had needed to push the car back to her house when it had died down the street.

Joyce underlined important phrases with her pencil, trying to focus despite the sounds of drills buzzing and motors chugging in the garage. There were a lot of tiny words, but the important ones practically bounced off the page.

Zero percent down.

Zero interest.

No upfront fees.

It sounded too good to be true. Joyce was waiting for the catch. Then she found it.

Services are completely paid for.

You will never have to get your car repaired again.

Pay with your immortal soul later….

“Um, excuse me, but I think I must be misunderstanding something,” Joyce said. “Who exactly is paying for the services here?”

“You are. But don’t worry, not right now.”

“I’m paying later with . . . my immortal soul?” Joyce wasn’t sure she believed in souls. She had left her Christian upbringing behind. All this seemed like a prank.

“That’s right. If you aren’t able to pay with cash, check, or Visa, the company also takes souls.”

“No way.”

“Way.” Bub leaned forward, smooshing her cleavage enticingly against the counter. If she was flirting, Joyce didn’t mind. “Unlike our regular services that charge an arm and a leg, the Cain special means you’ll get your car repaired, and you’ll never have to get it fixed again.”

Joyce frowned. “Define ‘fix.’ I’ll still have to get oil changes, and replace the tires, and . . . other car stuff.”

“Nope. Never again. You won’t even have to fill up windshield wiper fluid. Everything will function for as long as you continue to drive this car.”

Joyce had read stories like this on the internet, deals with the devil that people claimed were true, but she’d always assumed they were urban legends. Her mother and aunt used to tell her how the devil would come to collect people’s souls who bargained with him—and he loved to collect his payment early. She wondered now if “Bub” was short for “Beelzebub.”

Bub was, in fact, the kind of sexy temptation the devil would send her way—not that she really believed in God and Satan. And yet, here she was. . . .

Joyce tried to focus on what Bub was saying—and reading between the lines. “You said ‘as long as I continue to drive this car.’ That means if I die early in a car accident, I won’t continue to drive this car, so the deal is void.”

Bub placed her hand on a curvy hip. “That would be true, but you can’t die in a car accident. This car will never be totaled or even scratched. I’m pretty sure that’s on page two.”

“Well, I might die from food poisoning or get shot by a burglar.” Joyce could imagine how a devil would manipulate her life to claim her soul early. “Then I won’t be driving the car either.”

“That is such a cliché stereotype,” Bub said. “Cain really works for the best deals for his clients. Read all the clauses on page four and five.”

What? Joyce was Cain’s client? She hadn’t agreed to that!

And yet, she had taken his card and done as he’d instructed to get the discount. She kept reading. There was a long list of methods the devil was not allowed to use to collect one’s soul. He wasn’t allowed to terminate life early to collect payment of a soul. No one else was allowed to terminate life early so he could collect it.

There were a number of natural causes listed which could potentially cause the termination of one’s life: heart attack, stroke, seizure, cancer, diabetes, cirrhosis, respiratory disease, pneumonia, and Covid to name a few. The contract guaranteed at least fifty years of life on earth before dying of natural causes.

Again, it was too good to be true. Joyce kept trying to find another catch, but other than owing her immortal soul, there wasn’t one.

“Why would Cain let me live another fifty years?” Joyce asked. “Why wouldn’t he want to collect early?”

“Immortals are patient.” Bub shrugged. “In any case, Cain really does try to get good deals for his clients. I’ve seen him help more people get out of dead end jobs, toxic relationships, and cure their health problems than I’ve seen god do.”

Her testimonial reminded Joyce of Yelp reviews that had been bought. She couldn’t trust Bub. And yet … Joyce wanted to believe her. Especially as Bub batted her thick eyelashes at her.

Maybe more than the seduction of Bub’s words, Joyce wanted a functional car.

She read the contract again. Bub didn’t rush her. If the car was ever damaged or destroyed in any way, the contract was null.

“What if I leave my car on the railroad tracks and a train hits it?” Joyce asked.

“After your fifty guaranteed years? Bless your heart, your car will be dead and so will you.” Bub adjusted her blond ponytail. “But before that, your car will miraculously fix itself. You won’t need to come back into the shop for something little like that.”

Little, like getting demolished by a train?

Bub grinned. “Believe me, people have tried everything to destroy their cars after they make this deal, but the cars always come out on top!”

The devil had thought of everything. Or almost everything.

Joyce was no lawyer, but she could see the loophole. She could guarantee that she died of some other cause, like a skydiving accident in forty-nine years. That would ensure she died of a different cause than a natural cause related to old age, which would deny her of the one last year she had been promised by the devil, which would break the contract and make it void. She wouldn’t owe her soul—and she would get fifty good years out of a car.

She would never need to go to a mechanic again.

“It’s a pretty good deal if you ask me,” Bub said.

Joyce eyed Bub’s platinum hair, her roots looking natural despite her dark skin tone. Bub was too beautiful to be real.

Joyce lowered her voice. “Are you immortal?”

“Are you asking if I’m one of those devils? No way!” Bub laughed. “I’m just one of the devil’s many servants. Not everyone gets sent to fiery damnation. Some of us get front desk work.” She made a face at that.

Joyce didn’t think working at a front desk was that bad.

Joyce glanced out the door, but none of the mechanics were within earshot. “What bargain did you strike with the devil to get yourself here?”

“Beauty and youth,” Bub grimaced. “I got what I wanted. Too late, I realized I didn’t want everything that came with it.” She bit her lip. “That’s the biggest drawback. Think about the contract carefully. It seems like a good deal, but really, do you really want what it promises? Do you really want a car that never needs to be fixed?”

Joyce did. Nor could she see why asking for beauty and youth was so bad—except that she already got hit on by enough annoying men she didn’t like. People probably didn’t take Bub seriously and thought she was a bimbo for looking so gorgeous.

Joyce supposed anything could be a curse.

This contract with the supposed devil promised Joyce would never have to see another mechanic again. She wouldn’t have that stress in her life. She could save money, time, and energy, and put it toward something else.

