By On the occasion of our 20th anniversary
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
You were the college-educated idiot sitting on the balcony of the apartment building across the street from mine, shooting your pellet gun at the tree in the front yard while your friend stood right next to it, beer in hand, helping you adjust your scope. I didn’t call the cops on you because I honestly hoped your aim was bad enough you’d shoot him in the shoulder or leg—nothing fatal, mind you, but maybe a little flesh wound.
However, after your foolish friend waltzed off to get another beer, you reloaded and continued to fire. You saw me stand up and walk toward you, shaking my head, and you slunk back inside. What you didn’t know was that just around the corner of your building, a little girl had run out to play in the grass. But when she heard the bang, she ran away, terrified at the loud crack. I’m grateful this story ended with you crawling back into your cave, possibly aware that your neighbors think you’re a total fucking loser. Thanks for getting the message.
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