Sally Forth

Hey, remember The Fourth of July, 2003? We don't, but found this in our archives:

Fourth of July Fourthiness.

Independence is on the march, patriots.

& Recently . . .

Kurt Cobain's Ghost with an Invitation to a Fourth of July Picnic and Fireworks by Angela Genusa

"B.L.T.": A Review by Will Layman

Ten Tiny Poems by Brian Beatty

Angry Words from a Gnome Who to This Day Continues to Think the Human Genome Project Was Actually The Human Gnome Project by David Ng

Key Party, N.Y.C., Circa Always by William K. Burnette

A Day on the Phone with Mythological Norse Firewarrior, Bringer of Storms by Aaron Belz

Polish Fact

Military Manpower:
10,354,978 (2003 est.)
[Army, Navy(!), & Air Force]

Learn a Foreign Tongue!

Habla Español!
Los talentos de Andy Richter se pierden totalmente en "Quintuplets."
Andy Richter's talents are completely wasted on "Quintuplets."

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Monday, March 7, 2005   |    Non-Fiction

Two Real Case Studies in Snap Judgment Involving My Parents

by Jeremy Martin

Scenario 1: My Father

I’m watching “Evening at the Improv” in the mid-90s when my father enters the room.

“What are you watching?” he says.

“This comedienne named Ellen DeGeneres,” I say. “She’s pretty funny.”

He snorts. “Looks like a lesbian to me.” Then he takes the remote and flips the TV to “The Dallas Cowboy Weekly.” In this brief amount of time my father saw through Ellen’s façade. Something about her that he couldn’t quite describe betrayed her rejection of the penis and saved my father from wasting years enjoying her unique brand of humor and clever television shows only to find out she is excited by the thought of a vagina. He went through the heartache and betrayal of laughing at a closet homosexual with Paul Lynde, but his instincts spared him with Ellen.

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Scenario 2: My Mother

My mother and I are stopped at a traffic light in her car when we see a man walking down the sidewalk. In less than five seconds, my mother assesses the situation. Using her Darwin-given instincts she realizes the man’s skin is darker than hers and she locks the car door. Racist perhaps, but what if the man had thrown down his briefcase, loosened his tie, pushed his stroller out of the way, and chased down my mother’s car? What if he had grabbed the rear bumper and brought the car to a screaming halt, throwing the back door open and dragging me off into a dark alley somewhere to fulfill his mission as an evil cyborg sent from some post-apocalyptic future in order to keep me from ever writing the Internet-based humor piece that would finally turn the revolution around? Something about the man or the situation just didn’t seem right to my mother. Perhaps it was his laser-beam eye.

Jeremy Martin once wore a swimsuit as underwear. The longterm consequences are still undetermined.