Why I Have Wasted My Life. By Ethan Goffman

1,276 roads (or thereabouts) diverged

in a yellow wood

and I

just stood there, befuddled

Ethan Goffman accidentally became a poet by

tagging along with his wife, the far more talented, harder working, and

prettier Marianne Szlyk, to poetry workshops. He is still not sure how or why,

but somehow Kelsay Books has recently published his first volume of

poetry, Words

for Things Left Unsaid.

TRYING TO DOZE RESPONSIBLY ON THE F TRAIN by Tim Suermondt

The barely clad women crowd around
And lead me to a long table that holds
Pitchers of beer and thick pizza slices—
Although I must admit I’d rather the women
Wore thick robes and led me to a table
Heavy with serious, great books.
I don’t know if you can believe this latter
Part—I’m afraid I don’t believe it myself.
But I tried, waking up in Queens a happy man.

Tim Suermondt is the author of five full-length collections of poems, the latest Josephine Baker Swimming Pool from MadHat Press, 2019. He has published in Poetry, Ploughshares, Prairie Schooner, The Georgia Review, North of Oxford, Bellevue Literary Review, Stand Magazine, december magazine, On the Seawall, Poet Lore and Plume, among many others. He lives in Cambridge (MA) with his wife, the poet Pui Ying Wong.

I Believe in Meat by Susan Tepper

So my sister sets me up with this girl straight out of juvie.  I am not shitting you.  Miranda.  The girl’s name.  A situation out of a horror movie, my sister says.  My sister says she’s a very nice girl who got screwed by life.

Anyways… we make a plan to meet at the Chuck E Cheese sign near the movie theater.  

And she’s not bad.  Thin with blonde hair pulled into a perky pony.  I wave and she waves.  We get closer, and she’s got these little stickers stuck on her face.  A few on her cheeks and I count three across her forehead.  

Getting closer, I can see really small letters and numbers on the stickers.  I’m wondering if they’re passes to get in and out of juvie— like they stamp your arm to get in a club.

She looks straight through me like I’m a ghost.  “Fruit stickers, if you must know,” she says.

“What?”

She taps the ones on her forehead: “Lemon from Chile, Sun World Black Plum.”  Then she makes a bunch of taps.  “4038 California avocado.”

“You wear fruit stickers on your face?”

“I only eat fruits and veggies.  It’s my issue.  My silent protest.”  

“Yeah?”  

I scratch under my T-shirt.  In my head I’m cursing out my sister for setting me up with this sticker chick freak.  

“Um.  Do you think you could peel them off before we go into the movie?”

She squints.  “Why should I?”

It is a good question.  I’ll give her that.

She’s waiting; her face looks hungry.

“I believe in meat,”  I say. 

Susan Tepper is the author of nine published books of fiction and poetry.  Her most recent titles are CONFESS (poetry published by Cervena Barva Press, 2020) and the road novel WHAT DRIVES MEN (Wilderness House Press, 2019).  Tepper has received many honors and awards.  She’s a native New Yorker.  www.susantepper.com

Beautiful by John Patrick Robbins

"John, your such an asshole! I cannot believe you didn't nominate me for Best Of The Net!!!!" 

"Well I was going to, at one of my other forty something magazines."

"Omg, I knew you recognized what a great writer I am."

"Well I mean sweetheart you failed to notice, I said I was going to nominate you. Now please lose my number and sincerely fuck off."

I hung the up phone and basked in the silence and mixed a good stiff drink.

Being an editor is to be hated on every level possible.

I don't take pleasure in telling spoiled ego's no.

Shit who am I kidding, of course I do.

Because if you didn't know I am Satan.

Cheers kids.

#drinkingfortheapocalypse

John Patrick Robbins aka Coyote, aka The Mad Editor.
Is currently dead and no longer receiving calls or reading submissions.
Or snarky comments from people who act tough then will piss their pants the minute a firecracker goes off.

He is currently buried in Al Capone's vault where he awaits Geraldo to unearth him.
Which will in turn bring on the zombie apocalypse.

Pocket Hiroshima Just Waiting to Explode by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

The drunk down the bar
said something unkind
and I remember weaving slowly
back and forth
on one of those spinning stools
like an Indian cobra
working on a
trance.

The next thing I recall
I was standing in my bathroom
at home
losing layers of dried blood
and showering
with industrial
soap.

The cops never showed
and I didn’t ask any
questions.

As far as I can tell
I have not killed anyone
to date.

Although
I must be honest,
I seldom read the papers
these days.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a male gigolo for hire.  Presently residing along the sunny shores of Guantanamo Bay, Cuba where he spends his days drinking discount Tequila and accusing chemtrails of being "sky farts."  His work can be found both in print and online in such joints as: The Rye Whiskey Review, The Dope Fiend Daily, Outlaw Poetry Network, Horror Sleaze Trash, and Under The Bleachers.

The Weather Report by Ron Murphy

Today in Canada it's not snowing for once, so that's a win in itself.

In Houston it's hot and there is a shortage of ammo, due to insane people hoarding shit. Like Scott Simmons.

In the Midwest it's warm and boring with a slight chance of irritable bowel syndrome.

In New York, residents are angry as usual. Because it is hard to be heard, telling someone to go fuck themself underneath a face mask.

In Washington D.C. there is a dark cloud that looms over the state better known as the Trump administration.

And in Philly there is a chance of rain and someone shitting their pants from eating delicious cheese steak.

That's the weather for now, so stay inside.

And look at your ugly next door neighbor and be reminded.

That facemasks aren't such a bad thing after all.

You're Welcome!!!

Ron Murphy, is podcasting legend winning many international awards for his in depth interviews.

His voice over skills can be heard on many of today's popular commercials. 
He is also a music producer and acclaimed author within his own demented mind.

He is currently the new editor of the Dope Fiend Daily.

His hobbies include Bowling, Hookers, Cocaine Trafficking and collecting ceramic cats.

Rathnar's Culinary Killing Class by Rathnar Kilbane

      

Today the mighty Rathnar will share a favorite recipe passed down through the ages.

From the many wenches of my village.

As we are to prepare stuffed dwarf casserole. 

First we must raid the dwarf village at night during one of their many readings.

We shall slaughter many and waste even more.

I personally like a nice fat dwarf, that screams loudly as I disembowel them.

Or if you prefer, you can boil them alive.

Remember to keep a hammer close by, to bash in their skulls as they try to escape boiling the pot.

Then you will also need some potatoes and the fresh spit of a juvenile witch of Ohio for garnish.

And some fresh peppers and top off with spray on cheese from sorcery barn in New Jersey. 

Then feast and drink much mead and enjoying raping your wenches.

Kill many and praise Odin. 

All Hail the Rathnar. 

Rathnar Kilbane, is the poet laureate of Iceland.
He enjoys raiding villages and pillaging.
His scrolls have been published many places, such as.

The New Yorker, The Old Red Dragon Review, Esquire Magazine, The Dope Fiend Daily, The Ryan Quinn Flanagan Quarterly, and The Modern Viking Spring Catalog.

He was recently nominated for a Pulitzer for his soon to be published scroll from High Times Magazine.