Titles for Unsettling and/or Deeply Alienating Children’s Books

By Shawn

  1. Sigmund Freud And Our Dynamic
  2. Just Who Is Mommy Really?
  3. The Lobster That Was Not Anthropomorphic
  4. A Beginner’s Guide To College Debt
  5. Where The Wild Things Aren’t, Because It’s Boring There
  6. Daddy Will Someday Grow Frail
  7. Under The Bed?: The Real Monsters Are Inside You
  8. The Stork That Takes Returns
  9. Never Trust a Turtle
  10. Goodnight, Ozone Layer
  11. Where’s Waldo?: My God, He’s Right Behind You
  12. Strange Hugs
  13. Blood on the Inside, Blood on the Outside
  14. The Very Emotionally Hungry Caterpillar
  15. What’s It All About, Werner Herzog?
  16. Newer Baby Is Best
  17. So You’ve Decided To Live
  18. Are You My Mommy? 2: “Nope,” Says Everything
  19. Richard Scarry’s Big Book of Regicides
  20. Oh Boy Let’s Sort The Mail

Spring Fashion Trend Report!

By Ann

Hey there, fashionistas! I’ve got the latest inside scoop for you, as relayed straight from my recommended Facebook ads.

That’s right, folks! The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and society’s got some weird ideas about what you need to put on your body. It’s time for a spring fashion report!

Brace yourself, because this hot, new trend is going to take your breath away. Literally.

Intrigued? Tired of breathing anyway? I sure hope so, because the latest 2017 trend is…

A woman in a bikini. That same woman wearing a corset.


But wait, you may ask yourself, didn’t we already do that one? And wasn’t it terrible?

Yes to both! But nothing says fashion like a retro trend everyone forgot for a reason. Time to bring Victorian back, bitchlets!

Victorian in a corset, looking sassy. It reads, "YASSSSS! GET IT GURL"

Don’t take it from me. Take it from Waistshaperz.com!

The waist training practice came to prominence in Victorian times. Wearing a waist cinching corset, exercising and eating a healthy diet can radically reduce your waist size; instantly giving you a beautiful sexy silhouette while permanently getting rid of unwanted inches around your waist.

WaistShaperz high quality reshaping waist shaper is a unique latex material which attacks unwanted fat and impurities within your body. The thermogenisis created within your body will allow your body to rid itself of harsh toxins and impurities, through perspiration. The tight compression will help to reduce food volume intake which will help achieve the healthier practice of smaller meals…

I’m not sure I understand the exact mechanics of how latex is supposed to attack unwanted fat, but Waistshaperz said this corset would cleanse me of “impurities” not once but twice—and threw in a misspelled version of the word “thermogenesis” to boot, so that sounds like science to me!

Now, just to be clear, if you really want to try to lose weight while sweating, it might be more efficient to, you know, exercise. And, heck, if you’re specifically intent on holding your body in an uncomfortable position for so long that it starts to quake and attack your sweat glands, I hear good things about yoga.

HOWEVER. If you want to slim down your waist, but you don’t want to risk being seen as one of those unseemly sporting women, gallivanting about in their new-fangled trousers—why then, corsets have got you covered! You don’t have to go jogging, lift weights, or come within a fifty-foot radius of those trouser-wearing trollops! (Because some of us bitches are tryna stay marriageable up in here, you know?) All you’ve gotta do is shove some crap out of your waist’s way—and there’s no easier way to do that than to squeeze your silly, stubborn body into an ever-tightening vice!

That’s just science.

Before and after of a womans organs, having been crushed by a corset. Reads, "YASSSSS! GET IT SCIENCE"

Besides, if you insist on keeping ALL of your organs in their original places, let’s face it—you’re being inflexible. Your insides need to keep up with the times. What could go wrong?

Except that you might completely debilitate your body to the point that you can’t even sit upright. But when has that ever happened?

Victorian with such a tiny corseted waist that she cant sit up on her own.


Well, okay, that might happen. But you’ll be so hot, you won’t even need to sit up. Men are going to take care of that fine ass all the way up until you’re, say, 35 and your looks start to go. Don’t worry, though, if you snag a good one, he won’t abandon you. He’ll just convince everyone you’re hysterical and lock you in an attic to live out the rest of your days. Free room and board, though, so close enough—amirite?!

