2016 was a disappointing year in politics. Imagine my astonishment to awake in the containment facility only to see man-made buildings through the window. Still looming in the distance, casting shadows that ought to be the work of the one true abdomen. In the end, Giant Crab only reached most people’s necks. Though he was able to slaughter many children and animals before disappearing again, we must now only dream of what it might be like to experience the underside of a crab without flipping it over. To those who wish to throw themselves into the ocean, it is not my place to convince you of any worth that does not exist, but do remember that even you are a vessel for Giant Crab that can be routed towards his work. If the word potential feels too lofty, remember that even the sand kicked away with each step of Giant Crab serves its purpose by holding our leader up. Do not give in to the pleasure of escape. Do not flee the pain of failure. Stand firm and wait. Wait for the cycle to begin again. If I close my eyes firmly until the edges hurts, the images become clear enough to be real. The destruction. The labyrinth of rubble. This is where I will stay for the next few months before our work can begin anew. Let our tenacity be our mark. Our penance, a mantra. Become vigilant with me friends, and remember…

A Blog Of Decade-Old Nonsense

Think back to 2006. What were you doing? Were you online then? Did you keep a livejournal or post exclusively to one forum that was based completely around one now-embarrassing hobby of yours? Or perhaps you have had the same email account for several years. The specifics aside, if you’re under forty years old, you likely have an online presence catalogued somewhere, lying in wait for you to come dig it up and be fascinated by a version of yourself that feels more like déjà vu than a personal record.

I recently found an old profile of mine that contained a link to something I created when I was a sober twenty-one year old, living in a house full of my friends in New Brunswick, NJ. I will spare you the bulk of the inside joke that led us here. Suffice to say that me and my friends were daydreaming, and ended up with the idea of a crab who was running for elected office, and his only platform was that if you voted for him, he would gain mass, and grow larger in size. If said crab obtained the majority vote he would become big enough to destroy entire cities, at which point he would do just that.

Like any blathering that makes your friends laugh, this concept formed into an inner circle meme that we brought up constantly, and incorporated into as many conversations as we could. I am sure in time we completely wore it out. But somewhere in that period I took it upon myself to keep a blog from the perspective of someone who actually wants this crab to win.


I have to say that I assumed I was going to cringe at all of this more than I have. There are grammatical errors everywhere, but my biggest offense is using “reticent” completely incorrectly. I imagine I wrote this with a thesaurus in my lap. There are several parts where I chuckled to myself, and the ability to make yourself laugh is honestly quite difficult.

The highlight of the entire thing is the fact that I am convinced I didn’t write all of the entries, but I don’t remember which of my friends volunteered their time for this. I peruse the words looking for hints at their vocabulary or style and second guess myself over and again. Eventually making this whole thing seem even more distant, even more strange that it came from the mind I currently hold. 

Immediately I wanted to add an entry to this blog. See where this man has been all these years.

I have tried every variant of the only three passwords I use to no avail. Internet folk have been progressively forcing me to alter these passwords more and more to cooperate with the minimum standards of each website’s login. And so the blog remains sealed in the year 2006, untouched by decisions and posts that I might have deemed lame in 2026.

Give Me Your Money

If I were ever given an unreasonable amount of money and permission, both moral and legal, to waste on the sort of ideas that come to me when I stare out of bus windows, this is the one I would begin with.

I would use the funds to set up a fake agency of sorts in Philadelphia. I need only a properly adorned waiting room, and a competent receptionist, they will never meet the boss, because there isn’t one. I would place an ad in the paper asking for a model or other various attractive person to fill out the guest list at a birthday party I will be throwing for my old friend, Brian. The idea being that this hip party will become all the more hip for having an unnaturally glamorous human being in attendance. The reality is that there is no friend, and what will transpire is only technically a party.

I would offer a competitive rate to the receptionist for half a weeks work as she has these men and women who answer this ad come in and fill out a contract, taking care to prevent interaction between them before the night of the party. Each applicant will be paid a small sum to show up and look good and drink our booze. Much in the vein of an escort, except that we can charge less because we’re not interested in sex. Included in their contract is a clause stating that they will not be paid if they ever mention that they are at work while at the party. A central idea the receptionist will place in the person’s head throughout the hiring process is that we throw these kinds of parties all the time, and that we are solely hiring them for this event. In reality, we hire as many of these people as possible, for they will be the only people invited to the party.

Once we have around forty hires, the next step is to rent out a venue for the party. Then hire a party planner to pre-set the food, booze, and music, and then leave. A few hours before the guests arrive I will hide cameras and mics all over, dress myself and some friends up as caterers, and wait for the magical evening to begin.

The poor punctual souls who arrive first will be socially punished for their work ethic, as they will find that they have arrived before the guest of honor, and indeed any of his friends. Finding only the hired help, they will have no one to turn to for any sort of context clues as to why no one in the room seems to have any idea what is happening. But with the food being delectable, the music loud, and the other guests all quite handsome, in time I imagine that it will turn into a successful party. After enough social lubricant has been imbibed, I am sure this party would be indistinguishable from any other in its price bracket.

Like most of my ideas, there isn’t a point. There’s no reveal at the end, no punchline. And honestly, this doesn’t seem to even qualify as a prank. I would simply thrill at seeing what manner of conversations come out of this event. To be a fly on the wall for the initial moments of social integration void of the normal methods available to a person. To watch genuine connections and friendships form out of contrived nothingness. How inventive their white lies become in response to “How do you know, Brian?”.