Give Me A Break

"Give Me A Break"
by Everyone

TAGLINE:
Seriously, Natalie? Do you know how attractive and awesome you are and how much older and married he is? Fucking...come on.

Dear Bruce Willis...You Are A Winner

"Dear Bruce Willis...You Are A Winner"
by Jake Kilroy

AN EXCERPT:
Again, Bruce, I'm sorry that I'm making such a big deal of this, but...dude...you're a winner. That girl is 24 years your junior. She's 30, man. And she's a British lingerie model born in Malta. You win for the entire century, Mr. Willis. Goddamn, she looks like she could be a goddamn Bond girl. She might as well have angel wings, you lucky son of a gun. She can probably massage your back just by looking at you and send high-fives through international phone calls.

I heard that one time, she was grinding up on a guy at a club, and he was pregnant the next day. Her blood is made of melted rubies, she's the Holy Grail and she got a dude off once by telling him he looked nice. And she wasn't even really talking to him. She was speaking to the guy behind

And she invented Australia. Yep. Invented Australia. The whole land mass, the flora, the fauna, the people. Everything.

Just tell me how you did it, because there's no way this is her thing. Are you some kind of sentinel?

What?

I'm sorry?

Oh wow, really?

Huh, well, I guess it's not that big of a mystery then. It actually is her thing.

I mean, you're a buff, cool, good-looking 54-year-old. And she dated Flavio Briatore, who is a 59-year-old goofy-looking businessman? Well, I guess you're a serious upgrade.

This world makes no sense to me.

Your Film Sucks

"Your Film Sucks"
by Jason Ornelas

TAGLINE:
See title.

Watchmen Costumes

"Watchmen Costumes"
by Randy Tabula

TAGLINE: Remember how everyone went as The Joker from The Dark Knight last year? Well, this year, you can be Rorschach from Watchmen! Why be unique when you can be like everyone else? Sure, Halloween's far away, but you need to start telling everyone that you're going as Rorschach so they know you thought of it first!

My First Acid Trip

"My First Acid Trip: a glorious account of trouble (or a troubling account of glory)"
by Sam Serrano

AN EXCERPT:
And then there was this banana, who I think was my date. But the bats were trying to eat his face, but he was, like, laughing. And the yellow brick road was there, but it was moving. And I think there were snow cones being served by a prostitute. But she was also selling big hams. But the hams weren't really hams, they were like...bats. But not the ones eating the talking banana's face. The clouds were laughing too, actually, now that I think about it. My shoes wouldn't shut up either. And everything was smokey. Well, kind of anyway. I had a report due, but I couldn't do it because my pencil kept crying.

Finally though, after all of the monkeys left the party and the robots stopped dancing, I could hear the stream to a creek that I didn't know existed in the desert. Or at least I think it was the desert. It could've just been a bunch of hyenas whimpering that they couldn't find their way home. I was sure I saw them. But I don't know where they live. Who knows? Maybe The Shadow knows. But he wasn't there. Or at least I don't think he was. I mean, there were shadows there...huh, maybe they're related or something. Oh my God, and then I ate so many freakin' golf balls!

Mess City, Population 1

"Mess City, Population 1: How I Survived My 21st Birthday"
by Caitlin Kilroy

TAGLINE:
Remember your 21st birthday? No? Then read this book!

Hater

"Hater: The Anger of a Twentysomething Research Editor"
by James Park

TAGLINE:
This is bullshit.

Apathy

"Apathy"
by Jason Ornelas

ENTIRE BOOK:
So there I was, stuck in what could be the end of the world, and out of nowhere, some dude comes out of the pit of Hell. Or something. I don't know. Some horses came out. Like...skeleton horses and then there was some lashing out of a god, maybe? Then the Devil started screaming some stuff and I just kind of sat there and...I'm kind of over this book...

A$$ = Cash

"A$$ = Cash (Or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Let My Booty Do All The Talking)
by Kristen Henning

BACK COVER:
You ever heard of music called Grindcore? Well, you can reinvent that whole genre with this book. You can grind your butt so wild and good that the local boys will think it's music.

"Oh, was a symphony? Or...was that just some girl's fine booty?"

And then BAM! You're there. Mayor of Grindtown, USA. Governor of the dance floor. Ambassador to men's crotches everywhere. When the neon lights come on and the sweat starts pouring, you're the goddamn United Nations! Pulverizing the joint chiefs of chief joints. Ride'em, ride'em, ride'em, PEACE.