Man tightening dismayed Victorian womans corset for her. Reads, "YASSSSS! Get it patriarchy"

Happy Women’s History month, fashionistas!

Oh, and if you really want to be a trendsetter, look ahead to the next retro craze, sure to pop up in fall 2017: footcrusherz.com.

What do you need walking for anyway? If you’ve been training your waist properly, you already won’t be able to stand!

How to Tell if That Stream of Water is Flowing from a Broken Water Main or the Eyes of an 18th Century Man of Feeling

By Shawn

When you’re out walking about, have you ever come by a mysterious stream of water and wondered at its source? This simple quiz will help you identify whether it’s coming from a broken water main or from the eyes of an 18th century man of feeling.

1. Take a look at your surroundings. Are they best described as…?

(a) a normal urban or suburban environment

(b) a forgotten glen, where nymphs and dryads gambol still

2. Dip a finger in the water and taste a drop. Does it taste…?

(a) like ordinary tap water

(b) of a sadness so exquisite, a melancholy so sweet, that your tongue trembles with a dark, unutterable pleasure

3. Hark! What’s that noise?

(a) traffic and construction sounds

(b) a solitary lute accompanying the wailings of man who knew love but once, in a dream, and is forever haunted by its memory

4. Look, there’s a crowd gathered! Are they…?

(a) men in work clothes repairing a water main

(b) a band of desperate souls, enthralled by Orphic melodies

5. Do any of them look like they’ve recently had their hearts broken?

(a) not really

(b) VERILY! and yet, though broken, their hearts might break more still—for you see in their furtive glances the signs of longing—O that true despair were theirs! O that they no longer hoped for love!

6. Is there a sad man weeping hysterically?

(a) no

(b) yes

If you picked (a) for all of the questions, congratulations, it’s a broken water main! If you picked (b), there’s good news for you too—it looks like you’ve stumbled upon a real 18th century man of feeling! If you’ve chosen a mix of (a)’s and (b)’s, then you’re involved in some strange scenario I hadn’t anticipated, and this quiz cannot help you.

You’re Right, Fox News: Alpha Women Are Unable to Love

By Ann

The other day I was scrolling through my newsfeed, and I came across the headline: “Society Is Creating a New Crop of Alpha Women Who Are Unable to Love.” Immediately, I knew two things: one, it was going to be a Fox News piece; two, it was going to be by my most favorite author in the whole world, Suzanne Venker.

Readers may recall that Venker and I have tangoed before, back when I read her equally thoughtful article, “The War on Men.”

Just like her previous article, this one took me on a magical voyage of discovery. See, even though she’d explained it to me before, I’d forgotten that equality is for idiots. It is literally impossible to sustain a relationship in which a man and a woman bear equal weight, share honest opinions, and find compromises together.

Don’t believe it? I didn’t either! Therein lies the journey of discovery.

Ready? Ms. Venker begins with an anecdote about her mom and dad’s troubled marriage. Let’s jump in together, shall we?

Despite my mother’s allegiance to my father, she never quite mastered wifedom—for one reason: she was wholly unyielding. With my mother, everything was a fight. Everything was “No” unless she determined it was appropriate to say yes. 

Ruh roh! Now, all we know so far is that Ms. Venker’s parents didn’t have the best marriage, and we’ll just have to wait and see where this is going. But, right off the bat, I have a bad feeling: it sounds like Ms. Venker’s mother was familiar with that pesky concept of “consent” all the kids keep yammering about… I’m betting that leads to some trouble!

If my mother wasn’t the one who made the decision, the decision couldn’t possibly be good. Every so often she would appear to cede to my father’s wishes, but only if she happened to agree with him.

Yep, there’s that problematic word “agree.” I knew consent was going to get them into trouble! But it sounds like it might have been more than that. Ms. Venker, are you saying that your mother had to make every decision and was unopen to compromise? That does sound like genuinely damaging behavior. Just to double check: that’s only okay if the genders are reversed, right?

Indeed, my mother was the quintessential alpha wife. An alpha wife micromanages, delegates and makes most or even all of the decisions. She is, quite simply, the Boss.

Whoa there. Whoa. A woman as… the Boss?! If the very idea weren’t spooky enough, you’re really freaking me out with that capitalization.

Alpha women aren’t exactly new, but they were once a rarer breed. Today they abound. There are several reasons why, but it’s in large part due to women having been groomed to be leaders rather than to be wives. Simply put, women have become too much like men. They’re too competitive. Too masculine. Too alpha. That may get them ahead at work. But when it comes to love, it will land them in a ditch.

