Comma Police
by Jimmy Chen
What I can’t stand, and this is why I sit all day, is the writer type, you know, some gritty literary city chick in denial of her cul-de-sac past with a moody haircut listening to NPR all day, drinking herbal tea reading Baudrillard, and has, like, four cats and did her thesis on the phallus in twentieth century literature, telling me about the proper way to use a comma, I mean seriously, who, cares, and, please, let’s not get her started on the semi-colon; which is a good place for a constipation joke, but I digress, and as far as periods go, this girl has many, she gets a standing ovulation from me, which brings me to the point, I suppose, of this little missive, is that we aren’t exactly getting along right now, and I think her getting me the American Heritage Book of English Usage for our anniversary had a lot to do with our downfall, either that or the poems she insists on reading at open mics from a collection she calls At Night With a Gelding, which is either about me or some horse with no balls, which, as stated, instigated feelings of not only grammatical inferiority, but also not having any balls, metaphorically speaking that is, because anyone who has seen me without my pants on, and there have been some, will tell you and the rest of your compatriots that I indeed have two testicles, which can be easily seen from well across a large room, unless you’re moderately near-sighted of course, so tell everyone at the open mic tonight that those dreadful poems are not in any way biographical, that my keys no longer open our front door as of today, that it seems I’ll be moving back in with my parents, that I’ll most likely get into some MLA-usage depression, that I’ll question the very construct of this narrative, and that the only thing absolute in this post-post-whatever world is her menstrual cycle, period.
<< ISSUE #2
by Jimmy Chen
What I can’t stand, and this is why I sit all day, is the writer type, you know, some gritty literary city chick in denial of her cul-de-sac past with a moody haircut listening to NPR all day, drinking herbal tea reading Baudrillard, and has, like, four cats and did her thesis on the phallus in twentieth century literature, telling me about the proper way to use a comma, I mean seriously, who, cares, and, please, let’s not get her started on the semi-colon; which is a good place for a constipation joke, but I digress, and as far as periods go, this girl has many, she gets a standing ovulation from me, which brings me to the point, I suppose, of this little missive, is that we aren’t exactly getting along right now, and I think her getting me the American Heritage Book of English Usage for our anniversary had a lot to do with our downfall, either that or the poems she insists on reading at open mics from a collection she calls At Night With a Gelding, which is either about me or some horse with no balls, which, as stated, instigated feelings of not only grammatical inferiority, but also not having any balls, metaphorically speaking that is, because anyone who has seen me without my pants on, and there have been some, will tell you and the rest of your compatriots that I indeed have two testicles, which can be easily seen from well across a large room, unless you’re moderately near-sighted of course, so tell everyone at the open mic tonight that those dreadful poems are not in any way biographical, that my keys no longer open our front door as of today, that it seems I’ll be moving back in with my parents, that I’ll most likely get into some MLA-usage depression, that I’ll question the very construct of this narrative, and that the only thing absolute in this post-post-whatever world is her menstrual cycle, period.
<< ISSUE #2
