One time I was at the farm, milking some cows when Bobby, the guy that owns the farm, comes out running towards me and says not that fucking kid, not that dirt bag fucking kid again. So Bobby&rsquo;s there waving his rifle at me and then my big brother lunges from the shrubs of our house&mdash;we were neighbors with Bobby at the time&mdash; and tries to disarm him and Bobby just shoots the guy, just like that boom, Mark my only sibling is dead, and I&rsquo;m here just trying to collect my milk before Bobby gets to me too. So then my mom comes out from our house screaming &ldquo;what is this racket&rdquo; and she sees the body of her oldest child, her only son lying lifeless amongst the crops and she wails and wails but I try not to let it break my concentration because I&rsquo;m milking those cows three gallons a minute at this point and I feel fucking unstoppable. Bobby&rsquo;s stand-ing right in front of me now and he pulls up his rifle and points it right at my face when my mom runs between us to block him and pleads Bobby, please, &ldquo;not my only daughter Bobby&rdquo;, &ldquo;she has behavioral disabilities Bobby&rdquo;, and a bunch of white lies that I was kinda fine with given how close I was to finishing milking that cow. But Bobby&rsquo;s in a fit of rage at this point, the guy&rsquo;s losing his damn mind, and he just knocks out my mom with his rifle, giving her an aneurysm that would do her in after a few weeks of internal bleeding. As Bobby continues sprinting towards me, he&rsquo;s getting so close now, I squirt a bit of milk onto his face, and the cold shock of that sublime celestial substance just snaps him out of his blind fury and he realizes what he&rsquo;s done to my mom, and Mark, and Bobby just cries, man&mdash;Bobby was my father, who had left the household in infancy to set up his business where I couldn&rsquo;t reach the cows&mdash;and he cries like a little baby and then shoots himself while asking the lord to please forgive him, which is kind of poetic actually because I&rsquo;ve just sealed up the last of my milk jugs.&nbsp;
I was all alone after that day, no mom, no dad, no Mark, wandering the world aimlessly without a family to call alive, just me and my milk.
It was actually pretty alright.

One time I was at the farm, milking some cows when Bobby, the guy that owns the farm, comes out runn...

The Time I Got Caught Milking

Sunset Comix

Before you say anything, we know what you&rsquo;re thinking: why should you care that cancer eventually got cured when in Key Largo, Florida, there&rsquo;s an underwater hotel that delivers dry pizza and no one knows how they do it? Well if you were the one who had cancer, you&rsquo;d be whistling a different tune.
That aside, good point&mdash;and, believe it or not, before he cured cancer Craig was actually an underwater pizza-guy at Key Largo himself. In many ways, it was just like being a regular pizza-guy: he took the orders, picked his nose, and was at no point given a scuba by Boss.
Why did Craig keep working there without a scuba, you ask? Well, some of us have children to feed. Not Craig: he just got a genuine high from swimming really fast to deliver dry pizzas. Also the work culture. Craig couldn&rsquo;t help but crack a smile every time our beepers belted &ldquo;where&rsquo;s my fucking pizza?&rdquo;, a little chorus that Boss enjoyed screaming in funny voices to cheer us on as we swam.
Despite all the fun we were having with Craig, his 251st pizza would turn out to be his last. All pizzas had to be delivered dry, and Craig took a shit on that one&mdash;liquid. &ldquo;That oughta give these capitalists a taste of their own poop,&rdquo; we thought, since indeed their poop probably tasted just like Craig&rsquo;s.
Yeah, that&rsquo;s right&mdash;we&rsquo;re all just human. And at the end of the day, it doesn&rsquo;t matter how many pizzas you shit on. Because, one day, death and early retirement come for all of us. And sure, both come sooner if you&rsquo;re Craig, delivering underwater pizza at Key Largo. But there was nothing anyone could do about that, which is why Craig eventually cured cancer instead&mdash;and boy did we cheer for our boy Craig.

Before you say anything, we know what you’re thinking: why should you care that cancer eventually go...