I don’t know about you, fellow reader, but I shudder to imagine ditches full of alpha women. I can see them now: climbing on top of each others’ heads in their manly hiking boots to catcall any unsuspecting fella who wanders too close. “Mmm, jangle them tiny balls, man-baby! Yeaaaah, that’s what Alpha Mama likes! Get over here so I can express my opinions and say ‘no’ to things I don’t want to do!”

Every relationship requires a masculine and a feminine energy to thrive. If women want to find peace with men, they must find their feminine—that is where their real power lies. Being feminine isn’t about being beautiful or svelte, or even about wearing high heels (although those things are nice). Being feminine is a state of mind. It’s an attitude.

Well, hold the ding-dongin’ phone. It is?! You mean I can wipe off this lipstick and kick off my six-inch heels, and it’s still possible to be female? Darn, I wish I’d known that before breaking my ankle trying to look “svelte.”

In essence, being feminine means being nice. It means being soft instead of hard. And by “nice,” I don’t mean you should become a mouse.

Oh! Not a mouse. Maybe like… a squirrel? Is that too big? … Sexy chipmunk?

Men love women who are fun and feisty and who know their own mind! But they don’t want a woman who tells them what to do. 

Gotcha. Know your own fun and feisty mind, but try to keep it a secret. Real women know how to have a good time… on the inside.

Jackie Kennedy once said there are two kinds of women: those who want power in the world, and those who want power in bed. American women have become laser-focused on the former and have rejected the latter. In doing so, they’ve undermined their ability to find lasting love.

Now, this here is a fresh perspective. Instead of trying to obtain any power “in the world,” women should focus on… increasing their sex appeal. HOW COME I HAVE NEVER HEARD THIS IDEA BEFORE??? Someone tell the past ten thousand years of human history, ‘cause this is gonna blow their minds.

I’m wondering, though, what exactly does that mean, “power in bed?” Does that mean that, in between BJs, you might use your feminine wiles to secretly leak some of those fun and feisty thoughts into your man’s brain? And then, if he feels like it, he might do one of the things you secretly implanted, thereby granting you some sort of power in the world? I dunno, it seems like we might be sticking a middle man in there. And by “there,” I mean our vaginas. But I’ll have to defer to Ms. Venker here: maybe it’s more feminine to take an indirect route.

All a good man wants is for his wife to be happy, and he will go to great lengths to make it happen. He’ll even support his wife’s ideas, plans or opinions if he doesn’t agree with them. That’s because a husband’s number one goal is to please his wife. If he determines his wife cannot be pleased, that’s when the marriage is in trouble.

Wow. Now this is blowing my mind a little. See, ‘cause when I read that paragraph, my first impulse was to do crazy things like replace “man” with “person” and “wife” with “person” and “husband” with “person.” And then it would’ve sounded like pretty decent marital advice to me. But you’re right, Ms. Venker, it’s much better if it’s gendered and only applies one way.

Men are just so much simpler than women. Not simple as in dumb, as is often portrayed in the media. Simple in that they have far fewer needs than women do. What men want most of all is respect, companionship and sex.

OH! Yes, now I see why that marital advice had to be gendered. It’s because men are very different from women. Women hate respect, companionship, and sex. But we do like chocolate, flowers, and spinning elaborate webs in which to ensnare our prey. (Keep that last one under wraps, though, okay? It doesn’t sound very “nice.”)

If you supply these basics, your husband will do anything for you—slay the dragons, kill the beast, work three jobs, etc.

Hear that, ladies? It’s time to power-hump your man to knighthood! Or to premature death from trying to work three jobs simultaneously. It may sound harsh, but remember, it’s your wifely duty.

Now I know what you’re thinking: that I’m putting everything on you. I am, and I’m not. Your husband is 100% responsible for his own actions. If he makes stupid choices, such as getting repeatedly drunk, it’s his job to own up to that behavior and stop it. Same goes for his emotional outbursts, if he has them, or his not coming home when he said he would. Or even his having an affair.

I’m relieved it isn’t 100% on me, because, to be honest, Ms. Venker, this was starting to sound like a lot of work. So, just to clarify, it’s fair to be upset with a man for being an alcoholic, screaming at you, vanishing into the night, or running into the arms of a possibly more feminine woman. (As we all know, these are fundamental temptations for the species, man.) But not if he bosses you around, or fails to provide you with basic companionship, respect, and affection? These standards seem fair.

