My mother photographs dead people for her scrapbook.  Scrapbooks I should say.  There are many.  Each one’s labeled with a volume number and the dates it covers.  Each picture has a label that’s been printed and cut into a tiny fortune-cookie-type strip that says “Thanksgiving 2004,” or “Jim’s Graduation,” or “Julie’s first car.”    They […]

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Thank you. I mean that. It’s a nice sentiment. But I’d rather have a series of recreational colonoscopies than spend a week with you freaks. Seriously. It’s not personal. I don’t dislike any of you in particular. I dislike all of you, as a group. That may be a bit harsh considering I don’t really […]

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