Jim Goad

She hoped that this holiday season would be the first one in ten years where the tree didn’t burn to the ground before Christmas Day.

“It is her!” went up a shout from the crowd. “It is the miracle girl! It is the girl who can heal the sick by breaking wind!”

Garry Cubit was the worst kind of annoying person—the kind who had no idea he was annoying. If you acted annoyed, he’d act surprised, which was even more annoying.

There would be no cure for his disease. But for Fernita Chemise and the rest of the world’s unsatisfied women, the disease itself was the cure.

As the morning desert sun began blasting in through the bedroom window of his small stucco cottage, Magnus Gompers started the day the way he always did—by masturbating in bed.

To his tremendous discomfort, he realized the messages were being sent from his own number…to his own number.

One day God the Father was sitting up in heaven reading The Holy Bible, and he realized how patriarchal it all was.

It was all over in under a minute—less time than it usually took him to retouch a photo of himself.

“You came promising a cure, but instead you brought the disease.”

They shared the same heart, the same torso, the same ass, the same penis. What they didn’t share were any opinions. They couldn’t even toast a slice of bread without a vicious political argument breaking out.

Rex rushed into a stall, locked the door, unbuckled his belt, and opened his pants. To his extreme dismay, he noticed his penis looked substantially smaller than normal.

In the past three days, Iris had given birth three times—each time she’d gone to the bathroom to defecate.