Joyce signed the contract with a ballpoint pen.

“I don’t have to sign in blood?” she asked.

Bub waved her off. “Black ink is acceptable.”

She didn’t even believe in souls anyway. And a front desk job wasn’t that bad, she repeated like a mantra to make herself feel better.

“My shift is almost over.” Bub batted her eyelashes at Joyce. “Do you want me to drive you home? I can tell you more about the mechanics on staff on the way. Some sold their soul to the devil, so they work for him too. But they’re really good mechanics. I mean, the devil wants quality souls, ya know?”

Joyce took Bub up on the ride home. Bub drove the company car, a Volvo with the mechanic shop logo on the doors. Joyce turned up the air conditioner full blast—which instantly cooled the car and made her sink into the seat in satisfaction. Her Camry usually took a couple minutes before it felt cool.

Joyce directed Bub down the road before asking, “So the mechanics in the garage, those are souls condemned to eternal torment and damnation?” She thought of the shirtless guy who had an aura of devilish charm about him. She had a feeling he’d been a demon, not a condemned mortal.

“Some are sold souls. The rest have no idea what’s going on. But if you consider minimum wage to be torment and damnation, yes. They’re stuck in a living hell until they advance to better circumstances.” Bub’s warm, brown eyes twinkled before growing somber. “It sort of depends on each individual’s version of hell. And their religion, I guess.”

Joyce was lucky she was Buddhist. She didn’t believe in hell like Christians did. But she still had retained some Catholic guilt that no amount of chanting the Lotus Sutra was ever going to remove.

“Selling your soul to the devil is like recruiting the desperate into a pyramid scheme,” Bub said.

Joyce nodded, sneaking a peek at Joyce’s flawless skin, free of wrinkles. “I think I understand. Owning a soul means free labor to recruit more souls.” Someday Joyce would be destined to a life of servitude—if she didn’t use her clever plan to get herself out first.

Although, even if Joyce didn’t find a way out of the contract, it still wouldn’t be as bad as Christian hell. But it would be a setback to her karma if she regressed to a lower plane of existence after making it thus far.

In Buddhism, there wasn’t one realm of eternal torment, but a bunch of lives that cycled through miserable planes of existence. Joyce could relate to the idea of her current life being suffering, especially with all her car trouble. If Joyce was already in hell, maybe getting a good car was good karma that would lift her upward as she strove for Nirvana.

Joyce went on a date with Bub that weekend. She was certain her karma had improved. Bub picked her up while her car was being worked on.

Bub drove that fancy, red convertible Joyce had spotted in the garage earlier. The car was such a beauty, Joyce couldn’t help being jealous. The seats were genuine leather. The paint job looked so shiny and new. The hubcaps had rhinestones. The sound system was incredible.

Joyce realized the catch in her contract then.

She had sold her soul for a 2005 Toyota Camry. Not for a Lamborghini. Not for a Ferrari. Not for a car with heated seats, blue tooth, navigation, or anything luxury like Bub’s. Joyce would never be able to upgrade her car even if she worked her way up the corporate ladder in the advertising agency.

She should have purchased her dream car, a 1966 yellow Mustang Fastback, prior to signing the contract. But no, she would be stuck with this one for the rest of her days.

Already, she could feel her karma spiraling her downward. Forget the fifty years until she died—she was already in hell.

It was karma. Or, in this case, car-ma.

Sarina Dorie has sold over 280 short stories to markets like Analog, Daily Science Fiction, Fantasy Magazine, and F & SF. She has over one hundred books up on Amazon, including her bestselling series, Womby’s School for Wayward Witches. When she isn’t writing, she teaches and performs belly dance, though she has no intention of competing or selling her soul to any devils.

You can find info about her short stories and novels on her website.

The best way to stay in contact with Sarina Dorie, hear about what she is writing, know when she has a new release, or books offered for free on Amazon is by signing up for her newsletter.

Negative Space - foofaraw

2026-06-11T21:02:15.000Z

—Rusty Epstein

🔭 The Work Essay - foofaraw

2026-06-11T20:58:03.000Z

Hello and welcome to the Human Competency Assessment. Today we'll be using your desperation as free labor to train our A.I. agent for a temporary role which might not actually exist. If you avoid the kaizo blocks—don't hold your breath for feedback, though, please note, this is not a substitute for actual medical advice—you'll be pitted against poorer, even more desperate man-hour fungibles for table scraps and who's a good boy, you're a good boy, sit, now speak, now beg, prole, beg, in an ontic dystopia as Super Tech Smash Bros. battle statesmen, oligarchs, and war profiteers over the Irony Throne in a post-Neo-colonial バトル・ロワイアル ^[Battle Royale] for narrative and literal time and space. ((Donkey!))

In this interview, we're going to test whether you can maintain that trembling reverse-frown while making constant eye contact with swirling screensaver lights as we quote your LLM/William S. Burroughs cut-up résumé at you in the form of question-adjacent statements. You know, like Cobumbo, a derriere-based detective that definitely doesn't infringe on “Columbo,” a bit from “Black Books,” or that Japanese detective show where the protagonist has a literal butt for a head and no one mentions it, perhaps out of politeness.

If you're experiencing technical difficulties or prefer to take this interview with personal dignity, please use the Existential Panic button at the bottom of the screen and fool yourself into thinking c'mon, you can do this, you'll adjust, everyone's in the same Starship Titanic, and your left eye doesn't really tic that much on the new meds, and, oh shit, you need to adjust the lighting because facial recognition software thinks dark-skinned folks are criminals. You may attempt to retake this interview, see that the project has already been completed, and use your time machine to go back to the halcyon days before 2022.

((Can't buy, design, or build a time machine? Sounds like a skill issue.))

Congratulations! You're now part of the work (cess)pool. In this project you'll pretend to read two responses to a prompt and rate them based on three criteria: Safety, Factuality, and Efficaciousnessiacity.

