I was only five years old when my grandpappy taught me how to shoot a gun. &ldquo;Pull the trigger and end my suffering,&rdquo; he begged me, holding the barrel to his head. And I did.
A year later, my father gave me my first horse, for going to school. It was dead, and I had to drag its lifeless body eighty miles to school every day. This was because I lived in a very rural area without a bus that I was allowed to bring dead horses on. All the kids made fun of me, since I didn&rsquo;t fit in with them socially. Also, because of my unorthodox views on assisted suicide.
As a teenager, my job was to herd cattle. I spent a lot of time chasing cows, because they liked to play tag. When I was out there in the fields, I loved to sing songs about home on the range, like &ldquo;Take Me Home, Country Roads&rdquo; and &ldquo;Yakety Sax.&rdquo;
I will never forget the day that I turned 18 and became a man, as it marked the end of a very long stretch of hormone treatment culminating in gender reassignment surgery. I had to perform this surgery to finish my medical school education, which is in my opinion the mark of a true man. On my birthday, father gifted me his old whip, signifying that he was going to retire and I would take over the family business of being a dominatrix. The whip was 100% human leather, which is to say that humans made it, out of cow leather.
Later, I met my wife at the local general store, where I was buying extra-small condoms and she was buying one huge dental dam. I knew our relationship would never work out, because of the differences in our interests and races. She was a Native American, and I was a racist. You have to understand that this was a different time when everyone was intolerant, so for me to have been considered a racist back then meant I was extremely, extremely racist.
Anyways, my wife didn&rsquo;t like how I always called her &ldquo;Indian,&rdquo; telling me that the proper term was &ldquo;Ashkenazi Jewish.&rdquo; I knew my father would never approve of our marriage, as he did not believe straight couples should marry until everyone had the right to marry. Sure enough, our romance soon ended after she died of dysentery. But not immediately afterwards.
Yes, in those days, my home was on the range, and my house was repossessed by the bank during the Asian financial crisis of 1997. I lived in Kansas at the time; this is just to give you some temporal context. I worked during the day, and at night I cut loose at my favorite watering hole: a big pool of dirty water by the broken Exxon pipeline. All in all, I&rsquo;ve loved being a Cowboy, and I especially loved bringing the Super Bowl trophy to Dallas in 1972, as a deliveryman.

I was only five years old when my grandpappy taught me how to shoot a gun. “Pull the trigger and end...

The Life of a Cowboy

<ul>
<li>&hellip;and now that I&rsquo;ve got you, I&rsquo;ll be your judge, jury, and executioner.</li>
<li>Wait, so I&rsquo;ll still get a trial?</li>
<li>Of course. And I&rsquo;ll be your attorney. So, what&rsquo;s being arrested like? I&rsquo;m also the court reporter.</li>
<li>It&rsquo;s a little confusing.</li>
<li>Back off! No questioning my client. Let&rsquo;s talk shop. Did you do it?</li>
<li>Are you my lawyer right now? Or the judge?</li>
<li>Ahh! You caught me! Okay, now I&rsquo;m your lawyer.</li>
<li>Okay. How am I getting off?</li>
<li>First, you weren&rsquo;t read your Miranda rights by that moron waste-of-life cop.</li>
<li>Which was you.</li>
<li>Plus, you can call a mistrial because the judge and your lawyer have been drinking.</li>
<li>I think I&rsquo;m going to leave.</li>
<li>Shh. We need to be quiet. The bailiff is about to speak. All rise for honorable Judge Murray. Let me tell you right now, Judge. That man is guilty. I object, your honor. He has no evidence. Oh shut up Jack, we both know he&rsquo;s headed to the clink. He&rsquo;ll go to jail over my dead body you son of a bitch!</li>
</ul>


…and now that I’ve got you, I’ll be your judge, jury, and executioner.
Wait, so I’ll still get a ...