How Cancer Eventually Got Cured

On the first day, God created the heavens and the earth. “Let there be light,” He said, and there was light. And God saw that it was good—or, no, ‘good’ wasn’t quite the right word. It was glorious, but in an understated, huh-I-wasn’t-even-trying-to-do-that, kind of way. Light? Sure, God didn’t mind if it was. But if it wasn’t, that was cool too— 
 
Cool! Yes. That was it. ‘Cool’ was the word God was looking for. 
 
God did a lot more cool stuff after that—fish in the sky, birds in the sea, math’s first, other-first, and other-other-first drafts. But what God was most excited about was His final creation: humans. Little sentient creatures with holes and shafts that fit so titillatingly into one another that God accorded them brains, to piece together that their survival as a species hinged on the frequency of these shaft-to-hole interactions. The creatures penetrated one another with glee, and God was happy (for them). 
 
At this point, God figured He had it made: with omnipotence and a little thing called moxie, He had created consciousness, and by extension, the soon- to-come concept of pickling fruits. Humans would probably build sumptuous monuments in His honor, onto which nobody would pee, and wage wars in His name, during which people would likely pee but only at great logistical cost. God thought, Ay am-a quite-a cool-a, and decided right then and there that the Pope should be Italian, and that Italy should be a place that exists. 
 
Everything was going great until, one day, Gaba (a caveman) said to Baga (another, smaller caveman), “Go sharpen some rocks to create hunting tools”. But Bags didn’t want to sharpen any rocks. Baga wanted to thread tiny ragweeds into the shape of a butt. So Baga said: “Rocks?” He cackled loudly, and a few cavemen behind him followed suit, unsure what to do. They had never heard a sound like this before; they were afraid. “You think hunting tools come from rocks?” The other cavemen doubled their laughter, and quickly grabbed some ragweeds and started threading them into the shape of a butt, not wanting to be associated with Gaba, whose eyes by now were brimming with water. God was totally lost. What was going on? Had the humans established... their own hierarchy of things? 
 
God understood immediately the scale of the danger this posed to his whole “I’m God” thing. “Let tiny ragweeds threaded into the shape of a butt not be a thing anymore,” He said, but this time, unlike the creation of the heavens and the earth, He actually cared whether or not it happened. And then God looked over His shoulders, checked that no one was there, and whispered, “Also let there be sofas that sound like farts when you sit on them.” He chuckled, destroying the better part of Florida—that one was just for Him. 
 
But God didn’t laugh long: sure enough, the tiny ragweeds threaded into the shape of a butt were quickly replaced with leather jackets; then leather jackets were replaced by saying you were born in the wrong decade, which was soon replaced by saying you were born in the wrong decade ironically; Silly Bands crested then tumbled then made a brief comeback in certain areas of Brooklyn, until Brooklyn itself was replaced by one large Silly Band of Adam Driver’s nose. At some point along the way, an unexplained yet briefly sturdy relationship was established between Jesus iconography and finger guns. 
 
God was reaching a breaking point, when suddenly, inspiration struck. God said: “Let ‘not trying to be cool’ be the prerequisite to being cool.” It was genius. It was infallible. It was...working? No. Somewhere, someone smashed an avocado onto a piece of bread for no precise reason and the humans gave her eight hundred millions of the money. 
 
God was enraged. Who did these little beasts think He was? Some sort of pencil-pusher who churned out humans only for them to go about worshipping random things without so much as sparing Him an afterthought? Rage seething inside of him, God did something He had never done before: He breathed in, breathed out, and then… He killed a human. 
 
The human was Steve Krisney 
 
God waited for a reaction. But days passed and nothing happened, and that’s when God realized: none of the humans had grasped that it was He who’d killed Steve. God felt a cold, hard pit in his stomach, something that he had never felt before—was it guilt? Shame? A dwindling of faith? It was the munchies. God conjured a slice of ‘za, and lo: God felt better. 
 
“I can’t believe I could’ve been so stupid”, God said while he munched, confiding to a cloud onto which he’d drawn a friendly face. His shoulders were slumped, and he looked haggard as all hell. “So caught up in what everybody thought of me that I forgot what really mattered. But I get it now. It’s not about what car You drive, or how often You fuck”— and here God looked around himself and made a mental note to create the angels—”or even how ‘cool’ the humans think You are. It’s about remembering why You set out on this crazy adventure in the first place: You did it to create the heavens, and the earth, and light. To create friendship, and beauty, and love. To create joy—” 
 
And that’s when it happened. That’s when the cloud onto which He’d drawn a friendly face pantsed God. 
 