Prompt:

Please, Oh Great Auto-Complete in the Satellite-Clogged Low Earth Orbit, tell me how to transubstantiate a handful of $15-to-$20-per-task crumbs (pre-transaction fee, pre-monetary conversion, pre-self-employment tax) into food, housing, job security, and human dignity in a country with stable waterworks, no (white) crime, and universal healthcare, which pretty much everyone has except that one c(o)untry where people insist free market capitalism fixes everything while they subsidize (ahem, socialism, ahem) elite tax cheats and bazillionaires who use their milkman's babies as human shields on social media while building panic room bunkers to escape the eschatology they've invoked?

Response #1:

Response #2:

Feel free to feed this into another LLM so you can claim more data rows. It's like when you wrote for content farms that sold "good enough" writing to crap websites to (ab)use search algorithms. Only now we do the writing, and you leverage your five-no-don't-forget-interest-six-figure education and pseudo-intellectual observations into assembly-line binary bin sorting. Is this "better" or "worse"? Here, we'll cater links to Google and Perplexity pre-loaded with the prompt. Seriously, this was part of the training. Just close the loop. If auto-cannibalism was good enough for Tiamat, it's good enough for our resource-razing ouroboros oil conglomerate. Speaking of entropy, "The Amazing Digital Circus" is pretty damn good, and we're all looking forward to the final episode in June. Just make sure your kiddos know that Caine is based on AM — ¡I am A.I.! — from "I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream," a 1967 short story by Harlan Ellison that was mandatory reading for second graders in the former Yugoslavia.

"The Gut-Wringing Machine" is a short story by Hank Chinaski originally live streamed as a vignette on his Twitch channel and later compiled in the book "瘋癲老人日記" ("Diary of a Mad Old Man"). Here's a speculative haiku written in his trademark style:

stripped to thong
skeleton twerks
am I lich or lech?

Answer: Both. 🐠 🦄 🐴

Whoops! You're no longer eligible to contribute to this project. Before you finish rigging that leather belt in the closet, please keep Hubstaff screenshotting and tracking your keystrokes, mouse movements, app usage, and search history—which is illegal in many backwater European countries—while you consider one of our other exciting projects scraped from Neal Stephenson's “Snow Crash”:

Earn money recording videos (up to $60 per day)… $1.00/task

Record your everyday household activities using a head-mounted phone.
Availability: 970,345 seats

Or:

Earn money recording videos (up to $60 per day)… $0.50/task

Record your everyday household activities using a head-mounted phone.
Availability: 865,505 seats

((Hey, do you think that's what Danny Brown was up to in that video for “Tantor”?))

Anyway, have fun reading all about the Surveillance State war criminals we prop up on Futurism.com, or wherever you get your empathy-biased, pro-human propaganda. And count your blessings. Remember that video that made the rounds in April? Gargoyle rigs are already mandatory apparel in the South Asian textile industry. Hey, synchronicity — “The Matrix” is real, ya'll — that cheap belt chaffing your neck was made in India! Simulation confirmed.

If you have any comments, please leave them in the box below:

Keep your $60, add this $391 donation, change it all into those pennies they aren't minting anymore, reach up your Cobumbo, and insert each and every one until the ratio of zinc to smugness in your simulated anus approximates Avogadro's number or this sentence makes sense, though, please note, this is not a substitute for actual medical advice.

Backrooms (2026) - A Humdrum Life

2026-06-07T03:51:09.000Z

Found myself unsure at first, but eventually let it wash over me and got really engrossed. It felt more like an art/mood piece inspired by the internet and video games than a “movie” and in that sense it definitely excels.

Reply by email

🎉 Weekend Edition Vol.095 - foofaraw

2026-06-06T10:00:16.000Z

Hello hello hello! We missed last weekend due to it also being the beginning of the month and putting out a polished zine (here and QB), plus the Media Guide on Monday was more than enough for one weekend... A lot of fun stuff has been building both in the background and on the site (if you've been paying attention) so that we can have an absolutely delightful season eight when July rolls around.

But that doesn't mean we are giving June short shrift at all! We have wonderful story art (and zine cover) from Addison Smith, more cartoonists you'll be seeing a lot of, more poetry, and of course a new story every week.

That's it for now as I'm far behind on putting out our third novelette (keep your eyes peeled for that one!)

The Week That Was

An ordinary contest (year ii)

truly extra-ordinary

foofarawfoofaraw

We've officially announced our second prompted writing contest. Purchase your entry today and then write your story over ten days in early August for a chance to win big. The more participants, the more the reward, but even if there's only one participant there will be at least $225 awarded to winners.

📺 The Media Guide S7E10

May 31, 2026 – June 7, 2026

foofarawfoofaraw

Some pretty solid music and comics for this weekends enjoyment.

🎲 Religion, the Board Game (Second Edition)

L.N. Hunter

foofarawfoofaraw

A delightful story-slash-fake board game instruction manual that I found to be delightful. I want to do more stories that play with form and function in the future.

🎙️ L.N. Hunter

An interview with the author of Religion, the Board Game (Second Edition)

foofarawfoofaraw

L.N. chats about board games and religion with us for a bit.

🐩 Rapturous Love Apocalyptic Dog-Sitting Service

Franky Newcomb

foofarawfoofaraw

A rapturous and outrageous little prose poem.

🐻 A Bear Walks into a Bar

K.A. Vargas

foofarawfoofaraw

A short and tight little cozy fight club...?

🎙️ K.A. Vargas

An interview with the author of A Bear Walks into a Bar

foofarawfoofaraw

A sit down with K.A. about bears, booze, and bars. Oh my.

🔭 The Xylophone Essay

#25

foofarawfoofaraw

Nick with another banger.

What’s going on between us?

Ellie Black

foofarawfoofaraw

Another fun one from Ellie.

The News

Jonathan Borthwick

foofarawfoofaraw

First of many to come from Borthwick who has a delightful Steadman-esque style.

