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American Dream Serialization (Early Chapters)
Introduction to Jim Chaffee's Studies in Mathematical Pornography by Maurice Stoker
Introduction to Jim Chaffee's Studies in Mathematical Pornography by Tom Bradley
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: American Dream Title Page by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 1 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 2 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 3 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 4 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 5 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 6 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 7 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 8 by Jim Chaffee
Studies in Mathematical Pornography: Chapter 9 by Jim Chaffee
01-01-2015
Modern Tragedy, or Parodies of Ourselves by Robert Castle
01-11-2014
Totally Enchanté, Dahling by Thor Garcia
01-04-2014
Hastini by Rudy Ravindra
The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 5 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
01-01-2014
Unexpected Pastures by Kim Farleigh
10-01-2013
Nonviolence by Jim Courter
The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 4 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
07-01-2013
The Poet Laureate of Greenville by Al Po
The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part VI by Thor Garcia
The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 3 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
04-01-2013
The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part V by Thor Garcia
The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part IV by Thor Garcia
The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 2 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
01-01-2013
The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part I by Thor Garcia
The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part II by Thor Garcia
The Apocalypse of St. Cleo, Part III by Thor Garcia
The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Volume 1 Translation by W. C. Firebaugh
10-01-2012
DADDY KNOWS WORST: Clown Cowers as Father Flounders! by Thor Garcia
RESURRECTON: Excerpt from Breakfast at Midnight by Louis Armand
Review of The Volcker Virus (Donald Strauss) by Kane X Faucher: Excerpt from the forthcoming Infinite Grey by Kane X Faucher
01-07-2012
Little Red Light by Suvi Mahonen and Luke Waldrip
TEXECUTION: Klown Konfab as Killer Kroaked! by Thor Garcia
Miranda's Poop by Jimmy Grist
Paul Fabulan by Kane X Faucher: Excerpt from the forthcoming Infinite Grey by Kane X Faucher
01-04-2012
Operation Scumbag by Thor Garcia
Take-Out Dick by Holly Day
Patience by Ward Webb
The Moon Hides Behind a Cloud by Barrie Darke
The Golden Limo of Slipback City by Ken Valenti
01-01-2012
Chapter from The Infinite Atrocity by Kane X. Faucher
Support the Troops By Giving Them Posthumous Boners by Tom Bradley
01-10-2011
When Good Pistols Do Bad Things by Kurt Mueller
Corporate Strategies by Bruce Douglas Reeves
The Dead Sea by Kim Farleigh
The Perfect Knot by Ernest Alanki
Girlish by Bob Bartholomew
01-07-2011
The Little Ganges by Joshua Willey
The Invisible World: René Magritte by Nick Bertelson
Honk for Jesus by Mitchell Waldman
01-04-2011
Red's Dead by Eli Richardson
The Memphis Showdown by Gabriel Ricard
Someday Man by John Grochalski
01-01-2011
I Was a Teenage Rent-a-Frankenstein by Tom Bradley
Only Love Can Break Your Heart by Fred Bubbers
10-01-2010
Believe in These Men by Adam Greenfield
The Magnus Effect by Robert Edward Sullivan
Performance Piece by Jim Chaffee
07-01-2010
Injustice for All by D. E. Fredd
The Polysyllogistic Curse by Gary J. Shipley
How It's Done by Anjoli Roy
Ghost Dance by Connor Caddigan
Two in a Van by Pavlo Kravchenko
04-01-2010
Uncreated Creatures by Connor Caddigan
Invisible by Anjoli Roy
One of Us by Sonia Ramos Rossi
Storyteller by Alan McCormick
01-01-2010
Idolatry by Robert Smith
P H I L E M A T O P H I L I A by Traci Chee
They Do! by Al Po
Full TEX Archive
Side Photo for The Big Stupid Review

Beefsteak Mistake, Jake

By Kelly Jameson

Dragon fly taken by Jerry Craven

Well, Tourette’s camp didn’t work out so well for me. So years later, when I’m a man, I find myself sitting in a bar—with a bartender who knows me and who doesn’t take it personally when I look him in the eye, twitch, cough, and scream,"You cocksucking monkey fucking music whore I want more!"

