Selections from The Golden Girls Exhibit, Part I: The Old Masters

Selected masterworks from The Golden Girls Exhibit, arriving at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art this September.

The Y.P.R. Gift Shop

Inspired by the inexplicably popular Ché Guevara T-shirt, Yankee Pot Roast proudly presents The Beatrice Arthur T-Shirt. Now, you too can proudly wear a portrait of acerbic countercultural revolutionary icon Bea Arthur on your chest. Shirts are available in Men’s S, M, L, XL, for just $15 (shipping & handling included). Please send an e-mail to nick@yankeepotroast.org for order inquiries.

Nixon and Cookie Monster: The Friendship That Transformed America

by James Warner

Both had to struggle to present a favorable public image. Both had a ravenous personal hunger. Neither ever looked quite comfortable on TV, having a tendency to glance around furtively, and neither fully attained mastery over his own darker side.

Because I Wrestle Alligators: A Dickerson P. Cockley Adventure

by Kenneth Schroeder

I’m standing in line at the convenience store the other day when I notice someone staring at me. I’m immediately consumed by righteous anger, and grab for the garrote wire and fillet knife I always carry in a sling around my neck. Just as I’m about to put an end to this nosy fucker’s busy, intrusive life, I notice she’s a she, and very hot. I mean hot, like hot enough to make you want to slice off your ear and mail it to her. Well, maybe not that hot. Someone else’s ear then …

Items Edited Out of Cooking Shows

by Frank Ferri

Oh. My. God. Perhaps the worst-tasting thing I’ve ever put into my mouth, on purpose or otherwise …

The Bourne Letters: Scranton, Pennsylvania, to Fort Lauderdale, Florida

by Dave Housley

Pennsylvania is a nondescript series of convenience stores, sleepwalking civilians, and gently rolling mountains. Should have picked up a magazine or a book or something at the bus depot. These guns take up all the room in my bag and aside from the medical kit and the electronic devices, the thing for jimmying doors, and the quarter stick of dynamite, plus the travel razor and that gel stuff that makes my cowlick turn down, there’s hardly room for anything else.

The Unhappy Life of Johnny Zapfinger, the Boy Who Could Shoot Lightning from His Finger

by Ralph Gamelli

Or else what? You’ll use your lightning finger to fry me to a crisp? Or maybe you’ll just give me a quick zap and teach me a lesson in humility that’ll forever change my perspective on the narrow definition of what it means to be normal, and which will positively affect the way I’ll interact with people from this day forward?