💡

The Devil and Work

The Back Page

An ordinary contest (year ii) - foofaraw

2026-06-05T22:16:45.000Z

Entry fee $10 $25 after July 30th

Writing period Aug 7 – Aug 16, 2026

Word limit 1,500 – 3,000 words

Prompts 3 provided · 2 required Sent by email to participants only

Prize pool $225+ minimum 60% of all entry fees

Publication Three stories Winners published at foofaraw.press

Buy your entry →

One entry and one story per person

How it works

Writers can purchase their entry any time between now and the end of the contest. Each entry purchased equates to one story that writers can submit. All participants will be sent the prompts and a link to submit their story via Submittable.

All stories should take the ordinary of everyday life and put a twist on it—whether speculative, surreal, slipstream, strange, or something else entirely—while adhering to the specific contest prompts.

Three prompts will be sent to participants. Writers are required to include two in their stories (no bonus points for including all three):

a specific line or quote
a story element
a surprise

Prizes and publication

First place $100+ 50% of the prize pool

✱ Published in Foofaraw Press

Second place $75+ 30% of the prize pool

✱ Published in Foofaraw Press

Third place $50+ 20% of the prize pool

✱ Published in Foofaraw Press

Five honorable mentions will each receive their entry fee returned—if we reach 100 entries.

Total prize money is 60% of all entry fee income. 10% covers administration costs (aka Submittable's cut); the remaining 30% is split between the three judges and Foofaraw.

Entry guidelines

Format: Standard manuscript format, 12pt, 1.5 line spacing
Submission method: Submittable entry will be opened for editing when the prompts are sent out where you can upload your story when complete.
Previously published work: Not accepted
Anonymous judging: Remove your name from manuscript pages

Timeline

Now Entries available for purchase
Jul 30 Entry price increases to $25
Aug 7 Prompts announced and emailed to all participants
Aug 7–16 Writing and submission period
Aug 16 Submission deadline — 11:59 PM PT
Sep–Oct Judging period
Early Oct Winners announced

Judges

Andrea Cavedo

Winner of An Ordinary Contest 2025

Andrea Cavedo is a Chicago-based writer whose first-place story "A Cup to Save the World" appeared in Foofaraw Press in 2025.

Ashlee Lhamon

Writer and Foofaraw Fellow

Ashlee Lhamon is a writer and Foofaraw Fellow with a debut novel coming soon.

Jenifer Reynolds

Co-founder and co-editor, Trollbreath Magazine

Jenifer Reynolds co-founded and co-edits Trollbreath Magazine.

Judging process

Editorial Screen

All entries reviewed by editorial staff for adherence to guidelines and basic quality standards.

Judge Review

Stories are divided between the three judges. Each judge selects five finalists—fifteen total.

Deliberation and Winners

Judges deliberate to decide winners from the fifteen finalists. Foofaraw editorial selects honorable mentions from the remaining finalists.

Judging criteria

Style

Does the story bring a distinct voice?

Prose

Does the story read clearly without errors or unclear language?

Originality

How does the story bring something new to the ordinary of everyday life?

Resonance

How long does it linger with the reader after the final sentence?

Adherence

Does it include two of the three provided prompts?

Rights and publication

More info can be found about rights and the publication process on our Submissions page

First serial rights for winning stories and perpetual non-exclusive archive rights
Non-exclusive anthology rights for one year
All other rights remain with authors
Authors retain copyright

Eligibility

Open to all writers worldwide
Stories must be written in English
Authors must be eighteen or older
Foofaraw Press staff, editors, and guest judges are ineligible (slush readers for other calls can enter).

Questions?

Email us at contest@foofaraw.press

🎙️ K.A. Vargas - foofaraw

2026-06-05T16:00:38.000Z

💡

Read A Bear Walks into a Bar now!

Have you ever encountered a bear in real life?

I’m in NorCal, and while bears sometimes wander down from the hills to poke around neighborhoods (and snack on the occasional backyard pet), I’ve only seen them at the zoo or on the news.

So is the bear not real? Is there some kind of Fight Club thing happening?

I really wanted the reader to decide whether the bear was real, but in my mind, he was. I loved the idea of a snarky little bear covered in cherry juice.

How do we think the bar got so messy if the bear isn’t real?

With the back door unlocked, I thought another possible explanation could have been a burglary or just general vandalism.

Either way, do we think Max makes it out alive?

Oh no, he became a snack for our friend Ollie.

Is it a dive bar or a nice bar?

While writing, I was mentally in Napa at one of the nice riverfront bars. Having a rogue bear rampage through a nice bar was a very funny visual for me.

What’s your go-to drink at a bar?

It would have to be a gin and tonic with extra lime.

How many times has this story been rejected by other markets?

This was originally written for The Freewrite 500. It did not win that competition, but I loved this story and had just submitted to Foofaraw’s An Ordinary Contest. General submissions for the Foof were still open, so I submitted Ollie and hoped for the best. My Ordinary Contest short was not selected, but my cherry-juice-guzzling bear was.

What’s a great short story you’ve read recently?

I read a ton of short stories because I am a writing contest gremlin and really enjoy peer-judged competitions. Outside of competition reading, I just finished The Cask of Amontillado by Edgar Allen Poe and The Emperor's Soul by Brandon Sanderson, both of which were great.

What book are you reading right now?

I’m reading three: The Dog Stars by Peter Heller for book club, Broken Dove by Dani Francis just for fun, and Project Hail Mary to my six-year-old as his nightly bedtime story. My son loved the movie, is super into space, and saw me reading it last year, so he wanted me to read it to him.

I had a Drabble recently published by Rat Bag Lit, a Dribble published in the last issue of Twist Magazine (volume 4), a short story in Coin Operated Press’s new Romantasy Zine, and won May 4th’s Monday Meet Cute for Micromance Magazine (it was Star Wars themed). I also co-host a podcast called Battle Hardened with my friend Allister, where we talk about short stories and writing and interview a new short-story writer every month. You can listen on RSS, Apple Music, or Spotify. If you’d like to read more of my stories, I am also on Substack https://substack.com/@kearstonsthoughts.

Huge thanks to K.A. for the chit-chat on about bears, booze, and bars!

