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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

The Coup

By Peter Schoenau

anole face off

The day began with a hazy morning. He had been able to see the ocean most days from his room on the twelfth floor, a view restricted by the uneven, jagged line of rooftops. This morning he peered in vain beyond the sea of houses. He could only make out a grey band that marked the horizon.

His right arm was badly swollen. Each movement of the fingers on his right hand was intensely painful. The rectally administered antibiotics which he took morning and night had not halted the blood poisoning. His mind felt strangely muddled, and he tried but failed to put his thoughts in order. Every time he tried, he returned right away to the beginning of whatever thought he had held, and it was impossible to think something through to its conclusion. Somewhere in between the line disconnected. Eventually he gave up, and stared out of the window without a thought.

The apartment on Malecón was in a dilapidated building behind a crumbing neo-classical facade, its pastel blue paint blotchy where the stucco crumbled. The bare spots were taking over.

The apartment consisted of a bedroom, living room, bath and kitchen. Two miniature pictures looked out from the sideboard in his bedroom. They depicted two of his ancestors—Pedro Bandejas, the pirate, and Camilo Bandejas, his great-grandfather who had fought on the side of the Mambists during the war for independence.

He had rented the apartment fully furnished and paid the rent three months in advance in US dollars, at the insistence of the landlord, a small, unsavory bureaucrat who managed the buildings for the Interior Ministry. There was no written rental agreement. The only exchange between them was money and the keys.

All the same, he knew the landlord would make inquiries regarding the tenant. During the investigation, the long arm of the Interior Ministry would discover that his Peruvian passport was false. But who was to say what the landlord would do about it? He wasn't planning to stay at the apartment more than two weeks. No stranger to the long administrative process at the Ministry, he felt relatively certain the risk was minimal at this time.

He had awakened on his first morning at the apartment covered in sweat, feeling leaden. He stared at the floor where a fly circled in its death throes. Reluctantly and with great effort, he rose and went to the window and pulled the curtain in one swift move.

Thick grey clouds covered the horizon, merging with the ocean so that no clear line separated the sea from the sky.

A battered old Fiat 600 took him to Plaza José Miguel Cérrez. The stink of urine lingered between the statues, and the ground and walls were covered in graffiti. He looked for a sign. When they had parted, Federico and he arranged that whoever was first to return would leave a sign of life hidden somewhere between the declarations of love and the wise-cracks painted on the walls.

He had found the message next to large letters declaring, True love needs no pay, it is free. "Every Friday night at 10."

The square in front of the cathedral was lit by two spotlights. Deserted, it looked remarkably like an empty stage. A few guests lingered at the tables in the palm court of the patio. From the piano metallic evergreens tinkled into the night. Two skinny tabby cats snoozed beneath an empty table, periodically opening their eyes and peering in the direction of the only occupied table.

A bored waiter sat in a corner waiting for the last guests to leave. The bird inside the cage above the chilled wine case had tucked its head under its wing. The lone waiter looked relieved when one of the last remaining patrons asked for the check in an authoritative voice. Life pulsed through the white and black clad figure. Several minutes later, the sounds of laughter and chair legs scraping the floor confirmed that the guests were leaving. When the last of the crew left the stage, the lamps that had lit the palm court went out and the two skinny cats departed, disappointed. Perhaps the kitchen had left them scraps. Maybe they'd get lucky.

He stood in the shade of Palacio del Segundo Cabo before he crossed Calle Mercaderes to Plaza de Armas. Before entering the restaurant La Mina, he surreptitiously eyed the few guests on the patio and surmised they were ordinary tourists, as ordinary as he was hoping to appear. He took a seat at a table for two by the wall and caught the last of the current fashion show at La Mina. Four models pranced around, two women and two men passing in alternating sequence. Light-footed and twirling, they skipped by, their dark skin contrasting with the white linen dresses and suits they paraded. The men looked arrogantly past him while the women smiled at the parrot screeching in delight from the cage above his head.

He knew why the men didn't smile. In their centuries-old code a smile could evoke doubt as to their masculinity and provoke the ugly epithet Maricón among the patrons.

Federico was late.

anole face off