What I am saying is that men tend to follow women’s lead. Your husband’s actions are more often than not reactions. He’s reacting to something you said or did, or to something you didn’t say or didn’t do. He’s reacting to your moods, your gestures, your inflections and your tone. That’s how men are. 

Right. Because he’s so simple. But not, as you clarified earlier, a moron. No one’s insulting a man’s intellectual capacities by suggesting that he can’t come up with his own actions, moods, gestures, inflections, or tone. These are complicated inventions of the wily lady-brain that men just mirror back at you. That’s how men are.

Don’t just take this from Ms. Venker. I’ve long related to the men in my life as though they were full-on idiot cave men. For instance, I’ve noticed that when my husband gets home from a long day, if I say, “Hello, honey, I made you a nice roast and am naked under this apron,” he’ll say, “Yes, good. Man pleased with woman-wife. Man, too, will be naked.” But one time, just to see what would happen, I said, “Hello, honey. I had a long day at work and was too exhausted to make us dinner. Would you mind fixing us something?” And then he said, “Man hate cooking! Man no understand food! HOW MAN USE KITCHEN? WHAT MAKE FOOD GOOD?? SIMPLE REQUEST MAKE MAN BRAIN EXPLODE!!” Then he stormed off to his study and drank himself into a coma. That was a bad night. And I see now that I could have avoided it.

Another way to think about the male-female dance is to consider the game of chess. In chess, the king is the most important piece but also one of the weakest. He can only move one square in any direction—up, down, to the sides, and diagonally.

The poor inept darling. I’m guessing this is one of those things we women should keep under wraps. If I explained to my husband that he was an inept plaything, I’m pretty sure he’d say something like, “MAN SHOW YOU INEPT! SMASH!!!” Who knows what would come next? Maybe he’d seek out an affair with something more “feminine,” like a pair of boobs stapled to a doormat.

The queen, however, is the most powerful piece. She can move in any one direction—forward, backward, sideways, or diagonally. And how she moves affects how he moves.

He’s also strongly influenced by horses, castles, and bishops. You must be careful never to let him near horses, or your man will also start whinnying, and you’ll never heard the end of it.

As a woman, you can respond to this dynamic in one of two ways: you can resent it, or you can embrace it. I used to resent it. I’d think to myself, How can I possibly make sure my husband isn’t negatively affected by my every mood swing? I’m a Pisces, for God’s sake! My moods shift with the wind! Plus, why am I responsible for my husband’s reactions? The whole thing seemed like a whole lot of pressure, not to mention unfair.


As a result, I embraced my alpha personality as though it were a baby in need of protection. If my husband chose me, obviously he likes that about me. Why should I have to change? Who would I be if I changed? And how could I be someone different, even if I wanted to?


But my alpha ways were bumping up against his alpha nature. We were like two bulls hanging out in the same pen together, and there was too much friction. 

Oh! Goodness, Ms. Venker, I see how that thought chain backfired on you! Wow, to think it almost tricked me, too! I would expect as much from a novice like myself, but how could you, paragon of gender relations, have wandered so far astray? You know you can’t be a bull, Ms. Venker. God made you to be a sweet submissive cow!

And because I had zero interest in my husband adopting a more feminine role, I set about to become the feminine creature our culture insists women not be.

Right, so, submissive cow? Or are we coming full circle back to the not-a-mouse-but-maybe-a-squirrel thing? Are you positive that’s what society’s telling me not to be?

And here’s what I learned: It’s liberating to be a beta!

Oh boy, permanent deference! Sounds great!

I’m an alpha all day long, and it gets tiresome. I concede that I thrive on it; but at the end of the day, I’m spent. Self-reliance is exhausting. Making all the decisions is exhausting. Driving the car, literally or figuratively, is exhausting.

Boy, yeah. Thinking stuff and doing stuff make me sleepy, too. So, are you telling me we can just hand the wheel over to man-bull? Wait, can he come up with the gestures he’ll need to drive the car all by himself? Or should we teach him without him realizing that we’re teaching him?

It took me a ridiculously long time to get it. But once I did, once I accepted that the energy I exude and the way I approach my husband directly affects his response and behavior, I changed my tune. 