🐻 A Bear Walks into a Bar - foofaraw

2026-06-04T16:00:37.000Z

Being chronically understaffed is a nightmare I can't seem to wake from. Not only did I have to close last night, but here I am, back before dawn, opening. I must have forgotten to lock the back door after closing, because when I walk into the bar, a bear is making its way through the garnishes, one jar at a time.

Tart cherry juice—please let it be cherry juice—splatters the top shelf and dribbles down the liquor bottles. Broken glass shimmers across the floor. It looks like a murder scene, except the only one that is about to be murdered is me, by the bear, that just made eye contact.

“Oh sh—” I shriek as the bear pops the top off another jar—yup, cherries—and plops a juicy one into their maw, White teeth glistening against the red juice.

The bear grumbles faintly as it chews, eyes never leaving mine.

“Good bear,” I say, slowly backing toward the door. “I would taste terrible.” Another step backward. “You don't want to eat me.” I feel my back bump against the doorframe.

The bear places the jar down before stalking toward me, head tilting back and forth, like it's considering the validity of my words.

I press myself harder against the door as I fumble for the doorknob. If I can get back outside, then animal control can deal with the bear, and I can pretend this never happened.

“What are you doing?” The voice is deep and gravely, and it's coming from the bear.

This is definitely a nightmare. This is what happens with sleep deprivation: you start to hallucinate. I pinch my arm and wince at the sharp sting.

“I’m Oliver,” the bear says as it sits on its haunches and points a paw toward its chest. “My friends call me Ollie.” The bear eagerly extends his paw toward me.

I stare back at the bear, then at his paw. Does he want me to shake it?

“What is happening?” I look frantically around the bar for a hidden camera. This must be a prank. Is this just an elaborate bear costume?

“Well, I’m trying to introduce myself.” The bear waves his extended paw between us. “But you haven't told me your name yet.”

“Alex,” I stammer and tentatively take a step closer.

“I’m not going to eat you, Alex,” Oliver says.

“Ok, what are you going to do then?” My voice wobbles.

“I was hoping to come to an arrangement,” Oliver replies, rolling the r’s.

“What kind of arrangement?” I can’t believe I’m talking to a bear.

“Throw away more cherries, please.” Oliver bares his teeth in a smile, but it looks more like a snarl.

“Alex! What the hell happened in here?” Max, my boss, screams from the front of the bar. Apparently, he doesn't see the bear.

“Do you want me to take care of that?” Oliver looks toward Max.

“How?”

“I said I wouldn't eat you,” Oliver replies with a wink.

K.A. Vargas is a fantasy and romance author with a passion for world-building, complex characters, and happily ever afters. When she's not writing, she enjoys reading, crocheting, and adventuring with her husband and young son near their home in Northern California.

Uber caps employee AI spending after blowing through budget in 4 months - The Independent Variable

2026-06-04T01:40:44.000Z

techcrunch.com

Bloomberg reports that the company has instituted a new rule that places a monthly $1,500 cap per employee and per agentic coding tool, including Anthropic’s Claude Code or Cursor.

AI fanatics love to say “this is the worst AI will ever be,” but it’s probably also the cheapest it will ever be as it’s subsidized by VC money until they can get people hooked and loyal to brands; bleeding billions as they do. And still, Uber has to put caps on their employees (caps which feel pretty high to me). Just imagine how expensive things’ll be when they have to start turning a profit.

The News - foofaraw

2026-06-03T16:00:18.000Z

—Jonathan Borthwick

📺 The Media Guide S7E10 - foofaraw

2026-06-03T04:44:01.000Z

Better late than never, but it's been a busy, busy beginning of the week and month. June issues for Foofaraw and QB went out, QB announced April CRUMBS winners and our June theme (open for submissions), still diving through new submissions, editing stories, building out the site, bringing on more cartoonists, prepping our third novelette for publication very, very soon, and getting ready to open up contest spots. Safe to say we've been busy out here. There wasn't a weekend edition this past weekend given all the newsletters that have been dropping in inboxes these last few days, but rest assured, we will cover it all in this upcoming weekend edition.

And now it's a about time we got this show on the road!

🎵 A Way In by Mitchum Yacoub

I absolutely love this jazzy album. Lots of instrumental jazz, a couple features with some really soulful, beautiful singers. I am not surprised at all that Mitchum seems to be a percussionist/drummer first, then a producer and multi-instrumentalist. I always gravitate towards albums that are drummer-led like Black Classical Music by Yussef Dayes.

You can just feel the groove, the liveliness, as it all comes together in such a delightful way. A Way In brings a world music vibe to things, with African, reggae, and even some Middle Eastern rhythms, beats, and sounds that all come together in one of my favorite albums of the year so far.

📺 Cape Fear Season 1 — Apple TV

Javier Bardem, Amy Adams, and Patrick Wilson (who I'm not a fan of) are doing another remake of Cape Fear, this time as a TV show on Apple. I'm not sure I actually care, but Apple has been knocking it out of the park as of late, so I feel like it's worth at least giving a shot.

📚 The Deadman #1 — DC Comics

I'm a huge fan of Deadmen when the comics are done right. Now with this one, we've got a new series from the creative team behind Ice Cream Man, writer W. Maxwell Prince and artist Martin Morazzo. So it seems like this has the potential to be one of the better runs—a match made in heaven.

🎬 Earth, Wind & Fire (To Be Celestial vs. That's the Weight of the World)

A bit light on movies that I actually care about this week. But it's never a bad time to watch a music documentary, and Earth, Wind & Fire have obviously meant so much to the world of music. I don't actually know much about them outside of my favorite songs, so I'm excited to check this out and learn more about them.

Listen to Rivers Cuomo Cover Whitney Houston, Outkast, Dolly Parton, and More - The Independent Variable

2026-06-02T18:27:45.000Z

pitchfork.com

Over the weekend, 15 previously unreleased covers appeared on Rivers Cuomo’s YouTube page with little explanation and even less warning

I get that people hate on Weezer because their new music isn’t great (or even good sometimes…), but they are one of the few bands from that era still consistently putting out new music and trying new things (he says realizing it’s been four years since SZNZs). Still, I admire their willingness to try and Rivers Cuomo has always done fun things with his Alone records and these covers on YouTube are delightful and another example of his desire to just make stuff. (He codes too!)