But what, are you doing this gig for free? Well, sometimes. Sometimes, you just have to believe in the faith of charity work and let them boys get a little preview before the show. But those drinks will come like you're the only cowgirl with a short enough gun holster to really hold those guns that the boys think are theirs.

But baby, those guns belong to you! Those six shooters will be all-night shooters if you play your cards right down at the saloon. Without a bar tab, with the piano player trying to catch a good view.

Sorry, boys, these drinks are on you. But maybe we can switch drinks for a fast-talker, maybe some slow dancing after some faster drinks. You don't even know what's happening right now, do you? Well, guess what? You're already down to your underwear! Just now, I did that.

Works like a charm, this train with a caboose doing more work than the engine. Let that engine rest at night and let the caboose run 'til it's red. The rails won't end, hell no. Unless you want them to. Then you're the conductor, conducting a symphony and a train all at the same time.

Bam. 8 drinks and you're the new queen of Bootytown. Who's the king? Don't know, changes every night. Wooooooooooooooooooooo!

Whisper techno songs, shake that ass down every flight of stairs, never ever pay for a drink and read this goddamn book.

Ladies, I'll see you on the dance floor.

Gentlemen, you'll see me on the dance floor.

Barack Obama, 1-20-09: Inauguration Day

Barack Obama, 1-20-09: Inauguration Day
by the people

AN EXCERPT:
Booyah.

Happy New Yeaw!

"Happy New Yeaw!"
by Joey

AN EXCEWPT:
i may onwy be 6 but i can keep twying to wish you a happy new yeaw! wook at how cute i is wiff my funny spe-wings! i bet you totawy wuv me! i so cute!

New Year's Resolutions

"New Year's Resolutions"
by America

AN EXCERPT:
Resolution #11: Exercise more.

Resolution #12: Jumpstart economy.

Resolution #13: Get housing market on track.

Resolution #14: Get out of Iraq.

Resolution #15: Put an end to Spencer Pratt.

One-Sided Phone Conversations, Volume One

"One-Sided Phone Conversations, Volume One"
by Jake Kilroy

AN EXCERPT:
"A White Girl, An Asian and Star Wars"

No, dude, you're never going to believe it...

Yep.

Yeah, with two girls!

No way. She could easily slip out of handcuffs.

Well, yeah, she's Asian, dude. She weighs, like, 40 pounds. I could probably throw her over my house. I wouldn't though, because that's racist.

I don't know, man. I guess 40 pounds is a lot, but let's just say I'm really determined to do it.

Yeah.

Ok, look, we both know that I failed physics. I just think that I could toss her over. Or at least make it happen with a running start.

Yeah right, the taller one's white. Really nice body though.

I don't know. But get this...I think her dad's in the mafia.

Hmmm...should I?

He wouldn't shoot me for that. I'm totally being good to his daughter.

But I took her out for dinner first. Doesn't matter what happens later, right? I earned it.

Well, yeah, but we were role-playing at the time.

Tarzan and a sexy cop doesn't even make sense. You're combining roles, dude.

What?

No, that's stupid. That's like...really stupid. Why would a firefighter be with Jane? You're switching everything around now. He's a hot city boy and she's trapped in the jungle.

Why the hell would he rescue her in the first place? Are there house fires in the jungle?

Well, it's not helping. You're just throwing out any combination of roles that pop into your head.

No, you're yelling.

Sure.

Yeah, but it's not sexy if it makes no sense. Princess Leia doesn't even know what a Catholic school girl is. Why would they be hanging out anyway? And then who would I be? Would Luke Skywalker be messing with a school girl's innocence? No way. I'm a goddamn Jedi Master. I wouldn't do that.

I don't know. Jedi's the only religion I know of in the Star Wars universe. Shoot, you'd think that God would've been there a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. Wow. Hmmm...maybe George Lucas was telling us all something.

Ok, yeah, Jar Jar Binks would be the Anti-Christ. For sure.

Well, yeah, as Han Solo, you would just have to wear the vest and blaster.

Yeah, but her hair wasn't really all that sexy in the first one. And he was frozen in the third one.

No, I don't want to be them at the end. There's no passion or tension at the end of a trilogy. What about that part where they hook up on the ship? It's kind of boring, but it's something.

That's gross. Don't compare that to the Sarrlac Pit.

