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Author Archives: Michael Procopio
The evening started out innocently enough– a quiet back to school dinner with friends. But my highly-prized purity was somehow called into question before the appetizers had even arrived. Continue reading
At the time, I took it for what it was– a punchline. I found the story funny and yet I resented it to some degree because it made me hungry for something I didn’t have– a bucket of crispy, salty, golden fried chicken– and more disappointed in the steaming pot of hen flesh in front of me that seemed to fall apart in my hand. Continue reading
“I’m very careful about what I put into my body, because I know what comes out of it is so precious.” Continue reading
If you are drinking Tijuana Donkeys alone, make certain to remove the whistle from your mouth before consuming to avoid unnecessary choking hazards. Continue reading
It’s nearly impossible to whip me into a frenzy about any aerobic activity which involves two or more players messing about with balls, which is why you’ll never find me cheering wildly. And which is more than likely why I am single.
I may not feel completely ready for my own literary baby, but I have recently discovered that I am pregnant with its possibility. And I am very glad to let people know that I will no longer tolerate being called a book(ish) virgin. Continue reading
I’m not certain if my sister simply has a thing for animals, or if they have a thing for her. Whatever the case, the feeling seems to be exceptionally mutual. Continue reading
Where would I keep him? In the closet? Not in this day and age. I don’t even have a butler’s pantry, but even if I did, it’s no place for a valet. Continue reading
[She] often sounded as if someone had soaked a chain-smoking cat in scotch, then attempted to beat it to death with a megaphone. Continue reading