It was unanimously ruled as the coolest thing to happen since God’s creation of the heavens and the earth. God, out-cooled by a being of His own making, immediately dissolved into a rain of tiny kaleidoscopic droplets, His infinite spirit trickling down towards the Earth, down and down through the mesosphere and the rest of the spheres until it landed in Cambridge, Massachusetts at the top of a strange little brick castle filled with strange little humans doing strange little things. Before long, the strange little humans created a new Bible. 
 
And lo: here it is, in your hands. It is shorter than the original, because everybody knows that reading is not cool.

On the first day, God created the heavens and the earth. “Let there be light,” He said, and there was light...

Vanitas

And, action.&nbsp;
Open on the Three Hottest Girls in school, walking in unison, places in all the right boobs. Each of The Girls&mdash;Brittany, Tiffany, and Amy&mdash;brings to the scene a completely unique name. The boys are so enamored with The Girls that they bang their heads against their lockers and convulse on the floor. As The Girls keep walking, the shot transitions into slow-motion, calling our gaze to The Girls&rsquo; heaving, voluptuous opinions. This serves to develop their character. s.
In the background, the boys are still convulsing. Huh. It seems the boys are having a collective stroke. The Girls don&rsquo;t understand this yet, but we do. In narrative, this is called: even hotter. Still, The Girls can&rsquo;t help but think about the message this scene is sending. That&rsquo;s great &ndash; boys love girls who can think. Not that there are any boys left alive in the scene at this point. Just me. Me and the girls.
As they near the end of the hallway, Left Girl (Tiffany) eats a cold slice of pizza off a wet tire she’s been licking. Right Girl (Amy) lists her twelve brothers so fast that it resuscitates the boys. Right Girl (Amy) and Left Girl (Amy) fuse into a banana, around the tip of which Middle Girl (Amy) sensuously wraps her lips. When the banana comes out, it’s wearing a tiny Lakers jersey. Middle Girl (Tiffany) has transformed into a single eyelash.
You can&rsquo;t be sure, but you&rsquo;re willing to bet it&rsquo;s LeBron&rsquo;s.

And, action. 
Open on the Three Hottest Girls in school, walking in unison, places in all the right...

Hottest Girls In School

- Anne, mine old friend, I&hellip; I hast been touch'd by the bubonic plague. - Nay! Prithee, Margaret, bid me this isn&rsquo;t true! - T&rsquo;is, sadly&hellip; But I hast been toldeth that thee hast found the last medicinal bellflower which remains to cureth the disease, nay? - Um&hellip;aye, but as thee well knoweth Margaret, I wast planning to useth yond bellflower on mine pet rabbit Skittles who also hast the plague&hellip; - I knoweth, dear Anne, but how longeth hath thee and I been friends? - One year fewer than I hast hadst Skittles, Margaret. - &hellip;I shall die a gruesomedeath, Anne, without even being able to kisseth my own moth&rsquo;r's visage before she leaveth for the pet store at dawn. I must asketh thee&mdash; - Thy moth&rsquo;r works at the pet store? - Aye. Why doth thee ask? - Bethink the lady couldst giveth me an app&rsquo;rnticeship opp&rsquo;rtunity yonder? - I supposeth so. - Then I imagineth 'tis worth the death of Skittles; here, 'ere is the medicinal bellflower. - Oh Anne, thanketh thee, but there is nay need for that! - What doth thou mean? - I just cometh here to ask if I couldst pet Skittles one last time before I kicketh the bucket.

- Anne, mine old friend, I… I hast been touch'd by the bubonic plague.- Nay! Prithee, Margaret, bid ...