Green, Black & Sassy

"Green, Black & Sassy: my sex dream with Nicole Kidman"
by Jake Kilroy

AN EXCERPT:
Last night, I had so many epic dreams, I think I drank melted LSD. Not the heroin water I had right after brushing my teeth.

But I remember one dream in particular. I was with my friends hanging out at my house. And that's how the dream begins...

It's a nice get-together kind, like the afternoon backyard parties my mom throws. It's daylight and there's a lot of people, in and out of the house, but mostly in the backyard. I mainly recall me at the computer showing some friends my new band. I forget what it was called (but the letters were green and the background was black) and I'm not sure who was in the band with me, but I played guitar in it and sang. It was a post-hardcore band, I think. And my last name might have been in it, because an old musician friend laughed and called it "Kilroynger Escape Plan" or "Killinger Escape Plan."

Then, it's night and we're at this Orange County Fair thing, but mixed in with a creepy carnival, overgrown haunted marshy forest kinda thing. It's mostly shades of green and black. It seems everyone that I have ever known is there. We're having a really great time, but still know something bad is going to happen. I mean, just look at the surroundings. It's totally creepy.

Before long, we all start hearing whispers that the murderer from Scream is there, trying to knock off my friends and I. Some of us end up in an Indiana Jones jeep and we're driving off to this other area that's shaded well, but behind the carnival. The Scream killer comes. Then there's a flood!

After the flood, somehow, I'm a movie director, but still know the carnival has happened or is happening, but everything is cool with that now. Like it was a joke of some kind. No one died, and the creepy vibe is just for some fun Halloween effect. The rides are free and it's a good time.

Now as a movie director, I'm wandering around trying to finding my actors. I end up in a dirty make-up room / bathroom. The lights are flickering, the faucet is leaking, the walls are smeared with black grease. The walls have a tint of scary movie to them. Nicole Kidman is there. She's in my movie (good job, casting). She's looking young and wearing a black corset kind of deal with sexy underwear, leggings, high heels and clippie things (yes, I still have no idea what those things are actually called).

She's like a portrait that talks, a film that walks, a sculpture that frolics.

And, I have never wanted anyone...

So.

God.

Damn.

Badly.

Instantly, we both know what we want: each other. Like mad. Like rabbits pumped full of bad vitamins. Before I know it, our faces were an old ballroom and pushing each other's body against the wall like professional wrestlers (I seriously can't think of a better analogy).

Side note: Nicole Kidman has the softest, wettest lips, and she uses a whole helping of tongue. My sweet botched eastern god, does she use a lot of tongue. And I'm into it.

Everything is moving fast. I've never moved so fast for anything as I do for this. I want every inch of her. I can't move fast enough to have it all at once.

I want to finish her like a meal, conquer her like a civilization and know that every part of her is part of me at once, like a mooch ghost.

I have never lusted like I am. I feel almost god-like for what I am receiving. It is superhuman how much this lust is pinning itself to my loins. There is some feeling of me melting in the room's air, like her perfume was floating off me and that was the scent of my sickly and death-defying desire.

It's too hectic for me to keep going. I look around the room bewildered often. I remain surprised that the room is not, in fact, on fire. Everything in flames, it feels.

And she's not this classy sort of Nicole Kidman you see in the tabloids. She is sexual youth, greasy, soulful and gutless, with a more addictive sweat to sex than most rabbits or robots programmed for that sort of thing in the future. She would crawl around in dirt just to wrangle you down for ten fast minutes. She is begging and in charge at the same time. She owns you and wants you to be her master. Controlled control.

Plus, Nicole Kidman winks at you a bunch. And it scares you. It terrifies you. You don't know what to do almost every time. No matter how many times she does. You don't know what to do. Every hair on you feels like a fort on patrol. Kill, kill, kill, your body aches. What savages are here for us? You wonder.

Also, you worry the entire time she's kissing you that she could become a snake and swallow your body whole. At any given moment. That's what it feels like. The pleasure of knowing and the panic of not. Your brain remains deceased.

And I'm taking the liberty of excluding the really rough stuff. Yep.

This is where I become a gentleman, because it gets to be so pornographic that the imagination is better than me evolving into an erotic writer. I've written erotica before, sure, but this is beyond that. This is beyond casual sex.

I mean, this wasn't poetry, it wasn't pretty and it wasn't filled with words.