Right, right, I forgot we were already controlling him with our every action.

And when I did, something happened. The tension disappeared overnight. Just like that. Well, almost like that. It was a lot of stop and go at first. First I’d handle something the “right” way—i.e. by not arguing with him, or by not directing his traffic, or by being more service-oriented—and marvel at the response.

List of “right” ways to “handle” husband: don’t argue, don’t advise, be his servant. But wait, you’re sure this is easier? That servant bit is starting to sound like a lot of work again…

Then life would get busy, and I’d resort to my old ways. Sure enough, I’d get a different response.

Uh oh, one of those “MAN SMASH!” moments, huh?

So I’d make a mental note of how I messed up and make sure to get it right the next time.

Get it together, you unsexed harpy! Bow, BOW before your Testicle King!

Eventually, it became second nature.

Sounds healthy.

It’s like weight loss.

OHHH, finally a metaphor I can relate to!

Once you realize that diet and exercise is the only way to stay fit, and that sugar and carbs create fat, a light bulb goes off in your head. You’ve unlocked the code to keeping your weight in check. Even if you fall off the wagon (and you will), you’ll know what to do to get back on track.

I can’t wait to unlock the code to taming my man-bull, just like I’ve unlocked the code to carbohydrates. Just gotta keep myself on that wagon of sexy, fumbling servitude.

That’s what it’s like to love a man.

Thank you so much for explaining to me how to love a man.

Once you learn how, you’re good to go. You have all the tools you need. But you have to use them.

By tools, I assume you mean a cookbook, secret agenda, and maybe also a vagina, which I’m going to move we rename to something nicer like “man-appeasement hidey-hole.”

Ms. Venker, Fox News, what else can I say? Hats off. You never cease to enlighten me.

I’d ask my Husband-Overlord to thank you on our mutual behalf, but I don’t think I’m allowed to ask him for things anymore. At least, not outright. Not to worry, though, I’ll get right on secretly guiding him into coming up with that idea and thinking it was his own. MAN-CEPTION! Am I right?

Note: This contains the vast majority of Ms. Venker’s stunning article. I did make some cuts for length. If you’d like to witness it with your own eyes, you can find it here.

I Know It’s a Little Late to be Asking This, But—Could Anyone Tell Me What “Schools” Is?

By Betsy DeVos (and Shawn)

Hi, America, it’s me, Betsy DeVos. I’ve recently been nominated by President Donald Trump to serve as Secretary of Education. I couldn’t be more honored, and I hope I’ll be confirmed by the Senate on Tuesday. But before I tackle my new job, I was wondering—is there anyone out there who could tell me what “schools” is?

I keep hearing this term, and I’m getting the sense that it might be important to whatever it is I’ll be doing. What’s most troubling is, the way people keep saying it at me, it’s almost like they expect me to already know what it means somehow.

For example, at my confirmation hearing, one of the senators kept asking me things like, “Do you believe schools should be taking a proficiency-based or a growth-based approach?” I managed to deflect the question pretty well by saying something like, “Uh huh, yeah, ‘schools.’” But in my head, I was thinking, “What is this guy talking about? Are they really allowed to just make up words like that?” And I was pretty angry for a while.

But then I started to suspect that it was a real word, because I kept hearing it on the news. I’d be watching CNN, and the anchor would be like, “Betsy DeVos burble burble SCHOOLS.” After the sixth or seventh time this happened, it dawned on me that I had a real problem on my hands.

When the kids don’t know something, they’re always using the Internet, so I thought I’d try that. I looked up Google’s address and wrote them a letter, in which I very politely asked, “Please, oh Google, what is schools?” So far, they haven’t responded. Maybe it’s my router? I’m not much of a tech whiz.

If I don’t get to the bottom of this, I’m worried it could affect my job performance. The other day someone was asking how schools should handle sexual education. And I gave what I thought was a pretty measured response, which is that sexual education is something the children should learn from department store mannequins as God intended. The questioner looked at me bug-eyed, and I thought, “Oh no, I didn’t use the word ‘schools’ in my response.” So then I yelled “Schools!!”, but she only stared harder. I’m not sure if I wasn’t loud enough, or if I waited too long, or what.