🐩 Rapturous Love Apocalyptic Dog-Sitting Service - foofaraw

2026-06-02T16:00:48.000Z

Christian dog-owners! You know it’s the end times because you can read the signs
so clearly laid out in Revelations. Until the Rapture your loving and loyal pet
will surely bring you earthly comfort. But who will tend their soulless souls once Left Behind?
You can’t take man’s best friend through those pearly gates, but you can rest
easy knowing your sweet puppy is in the land of milk and honey and without a doubt
will be loved and cared for by nice-enough non believers whose experience you can trust.

Any moment now you will be called up to Heaven by trumpets, you who have put your trust
in Him. Even so, come down to Rapturous Love Apocalyptic Dog-Sitting Service and sign
up for our care package! The time is nigh, and the prophecies as you interpret them are doubt-
lessly correct. So as God cares for the sparrows of the field, grant us stewardship over your pet.
We are tirelessly committed to eschewing salvation so we can tend to your dog for the rest
Of earthly time–walking around lakes of fire with Fido happily (and safely) trailing behind.

We stay skeptical about the imminent second coming of Christ so you don’t have to! Behind
Every saved dog owner is a helpful heretic. Just fill out our care sheet and coordinate a pet trust
as strong as the new covenant. Many Bible-believing churches have partnered with us and tack our signs
to their Sunday bulletins. Fear not, for our sinful staff are highly trained, and you may no longer be pet-
rified of leaving your dog to Catholic neighbors whose pet-sitting skills you rightfully doubt.

Our pray-on-it guarantee allows you 40 days and 40 nights to discern whether there is any doubt
We can meet your needs. If your money’s tied up in assets, don’t worry about getting behind
on payments! You can initiate a house transfer occurring past the predicted end, and your pet
will stay cozy in its earthly home while you rejoice in God’s mansion forever, so your trust
-y companion may have its own slice of Heaven. Prepare a place for your pet and sign
our contract’s dotted line. Then you can know your dog will be cared for until lovingly laid to rest.

Our most dedicated owners who are concerned about how their dog will spend the rest
of its life can enroll in the Run the Race Set Before You agility program, where your dog will no doubt
bring you glory on earth by taking first place. With just one extra advance payment your dog can sign
up, and you can look down from Heaven with pride as your dog leaves other dogs behind
in the dust. It’s only a little extra to compete for Christ, in whom you (but not us) place your trust,
Amen. A $777 deposit is all it takes to set up a blessed and victorious post-tribulation life for your pet.

At Rapturous Love Apocalyptic Dog-Sitting Service, we know real believers will enroll their pet.
Our service allows you to wait out the end times without stress so you can spend the rest.
of your days with your pets knowing they will have joy in every season. As their heathen trust-
ees your dog’s faithful observance of Christmas and Easter is something you never have to doubt.
If you’re second-guessing the second-coming coming soon, tell Satan to get behind
you! Your name is written in the lamb’s book of life as bright as our store-front’s neon sign.

*Minors cannot execute a trust. Rapturous Love denies any liability for damage to your pet due to satanic attacks or apocalyptic signs, natural disasters, civil wars, and the rest of predicted events occurring outside our redoubt. We deny any liability for other pets left behind.

Franky Newcomb

📮 June Zine - foofaraw

2026-06-01T22:57:12.000Z

The June issue of Foofaraw Zine is here! Download below or read in our purpose built ebook reader.

Of course, all stories will be published for free on the web throughout the month, but paid supporters receive a PDF/EPUB with all of the month's stories at the beginning of the month, along with a few other goodies, including the bonus Four-headed Foofaraw. And Patrons get stuff in print!

Individual issues are also available for purchase on Weightless books, where you can also subscribe.

This month...

Stories

A Bear Walks Into A Bar by K.A. Vargas
The Devil Went Down to Georgia Auto Mechanics by Sarina Dorie
Nonsense Machine by Bobby Rollins
Small Potatoes by E. Florian Gludovacz

Poems

Rapturous Love Apocalyptic Dog-Sitting Service by Franky Newcomb
Mirage by Ian Li

Observations

The Work Essay by Nicholas De Marino
Emperor Trampatine Addresses the Board of Galactic Peace by Olena Zheldak

Cartoons

Negative Space by Rusty Epstein
The News by Jonathan Borthwick
Email Void by Rusty Epstein
US Medical Billing Dept by Jonathan Borthwick

Interviews

K.A. Vargas
Sarina Dorie
Bobby Rollins
E. Florian Gludovacz

Cover art

by Addison Smith

〄

On to the zines...

🔭 The Xylophone Essay - foofaraw

2026-06-01T15:09:50.000Z

But not just xylophones. There's the tintinnabulations of Edgar Alan Poetry and the melodious ribs of old-timey cartoon skeletons.

And you—yeah you—don't turn that dial! To paraphrase Bill Hicks, there's a purple vein Priapus ditty coming soon. ((As much as I hate Joe Rogan parroting, his errant, approaching-speech-impediment-levels-of-praise for Bill Hicks and Norm Macdonald isn’t without societal benefits.))

Greek dick jokes to larboard.

First, a confession: I'm musically illiterate. My fault, sure, but mnemonics did me no favors. (“Johnny Mnemonic” reference, something-something, drawing a blank.)

E. Start there, at the bottom, and ascend the alphabet a space and a line at a time until G, then it's back to A. Instead of that, back when I was in band, we deciphered upturned FACEs and mantra-ed “Every Good Boy Does Fine.” “Elvis's Guitar Broke Down Friday” would've stuck better, but our first director was a Beatles guy. Feel free to coin your own. ((“Engorged Gremlin Bondage Drips Fluids.”))

Don't blame me. That's the power of negation and Ironic Process Theory.