Tourette’s typically has an onset at age seven or eight but is rarely diagnosed before age eleven. When I was twelve, my parents figured I must have had some sort of neurobiological condition after I looked at my aunt, started to twitch and spit, and screamed "Fucking cuntsore motherfucker did you wipe your ass!" while my dad carved a golden brown 20-pound Thanksgiving Day turkey. After a few more shoulder shrugs and head jerks, I told her that her vagina was bigger than the state of Texas and she probably sucked cock like a drunken monkey. Then I barked like a dog. And asked for more mashed potatoes. With gravy. I was sent to my room.

Then, inexplicably, I was sent to live in foster care with Jehovah’s Witnesses.

One of the first descriptions of Tourette’s syndrome was written in the 1800s by French neurologist Jean-Marc Itard, who was caring for a girl who developed vocal tics at the age of seven.

Blue dragon fly

What I have is called coprolalia, the expression of obscene words, a form of Tourette’s that is not as common as the media makes out. Sometimes I’m also obsessive, compulsive, inattentive, hyperactive, impulsive, learning disabled and depressed and I probably eat too much Spam. I have a lot going for me. Apparently, though, this coprolalia won’t affect my IQ or lifespan, unless I happen to get into a nasty bar fight involving knives as a result of my uncontrollable obscene verbal spurts.

Let me say upfront that I have no desire to be a role model for other people. I wish I could say I’d done a bunch of shit today.

Anyway, somebody drops a couple quarters in the jukebox. Jukebox pukebox cukes socks. Yes, this bar I’m in actually has a jukebox. Someone’s chosen Billy Joel’s Piano Man. For a few moments, I cease barking. People go back to not paying me any attention. They almost seem disappointed.

Blue dragon fly

Really serious musicians make fucked up faces when they play, so I took up piano. It was a natural fit. Let’s face it, I make a lot of fucked up faces when I’m not playing an instrument. There’s been recent speculation that Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart had Tourette’s. Apparently he wrote letters to his cousin Maria Anna that contained many obscene words, mostly having to do with bodily functions. He was also hyperactive, suffered from mood swings, and had tics. I don’t know, maybe he just had gas.

Like my tics, life is sudden and chewy and itchy. My parents put me on methylphenidate but my symptoms got worse. I cursed at my teachers. I cursed at my neighbors. I cursed at my neighbors’ dogs and cats. I cursed at inanimate things like mailboxes and toilets and toilet paper. The doctor put me on clonidine. I threw dictionaries in class, followed by five-minute verbal outbursts involving piquant obscenities aimed at my whoreass teacher. Classmates said uncomplimentary things. And here I thought I was making progress. Fog egress press un-chess King me random bitch, I confess.

Well my Jehovah Witness foster family in all their divine wisdom took me off all medications, because you see, they had prayer. Prayer fair pay the fare. They told me God would fix me.

I listen to Mozart—Douche Bag Ass-Fuck Butthole I need some hair pie Sylvester Stallone Sly!—all the time. Mozart. What a beautiful man. He wrote love letters to his cousin Maria Anna. He said things like “Oui, by the love of my skin I shit on your nose, so it runs down your chin."

So, here I am, in Texas, thinking about how cool Mozart was and swearing an orchestration of obscenities out my butthole in a bar that smells like piss and Pabst Light. When I’m good and loaded, I start walking until I find a nice neighborhood, go up to doors, knock, and give out pamphlets with titles like “Soon all suffering will end.” The brochures have pictures of families sitting on picnic blankets next to some wooden buckets of wholesome apples. I wonder if any of them ever lost a tooth eating one of those hard-core apples. I realize I should’ve pissed before I left that bar.

It’s almost a hundred and ten fucking degrees outside and I’m wearing a sports jacket, a tie, and jeans. What an asshole. The street is tree-lined. Felined purloined built up suburbanized galvanized sanitized foul oh it’s just the cat’s meow. I walk up to the first house and knock on the door. An overweight middle-aged woman with a glass of red wine in her hand answers. She is draped in expensive jewelry—jewelry foolery spoolery--and wearing cowboy boots. No clothing of any kind. I try to keep my eyes on her face.

Green dragon fly