Judge, Jury, and Executioner

Football is not what it used to be. During my golden years, AKA the Great Depression, we were all in it for the brain injuries. My own greatest hope was to achieve the American Dream: play a phenomenal game of &lsquo;ball and pass away shortly afterwards.
Everything about football was more intense back in the day, especially in my home state of Kansas. Our field was the entire Dust Bowl. Our quarterback Pete was a small tornado we recruited after our original quarterback died in a different tornado. Our football was a football stuffed with dust. That was mostly an aesthetic choice.
The biggest game of my life ended in a ten-person pile-up. A windstorm was touching down in the next town over, and 60mph gusts were whipping up our dust-field. Pete was even quieter than usual, which was unsettling. The other fellows were struggling as well: our running-back Marvin had Dust Lung, which is like pneumonia but with more dust, and our wide-receiver Thom had a nasty case of Dust Cancer. That was our name for normal cancer.
Before the game, my father said to me, &ldquo;Son, you know what you have to do.&rdquo; He meant die and lighten the financial burden on my starving family. More than anything, I wanted to make Father proud&mdash;but despite my best efforts, I failed to kick the bucket during the consecutive football seasons of &lsquo;34, &lsquo;35, and &lsquo;36. I spent the 1937 season in a coma, but unfortunately recovered just in time for the 1938 season. The shape of my head would never be the same, and neither would Sunday dinner.
While I was in my coma, I had this brilliant dream: in it, I run through the dust, kicking up clouds of the stuff with my feet. This other fellow charges towards me, head-on. We both lower our skulls and prepare for the Moment of Impact, fingers crossed that it will be gory and slow. I close my eyes. My parents and siblings cheer in the stands. &ldquo;Blood!&rdquo; my kid-sister yells. &ldquo;We want blood!&rdquo; A quiet prayer slips past my lips&mdash;and dust slips in, like it does every time I open my mouth. The other runner is ten feet away now, five, two&mdash;one. &ldquo;End my life,&rdquo; he shouts, death-lust thick in his raspy Dust Lung voice.
We miss, though, somehow. In the stands, each member of my dream-family sheds a single grimy tear&mdash;and I will have to eat dust for dinner. That&rsquo;s not a punishment, though. That&rsquo;s just daily life in the Bowl.

Football is not what it used to be. During my golden years, AKA the Great Depression, we were all in...

The Dust Bowl

Good morning everyone. I know we all loved George. And I know most of you guys probably don&rsquo;t know me, but George and I go way back, I&rsquo;m talking like 15, maybe 16 days. I remember the first day I met George. I pulled up next to him. &ldquo;You know how many of these bad boys exist?&rdquo;, I said. &ldquo;Who the hell are you?&rdquo;, he replied. &ldquo;One million&rdquo;, I said. Referring to my Chevrolet Impala. &ldquo;Guess you could say I&rsquo;m one in a million,&rdquo; I told him. That&rsquo;s when George punched me, fracturing my jaw and causing me to speak with a lisp the rest of my life. But now my wife can&rsquo;t divorce me, because you just can&rsquo;t divorce a man with a lisp. I love that man.
I got to know George pretty well over the next few weeks as I sued him for medical bills. I dropped the assault charges though, because that was a hell of a left hook. Turns out George was a pretty cool guy. We got drinks a few times, sometimes over breakfast. We really bonded over our love of To Catch a Predator, we even thought about trying out for the show a few times. I realize now that I actually totally forgot I was suing him. That sneaky guy! Think I could snag some of that life insurance payout?
This isn&rsquo;t about me, this is about George and how he is dead. Hm, George talked about his family a lot, I think he really liked them. Well, not everyone. He would go on and on about how much he despised his wife Julia. How he couldn&rsquo;t stand being with her, and she reminded him of his 2nd grade teacher the way she ate her morning lasagna. So I&rsquo;m really happy to see her here in the front row. Love is truly something special. Julia, don&rsquo;t give me that look, he was going to divorce you in a few weeks anyway. Wait a second, Is that John right there behind you?! You were like George&rsquo;s best friend! Oh man, did George ever get to tell you that your son is actually his? No? Pity, just goes to show that the best time is always now.
I&rsquo;m going to wrap this up because there&rsquo;s a 12 hour sale of Dr. Scholl&rsquo;s shoe inserts going on at Walgreens across the street and I gotta get there before they run out of the ones with the super cool green gel. I guess all I want to get across is that George was my best friend. Some would say he was my only friend but I&rsquo;m not one to count. The man knew how to cover up an abortion better than anyone I&rsquo;ve ever known. And he could make killer mocktails with alcohol. In fact, drinks are on me tonight at O&rsquo; Hannigans! To George!

Good morning everyone. I know we all loved George. And I know most of you guys probably don’t know m...