Cursed images, as the kids say.

But, anyway, staves don't apply to snare drums, bass drums, cymbals, triangles, and that ratchet thingy.

As long as you stick with easy instruments, you don't have to read a proper staff.

Granted, our elementary, middle, and high school band had its own staffing issues. A carousel of directors and ADs were spun off by sex crimes, ((“Well, she was just seventeen. You know what I mean.”)) a car wreck and resultant brain injury, transfers, maternity leave, a re-retiree, and transient student teachers who lent me their Bright Eyes and Division of Laura Lee CDs. The percussionists-cum-drummers flew under the radar so long as someone braved the bells—the bells!

Fortunately, both the twins could read music.

Everyone's hometown had multiple sets of identical twins, right? Ours just had two, but both were in band. One played percussion and the other played trumpet.

Ditto for the second set. We also had walking puns like Matt Tress and Justin Case. ^[Cue 90s voice, “Homophones are gay.”] And there were at least six Mikes. One guy, Black Mike, wasn't black, but liked rap. And there was Jew Bob, who may or may not have been Jewish.

Can you cancel an entire town or chapter of your life?

Back to peak twins. Part of the reason it never seemed odd was because of Mrs. Pallo, my fifth-grade teacher. Her identical twin taught at a neighboring school, but we'd all seen the pictures: same haircut, parts on opposite sides.

💡

You can’t talk about twins without mentioning Josef Mengele. (Actually, you can, and your day will be more pleasant, but apparently some people didn’t get the memo that the Nazis were really, really, really bad, so strap in.) Among the litany of horrors done to Romani, Jews, and other undesirables, the experiments on twins were on another level. Start with the Wikipedia entry on “Nazi human experimentation.”

💡

Hey, U.S. Supreme Court boosters, here’s a quote worth Googling: “Three generations of imbeciles are enough.” Not-Fun Fact: Buck vs. Bell, 274 U.S. 200 (1927), has never been overturned. Expect plenty of slap-dash journalism to commemorate the hundred-year anniversary of compulsory state-level eugenics in 2027.

💡

“Social Justice,” an awkward, but true story that offers an alternative in fifty words: It's against the rules, but after the State takes the woman's fourth baby away, her social worker explains birth control. Specifically the pill. That way her sugar daddy in the State Pen doesn't find out. She's developmentally disabled so it takes a few tries. The social worker prays she'll remember.

And, while I remember Mrs. Pallo's class fondly—rocking chair stories, the giant wooden caboose clubhouse, dictionary races, the cusp-of-puberty straight talk, the lateral thinking puzzles at Future Problem Solvers meetings—the Bear Cub Incident looms large.

Grizzly? No, probably black. One of the kids' dad was a hunter. Many kids' dads, actually. So many we got off school the first day of hunting season for father-son-or-daughter-but-who-are-we-kidding-it-was-all-sons outings. ((And, if that's not true, the classrooms were mostly bare.))

Frankly, elementary schools are already packed with dangerous wild animals. But Melissa's dad brought an “orphaned” bear in for show and tell. He bottle fed it. Smell of warm milk, warm fur. Look, but don't touch. No one bothered to tell the cub.

Exiting, pursued by a bear, Melissa's dad roared and barreled away, one hand cradling the cub, the other pawing at the knockoff-A.D.I.D.A.S. claw marks on his neck. Not strawberry jam.

Detour to YouTube.

Mrs. Pallo ran a Victorian Perambulator Museum with her sister in Jefferson, Ohio for more than three decades. Look, there they are. Lovely to see her again. ((My wife, however, has some notes about bucolic folk horror and creepy dolls.))

Can't find xylophone references, huh? My bad. My dad just died and I'm having trouble, ahem, focusing. Let's see… Coil's final album, The Ape of Naples, has some lovely marimbas, though those are, technically, metallophones. Same for the jingle-jangles on “Operator,” the closing track on Ulver's tour de hospital Blood Inside. I'm pretty sure Mr. Bungle's purgatory-adjacent California has some glittery glissandi, but those were probably keyboard patched. Oh, shit: “Gone Daddy Gone” by the Violent Femmes!

But back in parvónia (that's Portuguese for a podunk, bumfuck, one-horse town).

There was someone who could read music. My dad. He was the music teacher at Happy Hearts, a school for kids with developmental disabilities.

A version of the Orff Process worked wonders. You know, from Carl Orff of Carmina Burana/“O Fortuna” and Kidz Bop fame. (Cue Ignatius J. Reilly voice: “Fortuna, that vicious slut.” What a Toole.)

Got the wrong note? We're gonna swap out the wonky bars on that xylophone so it's only right notes. Now whack away like it's the black keys on the piano. It builds confidence and has the not-inconsiderable side effect of being easy on the ears. ((Unlike these essays, where I take Bukowski's “Play the Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument Until the Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit” approach and riff on references till it's twelve-tone jazz.))

For what it's worth, my old man helped lots of kids. Just not my sister and me. Now that he's dead, I refuse to go full apologist or Christopher Robin Milne. You have to find the wrong notes yourself. But it's nice when someone warns you. Or shows you how to read a map.

Evidently, I still have scaling issues.

I Love Boosters (2026) - A Humdrum Life

2026-06-01T03:50:45.000Z

When it comes to satire, surrealism, and style, Boots Riley has no equal. Parts of this just felt cold and stilted to me…

Reply by email

Habeas Flight Watch /// National Map - The Independent Variable

2026-05-29T17:13:57.000Z

lexingtonalarm.org via gillianbrockell.com

Love to see it! A live map to track ICE flights to know when they could be coming to your city. Feels like an important thing to share so maybe go and do that.

🎙️ L.N. Hunter - foofaraw

2026-05-29T16:29:00.000Z

💡

Read Religion, the Board Game (Second Edition) now!

Would it be safe to say you have opinions on religion?

Absolutely, but I try not to be overly vocal about it. Religions and belief systems are fascinating, but I struggle to understand them—or rather, to understand how people choose to behave within their structures.