I can't write it. It would cheapen all of it.

It was gross stamina: pure, dirty, feisty, fast, saucy sex. Hands were flying everywhere, clothes kept being ripped off (and because it was a dream, they would reappear) and so much making out, you think your lips don't belong to you anymore.

Nicole Kidman can make you feel like she's going to grind your body into a snortable powder and get your nerves to go AWOL on a roller coaster. It was so antsy and motion-driven. It was like race cars. It was just motion after motion for a destiny right in front of us. I couldn't get enough of her and she seemed like she had hardly started.

She moaned throughout and I blacked out occasionally from ecstasy.

Finally, it slows down enough to where we have feeling in our legs again, but we're still moving faster than humans should. We're standing, and one of my assistants (I have many) enters with a clipboard and a walkie-talkie to tell Nicole that she's needed on set. She kisses me once again with an overwhelming and superhuman amount of lips and tongue and struts away like she just left me for dead.

Which she just did, in some form. I can hardly breathe.

I leave the set to come back to my friends, and I wait for the best moment to tell them. I am so excited for this to be a story I tell, and it is so real in the dream that I thought of real places with real people I could retell the story. I tell some of the friends there at the carnival. And they accept it. No convincing.

Then I woke up. And I was unsure what was reality. In the first fleeting blinks, I wondered how I got home from the carnival and movie set, and when I could feel this alternate universe Nicole Kidman on me again.

And when I realized it was a dream, I was heartbroken. Seriously, absolutely, just...heartbroken. It was awful. Just awful. I felt sick to my stomach. I wanted it all over again. I was robbed, I tell someone (I don't recognize) in the mirror.

I looked at Nicole Kidman's picture in the paper before school and felt awkward, like I was waiting for her to wink or ask if my body was ready to be broken again. Maybe I should take some time off, I thought.

But we'll meet again, Nicole. We'll meet again.

Randy

"Randy"
a coloring book

TAGLINE:
Is coloring pages and pages of an ethnic twentysomething racist? I don't think so. And neither do you. Enjoy!

A Mask, A Miss, A Mistress, A Mattress

"A Mask, A Miss, A Mistress, A Mattress"
a collection of one act plays...and things
by Jake Kilroy

AN EXCERPT:
"Toasts"

We all raised our glasses, filled with different liquors, wines and spirits.

"To what then?" asked the bushy eyebrowed man.

"To travesty," said the girl in a slinky red dress.

"To divine comedy of man," said the rosy-nose burly mate.

"To forgetting," said the lanky insurance salesman.

"To education," said the grad student.

"To the mystery of saints," said the sinner

"To the charm of sinners," said the saint.

"To the harrowing culture of heroes," said the service man.

"To colorless collars," said the gas station attendant.

"To answers," said the scientist.

"To wandering," said the nomad.

"To style," said the fashionista.

"To wit," said Oscar Wilde.

"To the quiet upstarts," said George Orwell.

"To undying love," said F. Scott Fitzgerald.

"To swallowing a gun faster than this drink," said Ernest Hemingway.

"To cooking your brains before dawn," said Sylvia Plath.

"To being a crazy bitch," said Lenny Bruce.

"To Lenny Bruce being a dickhead," Sylvia Plath replied bitterly.

"To trust," said Julius Caesar with a laugh.

"To blasphemy, foreplay and arrogance," I said.

They all stared at me.

"Oh, ok...to charming bad decisions and neglecting your conscience," I said.

They continued to stare.

"You know...Sylvia over there got two things," I said.

"Yeah, but she's accomplished something. Mr. Kilroy, have you ever even read The Bell Jar?" asked the college professor.

"Yes," I lied.

"And?" he asked.

"And I'm with Lenny. To Sylvia Plath being a nutty twat!" I yelled.

And we drank.

Lenny cheered and clapped after he set his glass down.

I really do hate most of the attendees at these dinner parties.

Finally

"Finally"
by America

BACK COVER:
We have faith. We believe in hope and change. We believe in authority, we believe in the system, we believe in politics. We believe in honesty, we believe in intelligence, we believe in ethics. We believe in the evolution of the American citizen. We believe in the glory of ourselves. We believe in the inevitable.

We are ready. We are hoping and changing. We are authority, we are the system, we are politics. We are honest, we are intelligent, we are ethical. We are the evolving American citizen. We are glorious. We are the unstoppable.