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“Dressing up as Ronald McDonald and Showing People my Genitals” has been published in Issue8 of Kill Poet

“The First Time I Had Buttsecks” has been published in Modus Operandi

Please remove your undergarments and visit these fine zines. Thanks.

My girlfriend has been really weird recently. For starters, she’s completely stopped combing her hair and now only wears old Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Halloween costumes and raggedy, torn up wedding dresses that reek of tuna fish. We hardly even talk anymore; oftentimes when I attempt to speak to her she simply growls or hisses and makes strange jungle-like animal sounds and flailing arm movements. And she’s quit using utensils when we go out to eat at restaurants; she just scoops up her food with her hands and feet or buries her face into the plate and rabidly gnaws away at it.

She’s also developed a biting problem. At work, she’s been sneaking up behind administrative assistants and biting them on the arms or legs, sometimes the buttocks. You’d think she’d get fired for this, but her bosses find it amusing and take bets on whom she’ll bite next, though they have installed an electric fence around her office and have ordered her to wear a football helmet and mouthpiece on most days of the week. Perhaps this is because they want her biting assaults on administrative assistants confined to special occasions, such as Hawaiian shirt Fridays, which I can understand.

And her biting isn’t limited to her mouth or colleagues, either. Turns out she’s got “vaginal dentana,” a condition in which sharp teeth grow into and all along the vaginal canal. Obviously, this has put a damper on our sex life… But possibly worse than that is she’s been tearing off her clothes in public, assuming awkward yoga positions (like the inverted crab), yodeling, and then using her vagina to bite random people sitting at outdoor cafes. Yeah, most don’t take kindly to that, though sometimes perverts take pictures of these vaginal biting attacks and post them on the Internet. I’ve come across a couple pictures of her outdoor café vaginal biting outbursts while googling environmentally friendly toothbrushes.

I just don’t know what to do about her behavior… I want to stay with her because she’s the only person I know who doesn’t get upset when I suddenly have delusions that I’m in a Broadway musical and start spontaneously dancing and singing in public places, occasionally even at funerals and golf tournaments. And she never gets mad when I pretend my penis is two feet long and run out onto the field at professional baseball and cricket games, pull down my pants, and attempt to swing my imaginary elongated penis at the ball. It’s so hard to find somebody who accepts me as I am… All the other girls I met on that online dating site got creeped out by me quick and some even called the police and/or sprayed mace at me, especially when I’d show up to the first date wearing a surgical mask and carrying a hockey stick.

What should I do? Do you think we can make our relationship work? Please help.

Sincerely,

Confused Floridian

Well I had that dream the other night…

I was in a tuxedo, and when I walked through the bathroom door,
there were Al Bundys in every stall,
sitting on toilets with the stall doors wide open,
pointing remote controls at TVs which didn’t exist,
and bursting into tears about their fear of naked women.

There was also a Frankenstein-like Korean Elvis
singing karaoke into a makeup mirror,
shooing away an imaginary wombat,
and sporadically banging on the lone closed stall door,
yelling curse words in Spanish to its inhabitant
who’d only occasionally counter with a meek
“Whatchu talkin’ bout Willis?”

Pairs of hair clippers began raining down from nowhere,
so I picked one up and initiated my mohawk cutting…

But then floor abruptly started rattling…

And it felt like an earthquake was hitting!

I turned around and saw geysers erupting from all the toilets,
shooting the Al Bundys through the ceilings…

The toilets then grew arms, legs, bat wings and devil horns,
and seized the Korean Elvis, flushed him down one of their mouths,
and began circling me, séance style…

I got gangster, levitated, and Matrix-style-flying-karate-kicked
several of them and then ran out the door into the hallway
making pigeon sounds and obscene hand gestures.

The hallways were somehow filled with celebrities and annoying people
from my high school with masks
of their social networking site profile pics over their faces…

(I even saw The Queen of England in a dominatrix suit
punching a Walt Whitman statue
and screaming into a bullhorn whilst performing
simultaneous rectal exams on
androgynous Rosie O’Donnell impersonators
wearing rainbow afro-wigs and stupid frilly dresses.)

Somehow my hair clippers were still running;

accordingly I decided to make the most of it
and grabbed random celebrities
as well as the annoying drooling high school people,
put them into headlocks,
and shaved their heads into mohawks.

The Toilet Monsters soon caught up to me, however,
so I spotted the nearest catapult and shot myself from it,
right through the fourth story window…

I landed on my feet, in the street, but I wasn’t in Florida anymore…

I was in Paris and suddenly dressed like a Buckingham Palace guard!

And, instead of French people,
there were Satanic Toilet Monsters everywhere!

They were sitting outside cafés smoking cigarettes,
walking poodles, playing accordions, eating cheese,
having anal sex,
and doing all the things normally associated with Parisians!

The sky started raining a redolent thunderstorm
of pot smoking iguanas and Siamese twin camel fetuses
and the French Toilet Monsters began pointing, screaming,
and coming after me.

I got on all fours and ran like a cheetah through the streets
and reached one of the bridges which traverse the Seine,
when out of nowhere, another angry mob of
French Satanic Toilet Monsters came running at me
from the other side of the bridge;

it was like the Bastille all over again!!!!!

I was completely cornered
and had no other option than to plunge into the Seine,
Michael Phelps hitting a bong style.

I figured I’d swim back home to Florida
but unexpectedly breaststroked into a big, nasty shark!

And I said to that shark, “Hey, what are you doing here, man?
There aren’t supposed to be sharks in the river that runs through Paris!
Why aren’t you in Florida or a dumpster in New Jersey?”

The shark told me that the Toilet Monsters chased him
out of the Gulf of Mexico
and got him fired from his job as a telemarketer
and so he got a really cheap travel package to Paris
from his sister who is a travel agent in Iowa,
and even though he felt bad for me
because he knew how awful it is being harassed by Toilet Monsters,
he was still hungry and was going to eat me.

And then he ate me and I was dead
and never even did get to finish shaving my hair into a mohawk.

I’m glad this was only a dream
but am worried something like it could happen one day.