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  • Blist-ex

      Columnist Billy Manes sends in the clowns for columnist Billy Manes. No Joke
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  • Blister

      I am a skin sock, a body bag, a frozen chicken breast with the tooth-cracking crisp of microwaved edges tonight, and it's getting me nowhere
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  • Blister

      "You weren't supposed to find out about this,"
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  • Blister

      This is the lesbian breaking point
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  • Blister

      This will end badly. When I was a little girl, the heights of a lip-glossed boredom escape via the binary rule book of "truth or dare" would send endorphins rushing to wrinkly
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  • Blister

      You know what term I miss?" Eddie's purse of a mouth empties out onto the floor as he swoops into the screaming puppies of my living room
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  • Blister

      There's a palpable panic as I slip past the polyester static in the pants of my periwinkle leisure suit, a sense of poorly fashioned costume exhibitionism
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  • Blister

      If this particular wrung-out rag of a Monday night were something more than a reverse howl of sleep apnea
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  • Blister

      It's gray outside. Blustery billows of dank fat-man breath blow down from the sky and up pleated man-skirts, chilling freckles
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      Now that all of the teacups have followed their flying saucers from the cupboard to the shattering floor
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  • Blister

      ‘You guys need to have babies!'
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  • Blister

      It's like a candy-coated war zone. The stuttering gridlock of westbound I-4 traffic the Monday after Christmas hiccups in tryptophan-laced
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  • Blister

      Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle go the lights attached to wires attached to plugs wedged into drywall sockets, and the process of illumination
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  • Blister

      There are things whizzing around — misshapen puzzle pieces from old grandma Milton Bradley bridge portraits never completed
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      Through the refracted blue-neon reflection of nightlife's anthropological looking glass, time has a way of bending in on itself, rendering context useless
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  • Blister

      Beyond good and evil, there is marriage: that antiquated social contract disguised as a torn page from a glossy magazine full of tampon ads
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  • Blister

      Taylor's wheezing limbs, glued together by divine phlegmatic cohesion, crop up on a corner of the bar at Revolution
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      The light just went off, that old major airline seatbelt signifier of settling down, of woes left behind like microscopic dust particles in an imagined inner-eyelid rearview mirror
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  • Blister

      I don't know what it is, but tonight's straitjacket of social obligation resignation seems to have a sandspur stuck in its armpit.
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