The Black Death

My parents decided to send me to the public Bulimia Recovery Clinic over in Toad Suck, Arkansas the day they caught me with my fingers down my throat in the bathroom: "ew", they said, handing me a toothbrush to purge instead. "Ew," I responded, flinging the store-brand piece of crap to their feet. They promptly withdrew me from my private clinic after that.
At first, it wasn't easy being at a public Clinic&mdash;too many bulimics. One day all six clinic toilets got clogged, because me and this girl Jenna were purging so much that we threw rocks in them, to protest against having only six toilets to do this much purging. It didn't work so we threw in more rocks to protest against not having enough rocks, which didn't work either but at least I had made a friend. "I think you're beautiful just as you are", me and Jenna told each other that night, because it is important to make your friends laugh.
Our other friend Karen was the one who finally got us serious about recovery, pointing to all the inspirational sights in the hallway, like the window that looked directly onto the nearby Anorexia Recovery Clinic. At first we joked that she was rough around the edges, but Karen vowed that soon we'd call these bones. She taught us all the weight loss tricks, like chewing very slowly on our fingers until they got all mangled and couldn't hold a fork anymore, or just not eating. In a way, we thought of Karen as an older sister: always there to dry our tears when things got hard, because tears are salty and salt retention increases water weight.
When Mom and Dad came to pick me up from the clinic, they said I had lost so much weight they almost didn't recognize me and they held Jenna in a tender embrace. Although I was a little chagrined that my own parents thought I'd just change my hair, style, and skin color like that without telling them, I forgot all about it when I saw their eyes, glimmering with pride: "25 pounds, just gone!" they beamed as I packed part of my bag into a second, smaller bag.
And though they both high-fived me for the baggage fee cuts, I couldn't help but feel disappointed at how cheap my parents had become as they signed me in to the public Anorexia Recovery Clinic right across the hall.

My parents decided to send me to the public Bulimia Recovery Clinic over in Toad Suck, Arkansas the ...

Recovery Clinic

From the moment I met Louise Arlington, I knew the girl was trouble. "Sir?", she said. My god, that was me. "I'm here to liquidate your assets", she added, with a look that made the phrase's sexual innuendo unclear in just the right way.
The whole rest of the day, I couldn't stop thinking about her: would Louise wear her hair up or down when selling my life's work to a Japanese brokerage firm? Would she find it dull or adorkable that I had single-handedly caused the US subprime mortgage crisis? I felt bad for all my rival firms who would never get to ask those questions.
It wasn't long before everyone at the office was egging me on: "just go talk to her", Donna from Accounting told me while I hid under my desk, behind the makeshift barricade I'd created out of greeting cards, staples and the various woodwind instruments I kept in my briefcase at all times. But Louise made the first move, teasing that this place was dust whether I came out or not, at which point I laughed, really laughed, aha-ha, even though it wasn't that good of a joke but I guess that's just what you do when you're around your crush.
I stayed cradled there in a fetal position for days, until eventually Louise leaned over and kissed me in the little comic strip I’d drawn of us on the greeting cards.. How could I have been so stupid, I thought as the barricade crumbled. My entire office was gone, but more importantly, so was Louise. And so, on that day, I did something I'd never done before, not even at a bank debt of $613 billion: I walked out on my lifelong dream of making love to a woman like Louise in a financial building that I owned. Simultaneously, security escorted me out.
A week later, the Lehman Brothers HQ had been replaced by a McDonald's, and I wasn't about to ask a girl like Louise out to some place I couldn't afford.

From the moment I met Louise Arlington, I knew the girl was trouble. "Sir?", she said. My god, that ...

Office Crush

- Alright students, settle down. It is currently 8:29am, and when I say "Start", you're going to open your response booklets and&mdash;
- It's quiet&hellip; Too quiet.
- Yes, as I just explained, lack of communication throughout the duration of the exam is mandatory.
- I work alone.
- &hellip;Right. Good. Now it is 8:30am, everyone. Please open your booklets, but first&mdash;
- I want you all to give me one good reason why I shouldn&rsquo;t kill you right now.
- What the hell?
- Relax, buddy. If I wanted you dead, you'd already be dead.
- But how did you know I was gonna say that?
- Because you know, Mike, we're not so different, you and I.
- My name is Carl. I’ve been your instructor all semester.
- Your father was a great man all the same.

- Alright students, settle down. It is currently 8:29am, and when I say "Start", you're going to ope...

Youmna Chamieh.css-1xlpnei{margin:0px -15px 0px 6px;width:11px;vertical-align:-14px;}

Youmna Chamieh