Vacation: A Short Story by Laura

seagull by LK

The foamy lip of a newly opened tall boy…the expiration date on a box of cold medicine…the salt and pepper of an overflowing hotel ashtray…the yellow warning signs around the sinkhole: these are the things you look at when you are fighting/talking with her that day. None of it registers exactly, sort of like being tired and trying to read a magazine paragraph over and over.

“Look at the seagull,” she says, pointing. It has a crab in its beak. The crab is twitching in vain, although maybe if got the seagull’s throat it wouldn’t be in vain. How often do crabs win in this game?

The gull flies up high and then drops the poor crab on a rocky area so that it will break apart and be easier to eat. You say it’s sad, but she says it’s no different than when you bash crabs with mallets in seafood restaurants, and you agree.

A Liz and Laura Christmas Poem

Xmas L and L Smaller

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the city,

New Yorkers were searching for restaurants non-shitty.

Liz and Laura were nestled all cozy in Brooklyn,

Their christmas Totinos all ready for cookin’.

Liz in her muumuu and Laura a nightie

Were settling down in their rooms after “Evan Almighty.”

“Why, Steve Carell, why?” they murmured while sleeping,

Dreaming of all the free gifts they’d be reaping.

When all of a sudden, they each woke with a start!

A noise they had heard, and not just a night fart.

There was some kind of psychopath up on the roof,

A burgler they thought, though they hadn’t any proof.

Then Liz and Laura saw something amazing!

Their neighbor had run outside, shotgun a’blazing!

“Take that, and take that!” he shouted with fervor.

“We here in Brooklyn don’t take kindly to perverts.”

Did the neighbor kill Santa? Did Christmas he steal?

Why no, little children, because Santa ain’t real.

So to you, our dear readers, we wish yuletide cheer,

Merry Christmas to all! And to all a good beer!

The First Weedsgiving Revisited

First Weedsgiving, Smaller

It was about this time last year we unveiled to you, our fortunate fans, the secrets of the long-forgotten holiday, Weedsgiving. In “The First Weedsgiving,” we delighted readers young and old with a timeless tale of peoples coming together to share a very special harvest. Here is the sacred scroll which tells the tale of this much-beloved holiday.

The First Weedsgiving Story, Smaller

Now I bring to you a brand-new tale that occurred exactly one year after the events described in the scroll. You see, the American Indians, being wise and at one with the earth, knew they should plant the marijuana seeds and thus prepare for seasons to come. The white people, however, smoked up all their crop like fools and had nothing left but spoiled beer when the next winter rolled around. So of course, they came a’knockin’ at the Indians’ door, and in the spirit of giving that they were known to embody, the Indians were nice enough to pass the dutchie. This artist’s rendition portrays the moment when the kindly Indians brought the colonists a bounty of the plant known officially as “the sticky-icky.”

Indian Drawing, First Weedsgiving SMALLER

I hope we’ve all learned something today, something about sharing, something about not bogarting your stash. Happy Weedsgiving to all, and to all a good night!