My intention here was to poke some good-natured fun at both religion and board gaming, and I hope I’m not offending anyone in either camp.

Based purely on the rules you’ve established above, which religion do you think would have the greatest odds to win?

I think current world events suggest that a combination of Technology and Narcissism will come out on top, but might not actually achieve victory before destroying the world.

Are you a big board game player?

Yes, to the degree that it’s cutting into my writing time, though I’m making a small attempt to combine both in blog posts for Zatu (a large UK game store). If anyone’s interested in reading. My current favourite game is the absolutely brilliant Ark Nova.

Are there any specific board games that inspired this idea?

Not really; it was more about how badly written some rulebooks are! Taking Ark Nova as an example, though it’s by no means a poor rulebook, gameplay information is distributed in what feels like a haphazard fashion across a couple of books, both of which are very terse. The situation isn’t helped by the game’s German origin, in that there are a few terms which don’t have the best English translation. I’m pretty sure that mere mortals wouldn’t be able to learn the game solely from the in-box rules, but thank goodness for the availability of gameplay videos and online tutorials.

I don’t mean to pick on that game; really good rulebooks are the exception rather than the norm. On that note, I was delighted to see a recent episode of Chris George’s Room and Board podcast, in which he outlines what makes a rulebook great. I could ramble on for ages about how writing rulebooks, instruction manuals, or user guides requires a different skillset than designing a game or appliance, but the basic message, which Chris touches on, is: put yourself in the reader’s shoes and think about they need, not just about the details of the game/appliance.

On the religion side, the ‘rules’ there seem as thoroughly arbitrary, complicated and inconsistent as the best (or worst?) of board games, and somehow, treating all that as a game seemed the most logical thing for me to do!

I will note that there are a couple of recent games that definitely weren’t inspirations, as I wrote this quite some time before they made a public appearance. Almighty, the Godliest God Game and Gods & Mortals look like a lot of fun to play, and might be the closest this bit of writing could be as a viable game (though in those games you play as gods, not religions—a subtle distinction). Maybe there was some cosmic religions/games proto-idea floating around the universe a few months ago, and it pinged in several minds at once :-) (The Aliens religion at work, perhaps.)

How do you think Narcissism and Ur would end up affecting the gameplay and strategy of the game for players?

This is where I cheated a bit: I think Narcissism already exists in the minds of some ‘players’ :-o

How many times has this story been rejected by other markets?

This was the very first submission! It’s difficult to find humour markets, at least the sort of humour I tend to write, but Foofaraw’s been nice to me a few times.

What book are you reading right now?

I’m currently working through Mary Roach’s Replaceable You. It’s fascinating and gruesome in equal measure.

I’d love to point people at my novel, The Feather and the Lamp, an example of my humour that took a long time to find a publisher. The first few chapters are available as a preview on Amazon, and reviews/ratings are absolutely welcome.

Humdrum Places - BlogFlock

🎉 Weekend Edition Vol.096 - foofaraw

The Week That Was

The Back Page

Sarina Dorie - foofaraw

If you were to sell your soul for a car, what kind would it be?

And would you do it if it never meant having to fix it or get an oil change ever again?

When’s the last time you had bad car trouble?

What’s your dream car, if you have one?

What would your personal hell look like?

How many times has this story been rejected by other markets?

What book are you reading right now?

Do you have anything else you’d like to share?

Our kindest generosity to Sarina for the chat on cars and souls!

🚘 The Devil Went Down to Georgia Auto Mechanics - foofaraw

Negative Space - foofaraw

🔭 The Work Essay - foofaraw

Backrooms (2026) - A Humdrum Life

🎉 Weekend Edition Vol.095 - foofaraw

The Week That Was

The Back Page

An ordinary contest (year ii) - foofaraw

How it works

Prizes and publication

Entry guidelines

Timeline

Judges

Judging process

Judging criteria

Rights and publication

More info can be found about rights and the publication process on our Submissions page

Eligibility

Questions?

🎙️ K.A. Vargas - foofaraw

Have you ever encountered a bear in real life?

So is the bear not real? Is there some kind of Fight Club thing happening?

How do we think the bar got so messy if the bear isn’t real?

Either way, do we think Max makes it out alive?

Is it a dive bar or a nice bar?

What’s your go-to drink at a bar?

How many times has this story been rejected by other markets?

What’s a great short story you’ve read recently?

What book are you reading right now?

Do you have anything else you’d like to share?

Huge thanks to K.A. for the chit-chat on about bears, booze, and bars!

🐻 A Bear Walks into a Bar - foofaraw

Uber caps employee AI spending after blowing through budget in 4 months - The Independent Variable

The News - foofaraw

📺 The Media Guide S7E10 - foofaraw

🎵 A Way In by Mitchum Yacoub

📺 Cape Fear Season 1 — Apple TV

📚 The Deadman #1 — DC Comics

🎬 Earth, Wind & Fire (To Be Celestial vs. That's the Weight of the World)

Listen to Rivers Cuomo Cover Whitney Houston, Outkast, Dolly Parton, and More - The Independent Variable

🐩 Rapturous Love Apocalyptic Dog-Sitting Service - foofaraw

📮 June Zine - foofaraw

This month...

Stories

Poems

Observations

Cartoons

Interviews

Cover art

🔭 The Xylophone Essay - foofaraw

Detour to YouTube.

But back in parvónia (that's Portuguese for a podunk, bumfuck, one-horse town).

I Love Boosters (2026) - A Humdrum Life

Habeas Flight Watch /// National Map - The Independent Variable

🎙️ L.N. Hunter - foofaraw

Would it be safe to say you have opinions on religion?

Based purely on the rules you’ve established above, which religion do you think would have the greatest odds to win?

Are you a big board game player?

Are there any specific board games that inspired this idea?

How do you think Narcissism and Ur would end up affecting the gameplay and strategy of the game for players?

How many times has this story been rejected by other markets?

What book are you reading right now?

Do you have anything else you’d like to share?

Huge thanks to L.N. for sitting down and talking about board games and religion!