Kara Crabb

My brother and I used to physically beat each other, claiming territory over sections of our home when left unsupervised.

I just like speeding on the highway with no body around, no thing around, except for street lamps, hung like rows of mechanical scarecrows.

“Sayonara!” With a hiss of the tongue, a projection of the throat, and a short nasal-like cheer at the end.

Why are you avoiding your homework so much? Aren’t you curious about nature? Or culture? At all?

“Aristotle,” I would say. “Aristotle,” and I would gently grab onto his arm and lead him out the backdoor exit, pursing my lips through an index finger.

When I think of a chicken I think about the weirdness of the neck movements, and the croaking sounds that they make in a yard with each other. They are reptiles with feather coats and awful beaks. They are soul-less. I both love and hate chickens.

Without a doubt nakedness is the best way to ensure a memorable New Year’s Eve. It takes a pretty confident person too complete the look.

As December dwindles into the abyss of 2014, it’s hard not to reflect on the many challenges and glories we’ve had to face, as a species, as small democratic networks, and as individuals.

As you may have discovered, there is no possible way to maintain a normal diet in December. Egg nog, panettone and tourtière will obliterate your standards faster than you can say “bah, humbug.” It’s bad news.

Humans go crazy in December. From far away it might look like an ant hill on the sidewalk. Instead of crushing them with your shoe (RIP to all of the Wal-Mart employees who died this year) be courteous!

Just be drunk.

Old people are old. This has many social implications.