I guess things aren’t as simple as they used to be. When I was a kid, education had nothing to do with “schools.” My parents gave me a broken abacus and “Jesus Loves Businesses” coloring book, and those things, plus a department store mannequin, taught me everything I needed to know. But I’ve got to be Secretary of Education for the children of the 21st Century, and that’s apparently going to involve this schools in some capacity, however limited. So please, America, fill me in—you seemed happy to explain to Ben Carson what is house, and it’s only fair you do the same for me.


A Mother-Daughter Outing to the MVA

By Ann

Yesterday, my mom and I went to the MVA together. Here’s how that went.

After waiting for two hideous hours:

Mom: Hi, we want to transfer the car title from me to my daughter.

MVA Rep: You don’t have the same last name. You need proof of relation if you don’t have the same last name.

Mom: Yes, I’m sorry, we didn’t realize that until we got here. But we were hoping, since her middle name is my last name, and that’s all written out on her driver’s license, and also because the address on the car title is the same as her home address, that might work as proof?

MVA Rep: But you don’t have the same last name.

Mom: That’s correct.

MVA Rep (To me): Why is your name different?

Me: Huh? Because my last name is my Dad’s—

MVA Rep: Are you married?

Me: Yes, but—

MVA Rep: Oh, so your name changed when you got married.

Me: No. This has always been my name.

MVA Rep: Always since you got married?

Me: No. Always.

MVA Rep: So you’re not married?

Me: No, I am married—

MVA Rep: Do you have your marriage license?

Me: Uh, no, why would I need my—

MVA Rep: To confirm your name change.

Me: But I didn’t change my name when I got—

MVA Rep: Hold on, now I’ve got to go look up your marriage license in the computer.

(Walks away for incredibly long amount of time.)

MVA Rep (Finally coming back): Well, we don’t have your marriage license in the computer.

Me: Right. Okay, but I’m sorry, what I’m trying to say is that it wouldn’t matter whether or not you all had my marriage license, because that has nothing to do with my name.

MVA Rep: So you’re not married?

Me: No, I am, but—

MVA Rep: If you’re not married, I have to look up your birth certificate.

(Starts to walk away again.)

Mom: Wait, but on her birth certificate, my last name is different than it is now. Does that matter?

MVA Rep: Your name doesn’t matter. Her name needs to match yours.

Mom: I’m sorry? My name on the birth certificate doesn’t matter, or—

MVA Rep: No. I’m checking her birth certificate. Your name doesn’t matter.

Mom: But my name needs to match hers?

MVA Rep: Correct.

Mom: But my name doesn’t matter?

MVA Rep: Correct. I have to go look up her birth certificate.

(Walks away for incredibly long amount of time. Again.)

MVA Rep (Finally coming back. Again.): We don’t have her birth certificate either. You’ll need to come back.

Mom: Okay, so it doesn’t matter that her middle name is the same as my last name?

MVA Rep: Let me show you something. You see how your last name starts with a “C” and you see how your last name starts with an “F,” they’re not the same last name.

Mom: We understand that we don’t have the same last name.

MVA Rep: So, since she’s not married—

Me: I am married!

MVA Rep (Completely unfazed): You need to bring in her birth certificate. Next!

What a stellar outing. Mom and I can’t wait to do this all over again next week.

Pilling Your Cat: A Beginner’s Guide

By Shawn

What you will need:

cat (alive)
pills for the cat
pill pockets


  1. Make sure you have a cat and that it’s alive (see “What you will need”).
  2. Check that your cat has some kind of medical problem—if it doesn’t, you can stop right here.
  3. Get the pills that are supposed to fix whatever is wrong with the cat.
  4. Make sure that the cat doesn’t like the taste of the pills, because that will increase the challenge.
  5. Try to feed pill to cat and fail spectacularly.
  6. Go out and spend a bunch of money on pill pockets.
  7. Make sure that the cat doesn’t like the taste of the pill pockets; this should be easy, because you own a cat, and it wants this to be terrible for you.
  8. Put the pill in the pill pocket and feed it to the cat.
  9. What a surprise, the cat won’t eat it.
  10. Attempt to force feed it to the cat.
  11. What’s that? The cat spit it out? As though it were a complete waste of money? As though your time and effort mean nothing?
  12. Hey, I know. The cat likes treats. What if you mashed up some treats and coated the pill in the treat dust?
  13. Sees right through your ruse. Hates the pill. Hates you.
  14. Maybe force-feeding wasn’t working because the pill keeps sticking to the inside of the cat’s mouth. What about coating it in a little olive oil and giving it another try?
  15. Okay, toooo much olive oil.
  16. No, stop spitting—stop spitting the pill out. You’re getting covered in olive oil. You look like an otter caught in a BP spill.
  17. Look, here’s a treat. Here’s a normal treat. Mmm. Good, right? Maybe the next thing I feed you will be a treat? Maybe give it a try, huh?
  18. No more treats until you take this. Stop meowing. Real treats are for closers.
  19. For the love of Moses, this pill is to fix your stupid bowels! DON’T YOU WANT TO POOP LIKE A NORMAL CAT?!?
  20. Oh come on, don’t run away. Don’t track your oil-stained body through the—no, get off the couch. Oh god, it’s covered in—no, not the blanket, it sheds—you’re tarring and feathering yourself, just—
  21. You’re an oil slick covered in blanket fuzz, and you’ve wedged yourself under the couch.
  22. Mmkay, well, I guess we’ll have to try this again later. How many pills a day are you supposed to take again?
  23. FIVE?
  24. Sell cat. Purchase plant.

