LANGUAGE ADVISORY: This excerpt contains language some might find offensive.
Stopping by Wawa on a Snowy Evening
Is Wawa open? Yes or no?
We need to stop if it's not closed
To stock up for the party. Shit!
But Wawa doesn't sell beer, though.
By Brian McGackin
Hardcover, 128 pages
List Price: $12.95
I'm such an ass. I must admit
I'd completely forgotten it:
Convenience stores don't sell booze here.
Now how the hell will we get lit?
We've only got two racks of beer
And one bottle of Everclear;
That's just enough for maybe three
Or four of us. It would appear
That some of us will have to be
Spending the night alcohol-free.
I guess I'll drink lemonade tea,
I guess I'll drink lemonade tea.
Final Final Fantasy
I will not spend one hundred and thirteen
hours of my life on a video game
ever again. I will not rationalize,
claiming that it is somehow "research" for
my future career as a comic book
writer. I will not allow myself to be
sucked beyond the event horizon of an
RPG situated on a distant
planet, no matter how good the graphics are
on the nubile female lead character's chest.
I will no longer waste my time seeking out
arbitrary unlockable achievements.
I am going to start beating games faster.
For Mama Celeste, as a Child
Mother cut tiny
slices for my small boy hands:
For Mama Celeste, in College
Hold up. This whole time
you were only a dollar?
You cheap, frozen whore.
For Mama Celeste, after College
Sorry about that.
Please take me back, Mama C.
I'm sick of ramen.
Why Do Buses Smell?
The young girl asks her
mother. I listen, because
I want to know, too.
He's in Miami
Just in case the Los Angeles Police Department
is looking for information on the whereabouts of
a crafty-looking Latino male, age 30, about 5'10"
and extremely skinny, who likes to smoke pot
(a lot) and play video games all day, and who
enjoys drinking Newcastle, Guinness, and high
quantities of Vitamin Water, in the interests of
any ongoing drug-related crimes in the area, for
example, illegal possession, illegal sale, or illegal
production in his friend's apartment in Los Feliz,
he's in Miami.
If you manage to track him down, please let me
know. He owes me rent, two bottles of Arizona
Green Tea, and a frozen pizza. Supreme, please.
I am making eggs, and waking up much
earlier than I would normally choose, and
also leaving the apartment in the morning,
before the slits of light shining through
the blinds would have naturally blinded me
awake anyway, and now that I mention it,
I am leaving the apartment at all, which I
am loath to do these days, since I am
jobless, prospectless, hopelessly skirting
around inevitable acceptance of the fact
that I might have to take a position less
than perfect for my particular skill set,
i.e., I am flat fucking broke, folks, and can
no longer afford to leave the peace and
relatively inexpensive quiet of my slowly
mold-growing cave of a home, but I go,
and not only do I go, I go to drink beer, lots
of beer, and I go to eat chicken fingers, and
most likely mozzarella sticks, and maybe wings
if someone else orders wings; I go spend
money, because it is Sunday, it is fall, it is football.
I have finished
that was in
you were probably
this girl came over
and so hot
Excerpted from Broetry by Brian McGackin. Copyright 2011 by Brian McGackin. Reprinted with permission of Quirk Books.