Alien book club_Don't You "Bro" Me_Sodade_Tetherball
Catalog Guide:
Alien book club
John stood with the alien in front of his bookshelf. A chance encounter with the third kind. It had ended up in his back garden some days ago and he was helping it repair its method of transportation ; it just needed a working toaster apparently. While already fixed, it needed about a day to ... well ... John didn't quite understand why it needed a day but the Alien was adamant that it did. While very eager to get home, it took a novel interest in the customs of the strange peoples it found itself amongst.“What are all these?” the alien said, gesturing vaguely towards his bookshelf“Books, DVDs...
Don't You "Bro" Me
“We dated for four years, Chad.”“I thought we were more like, you know, friends-with-benefits, or whatever.”“For four years, you thought we were just one prolonged casual fling? No strings attached? Jesus that explains a lot. I wish I could go back and see just how shallow you really are. Shallow as a cheap Walmart inflatable kittie pool; the kind toddlers relieve themselves in.”“Bro, don’t you think that’s a little harsh?”“Bro? Bro?? Don’t you bro… Oh, Hell no. Do. Not. Bro. Me. Chad.”“Jeez, relax, woman, I call everyone ‘bro.”“Oh, okay. So maybe instead of your rather committed and loyal gir...
Sodade
The party is ruined the moment Gwen spots Wesley standing by the piano. The rest of the spacious condo, with its polished hardwood floor and tastefully arranged furniture, grows muted. The gentle chatter of the other upscale guests and the moody voice of Cesária Évora coming from the artfully hidden speakers blur into the background. All she sees is Wesley. All she hears is his laugh.The host, Ben Dambers, hovers around Wesley, with a bowtie on his neck and a martini in his hand. His boisterous voice, already half-laughing, starts that old nugget, “Hey! So a horse walks into a bar…” And Wesley...
Tetherball
Much like deciding to work as a summer camp counselor, playing tetherball with nine-year-old boys is exhausting, pointless, and stupid. After my easy serve, one of the bucktoothed brats miraculously hits the ball back. The ball is actualwww.onedoor.ccly an old volleyball, hung like a church thief on a dirty rope affixed to the top of a rusty pole. I am not paying attention because I despise these children, so the leather ball smacks me in the side of the face. My sunglasses shatter.Their braying, sputtering laughter does nothing to improve my mood, and clearly, nine year olds have an inescapable grasp of th...