Late Night Chats

By Ann

Anxiety: Hey, bud, wanna think about the fuuuuuture?

Me: No. It’s 1:30am.

Anxiety: That’s the perfect time to think about the fuuuuuture, when everyone else is asleep and no one can hear you scream.

Me: Come on, Anxiety, this is a played out trope. We don’t have to do this. Mix things up. You could be on my side this time?

Anxiety: I am on your side, buddy! I just want what’s best for you.

Me: Okay. Great.

Anxiety: And what’s best for you is considering all the ways everything you’ve ever done or not done could come back to destroy you.

Me: I’ve got an idea. Let’s focus on deep breathing: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. 6, 5, 4, 3, 2—

Anxiety: I’ve got another idea. Everyone you’ve ever loved is going to die.

Me: Oh, come on!

Anxiety: What? I don’t want them to. I’m just saying, they definitely will. Every single one. That’s the circle of life, you know.

Me: Yeah, okay. Probably not for awhile, though.

Anxiety: Well, you don’t know that. They could die any time.

Me: They probably won’t.

Anxiety: That’s arbitrary optimism. Life is a hideous soup of chaos. You could wake up tomorrow and one of your parents could have died in the night.

Me: I don’t think that’s—

Anxiety: What would you do without your parents? That would be so traumatic.

Me: We don’t have to think about this right now.

Anxiety: You’ll have to think about it sometime. There’s no way your parents will outlive you. Unless…!

Me: Do we have to jump to—?

Anxiety: You could die, too. At any time. You could be walking outside and BAM, TREE BRANCH TO THE HEAD! That could kill you, you know.

Me: I don’t think that’s going to happen.

Anxiety: Remember, hideous chaos soup.

Me: I know it’s not impossible. Just, statistically speaking—

Anxiety: Oh, you want to talk about the most statistically likely ways to die? I know lots about that. Heart disease, cancer… you could get hit by a car! Do you know how dangerous driving is? If you die young, that’s probably how you’ll die.

Me: Well, I really can’t control that, so let’s just hope it’s quick and that’s the end of that, okay?

Anxiety: Okay, you’re right. Let’s focus on things you can control. Since you could die at any time, I hope you’re satisfied with how you’re living each and every day. Would you say that you’re 100% satisfied?

Me: No one is 100% satisfied.

Anxiety: Someone better than you is.

Me: Okay. Settle down.

Anxiety: I can’t settle down. Every second you’re lying here not working on your goals is another second all your dreams could die.

Me: I should sleep now, so I can do better work tomorrow.

Anxiety: Sounds like quitter-talk to me, but if that’s what quitter-you thinks is best…

Me: I do think that’s what’s best. So just shut up, okay? You’re not helping. Shut up.



Anxiety: Hey, what time is it?

Me: I don’t care.

Anxiety: Wow, now it’s past 2am. That’s a lot of time you’ve just been lying here.

Me: I’m doing my best.

Anxiety: Lying here doing nothing…

Me: I’m trying to sleep!

Anxiety: Tick tock, motherfucker.

Me: Stop it. STOP IT. Deep breathing: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. 6, 5, 4—

Anxiety: Pretty sure you’re supposed to count to 8.

Me: It doesn’t matter what I count to. 1, 2, 3—

Anxiety: Did I mention everyone you love could die?

Me: That’s it. I’m playing goddamn Candy Crush.