The GIFs that Keep on Giving

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If you don’t mind, allow me to tell you a story.

One of my first jobs out of college was at a mutual fund company.  We worked on east coast time, so I’d slink into the office at 6AM, sleepwalk through most of the day and be done by the afternoon. Still, while the atmosphere felt laid back it was imperative we made some attempt to stay sharp. The department handled corporate accounts in excess of $10 million, so while the work was incredibly easy, we weren’t allowed to fuck up. Cash transactions equivalent to the GDP of small nations could end up ruined if I failed to correctly place a decimal point. So there were a few who found it incredibly nerve-wracking.

Then there was my co-worker Dennis, whose car reeked of weed and Sublime CDs yet somehow kept its owner completely odorless. Every morning I’d watch with envy and respect as he settled into his chair like an old man in his favorite recliner, preparing to watch the game. Then he’d squint at his spreadsheet with a confused look on his face, shrug his shoulders, hit play on his iPod and proceed to execute $100 million buys like he was selling Funyuns at a gas station. When I asked him how he managed to remain lucid while smoking bowls every day, he put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Not every day bro. Some days I just jerk off.”

I immediately pushed his hand away from my shoulder. Dennis didn’t seem to notice.

“What a time we live in,” he’d say, staring at a GIF of tussling cats, “this shit is mesmerizing. Can you believe this is the same machine that I watch my porn in?”

“Hopefully not at work.”

“And pretty soon computers are gonna be mobile. I’ll be able to call my dealer and call in sick while watching teens work out their daddy issues. Shit, ten years from now it’ll probably suck my dick too.”

Dennis was hardly an oracle. After all, it’s 2014 and cell phones still don’t have a BJ function. That and the shift toward mobile computing devices was mostly predictable. He also didn’t anticipate we’d all get laid off in six months when the company moved to the Midwest to save money. He was right about one thing though. Cat GIFs are mesmerizing.

Ghoul Teeth

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She showed him what passed for a smile. The kind of smile that would make brave men flinch. There were gaps wide enough to hold a cigar and chips sharp enough to slice them, but technically it was nothing more than that. A smile.

Now, one could be forgiven for confusing it with a set of piano keys, an awkward grimace, or even a display of malice, but given the context, the most scientifically accurate interpretation would be to label it ghoulo-sapien cum ridet, a smile.

Nevertheless, as smiles go, this one would not find its way into any dictionary definition, stock photo, or billboard selling high quality toothpaste. No, this was hardly what you would call the Platonic ideal of a smile.  It was, as its wearer was fond of saying, anatomically incorrect. A great big nest of teeth.

But it lit him up all the same.

Trailers and Teasers – Hope Lies

“Howdy stranger. Take a seat by the campfire, we got plenty of room.”

The girl tips her cap and smiles. Both the fire and the invitation are warm enough, but the man to her right doesn’t seem too happy about it. His stare stretches for thousands of miles, far enough to see the back of his own head. It’s bald and dirty, with a scar running across the middle like a zipper.

“Oh, don’t pay him no mind. He ain’t much for talkin’. But, if you make trouble, he’ll put two…”

The girl makes a peace sign with her fingers, before pointing them at her head like a gun.

“…in your skull.”

I tell her I’m not here to make trouble, waves, or even conversation. All I want to do is rest my aching feet. The girl sympathizes. She tells me her soles are so worn not even Jesus can save them.

Maybe it’s the pun that makes my shoulders relax, or maybe it’s her southern charm, but I drop my knapsack on the dirt with a great big thud. Guns, ammo, and whiskey spill onto the ground like a diary.

“You starting a war, sheriff?”

Maybe.

“Then you’re gonna need a good deputy.”

Maybe I will.

“The name’s Hope,” she says, breaking the silence. “Hope Lies. Funny name, I know. German, I think. The lying part, not the hope.”

I ask her the obvious. Well, does it? Does “hope lie?”

I don’t know,” she says, “You’ve been traveling these wastes. Why don’t you tell me?”