Eulogy of George

Uh oh. I did it again. Fell asleep after all the kids got on the bus, so now I gotta get all these munchkins home in the next ten minutes. My route usually takes two hours, so I&rsquo;ll go a little over double the speed limit. If I don&rsquo;t make it, I&rsquo;m fired for sure &mdash; Principal Malone is super strict about fifteenth time offenses.
&ldquo;Sit down and shut up!&rdquo; I yell to myself after shrieking in fear. The kids are in the back being little angels &mdash; I hope this is a sleep deprived hallucination and they&rsquo;re not already dead. I hit the gas and take a two-minute nap.
Eight minutes left. Kenny&rsquo;s house is first up and it&rsquo;s two miles away. We&rsquo;ll be there in ten seconds. I tell Kenny to aim for the mattress out front. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s no mattress out&mdash;&ldquo; He lands in a bush.
Time to deal with the other thirty-nine. I&rsquo;m hurling kids into their front yards left and right. All the tossing reminds me of my paper route. Oh no. Today is my paper route. And if today&rsquo;s my paper route that means it&rsquo;s milk delivery day too. I was wondering why the bus had more milk than normal.
Two minutes left. There&rsquo;s 180 kids in the back with an entire home owners&rsquo; association and that&rsquo;s not including my side-gig cab fares.
I blink and look back. No kids. No seatbelts. No seats. No bus. It was slowing me down. I&rsquo;m running with the last kid on my nude back. Aerodynamics. I&rsquo;ve got twenty seconds left. The kid&rsquo;s screaming something about him being Principal Malone and how the kids were supposed to go to a museum. I&rsquo;m not listening though &mdash; it&rsquo;s nap time.

Uh oh. I did it again. Fell asleep after all the kids got on the bus, so now I gotta get all these m...

Goin’ West

School&rsquo;s out, plan is a go.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s officially Halloween.&nbsp; My parents think I&rsquo;m sleeping over Jimmy&rsquo;s, his think he&rsquo;s at Paul&rsquo;s, Paul told his parents that he&rsquo;s, &ldquo;at mine,&rdquo; and Craig is bringing the flashlights from his orphanage.
Craig is late to our meeting out behind the playground.&nbsp; &ldquo;What you don&rsquo;t have a watch either, Craig?&rdquo; Jimmy says.&nbsp; We laugh and realize that this is the best time of our lives.&nbsp; We cherish it.
Paul shows us the ectoplasmic gun he built out of decals and his dad&rsquo;s Mangum .45.&nbsp; I hope it works as well on ghosts as it did on Craig&rsquo;s foot.
It starts to get dark, and children wearing all sorts of colored costumes take to the street.&nbsp; When the gang war finally stops we begin trick-or-treating. My pillowcase is filled to the brim with chocolate and everyone loved the army man costume.&nbsp; Nobody really understood Craig&rsquo;s, Dracula with a gunshot in his foot costume, but that was okay because he didn&rsquo;t have a pillowcase anyway.
A fog of mystery is in the air as we approach Old Man Vanderhoot&rsquo;s abandoned mansion, and also a fog of water vapor.&nbsp; Out in the distance, or is it 10 feet away, a wolf howls clich&eacute;ly, startling us.&nbsp; We always were terrified of the French.
&ldquo;Do you really think we&rsquo;ll see the ghosts of the Vanderhoot&rsquo;s,&rdquo; Paul nervously queries as we pass by ghostly rows of geraniums lining the driveway, and two ghoulish abandoned cars which were in spookily pristine conditions.&nbsp; Climbing through the open window, we notice a light on upstairs.&nbsp; In fact, we can even make out the sound of the television running.&nbsp; The ghosts are definitely here, and even in this abandoned house they have managed to wield electricity.&nbsp; Ghost Electricity.
All of a sudden, ghost footsteps come pounding down the staircase.&nbsp; Paul shoots two waves of plasmic energy at the phantom and it evaporates into a heap on the floor, releasing weird, red, ghost blood.&nbsp; Two more ghosts rush down after the first, screaming and wailing their otherworldly chants in modern English&hellip; Ghost English.
Paul sends the other two ghosts back to the spirit world from whence they came with two more perfect shots.&nbsp; Looks like all that time spent playing violent video games wasn&rsquo;t as bad for him as everyone said that time that he got diagnosed with severe epilepsy.
We leave the abandoned house as heroes and accomplished ghost hunters and Craig, who couldn&rsquo;t make it through the window.&nbsp; A pizza delivery man even gives us a large pie on our way out the door and complements our house.&nbsp; How could he possibly know what our houses look like?&nbsp; Still, it was a nice gesture&mdash; word must&rsquo;ve travelled fast that we saved the town from those ghosts.
The next day our parents tell us we can&rsquo;t play outside anymore because a murderer is loose in the neighborhood, up at the top of the hill near Vanderhoot Mansion.&nbsp; Spooky, spooky stuff.

School’s out, plan is a go.  It’s officially Halloween.  My parents think I’m sleeping over Jimmy’s,...

Ghost Hunters

Richard Holton, our first Nice Guy president, eased out of the womb on December 24, 1921, giving doctors plenty of time to go enjoy their Christmas. His first word was a smile. The warmest of five children, Richard quickly gained a reputation as a kindness prodigy. While other toddlers struggled to form full sentences, Richard was able to say things like, &ldquo;How was your day?&rdquo; and truly care about the answer.
Despite his r&eacute;sum&eacute;&rsquo;s focus on other people&rsquo;s accomplishments, Richard was admitted to college with a scholarship as generous as he was. He entered school excited to learn, but professors soon asked him to skip class. It was hard to teach over all that applause. Richard majored in Compliments and graduated top study-buddy in his class. He won a national debate championship after agreeing to disagree with his opponents. Senior year, he was elected homecoming king, homecoming queen, and dean.
His last name was officially changed to Nice Guy after a census taker was blown away by his patience. Out of humility, Richard insisted that his name be changed back to Holton. When his court appeal was denied, Nice Guy graciously accepted the result.
After making his local congressman blush to death, Richard became Representative Nice Guy. Voters elected him unanimously, undeterred by his youth and stated disinterest in the position. By the end of his first day on Capitol Hill, all politicians belonged to one party. He took the second day off to donate organs.
In November 1955, he gave his famed speech, &ldquo;You All Seem Wonderful, But I Would Like to Retire, Please.&rdquo; The American people knew it was time for President Nice Guy. He refused to run a dirty campaign or any campaign at all. He became the first candidate to openly endorse his opponent. By mid-July, they called off the election and gave Nice Guy the White House. The sitting president was thrilled; Nice Guy personally helped him move out.
The defining move of his presidency was remembering everyone&rsquo;s birthday. Not wanting to hog the spotlight, he resigned after three weeks. President Nice Guy&rsquo;s reverence for foreign nations was reflected in his decision to move to one. But the voters were wise to his kind tricks, and they elected him to 14 more terms via write-in ballot. He died at the age of Young at Heart while attempting to tunnel out of the White House.

Richard Holton, our first Nice Guy president, eased out of the womb on December 24, 1921, giving doc...

President Nice Guy

I&rsquo;ll never forget the summer I road-tripped to Hawaii with my two best friends. While it started out as a surf trip, we ended up learning a heck of a lot about ourselves.
Skip, Benny and I were just some knuckleheads from SoCal when we packed our bags and set out to catch some serious barrel. While we had our fair share of fun, this adventure was anything but smooth. I mean, we really had no idea what in the world we were doing. Our first hiccup came pretty early on when we threw our boards in the trunk of the car and drove straight into the Pacific Ocean.
Benny was the first to pass away. He knocked his head pretty good on the windshield when we plowed into the ocean at 60 miles per hour. We always loved making fun of Benny for his huge head. You could could stuff a few grapefruits in there! Skip was in critical condition after his seatbelt jammed and he nearly drowned. Luckily, we got him to the hospital really quickly. Unluckily, he was beyond saving and died soon after our arrival.
In hindsight it was a totally doofus move to throw the car into sports mode and floor it right into the ocean, but how could we have known that? We were kids for crying out loud.
Years later, it&rsquo;s always fun to look back on that trip and think about where we are now. As I explained earlier, Benny and Skip both died because we drove our car into the sea. I&rsquo;m now a successful accountant with a wife and three beautiful children. Sure, I live a good life. But sometimes I find myself staring out the office window at the breaking waves and craving the feel of the surf wax beneath my toes. Sometimes I think of calling up Skip and Benny to see if they want to shred one last time, until I remember that they both perished on account of us plowing into open water with our car.

I’ll never forget the summer I road-tripped to Hawaii with my two best friends. While it started out...

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