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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

About the Dog

By Robert Aquino Dollesin

Molly, man, she's been poutin' all morning. Got herself locked in her room and won't come out for shit.

Every time I rap against the door, she just says, "Go 'way, Harper. Go 'way."

Then, 'bout noon she comes boltin' past the sofa, haulin' her suitcase and sayin', "Keepthefuckindog. Keepthefuckindog." Again and again, just like that. One streamin' pauseless phrase that's got me glancin' up from the shit I'm rollin'.

"Molly?"

"Keepthefuckindog," she says again, louder.

Now the front door's flung open and Molly's pacin' the porch. My dog, a fat basset bitch I call Pokerface, who's sprawled on the carpet next to my feet, stares up at me with her big red unblinkin' eyes.

"What the fuck, Molly?" I say, staggerin' off the sofa. That's when all my shit spills off my lap: the dope, high-grade Columbian, the Zig-Zags, and even the plastic stars-and-stripes rollin' machine I snaked off Habib at the corner store.

I got to hold the arm of the sofa to keep from crashin' onto the floor. "Fuck," I say, and Pokerface, still gazin' up at me, just kind of grunts.

Molly's got her arms crossed, got her suitcase on the slats of the wooden porch, got the toes of her shoes tappin'. I stumble to the door and lean against the frame.

"What's up with this, Molly?"

She whirls to face me. "You, Harper, you—" Now she's jabbin' her finger in my face, tryin' to spit the words out, " —you, Harper, you don't give a shit about anything but that dog."

That ain't true and Molly knows it. Though Pokerface has been with me longer than Molly has, I'd do anything for Molly. Took her in when she was dumped by her old man, didn't I? Took her to the clinic so she could lose dude's kid, didn't I? Took her out and got her every damn thing she wanted. Never once asked her to cop a job so she could contribute to the finances.

"You're talkin' false shit, Molly. Is this 'bout last night? I love listenin' to them poems you write."

She don't say nothin', just blinks a few times.

Hardly able to keep on my feet, I slide down the frame. Pokerface has made her way over, so I wrap an arm around Pokerface's thick neck and say, "Ain't that right, bitch? Don't I care lots 'bout Molly?"

I look up to catch Molly shakin' her head.

Then, all of the sudden this rusted Rambler sidles up to the curb and Molly snatches her suitcase, races down the steps and wades through the weeds toward the idlin' Rambler.

I claw the doorframe, get myself back on my feet. "Molly!" My voice doesn't even sound right, like I'm underwater or something, like Maaaahlee or something.

Molly doesn't quit hurryin', doesn't look back, not even when she reaches the Rambler. She just swings the door open and slings her suitcase over the front seat into the back. Then she hops in, slammin' the door behind her.

I move across the porch, dizzier than shit, and grip the wooden rail. I scream out and my voice echoes, kind of like, "MOLLY, Molly, molly."

But she ain't payin' me no mind. She's got her gaze forward, her arms crossed. The wind's all kicked up, blowin' her stringy blonde shit across her face.

I start down the steps and catch a splinter from the knotty rail. Shit, I say, but not so loud. I use my teeth to dig the sliver out of my palm.

Then, the driver of the Rambler, some hype with a blue barbwire tattoo wrapped around his neck, peers past Molly and grins. Goddamn if it ain't her ex. He steeples his middle finger, still grinnin' like the sick fuck he is.

I spread my arms out to my side, like, 'What the fuck?'

Molly whips her head my way and shakes it. I recognize that pout she's sportin'. She's fuckin' cryin', Molly is.

So it crosses my mind that hey, maybe she ain't really leavin'.

"Molly? I shout again, this time the words bump out of my mouth, like some kind of murmur. "Molly?"

"Keepthefuckindog," Molly says, buryin' her face in her hands for a couple seconds before starin' back up out the windshield. Her thumbnail shoots to her mouth where I know it'll get gnawed like it always does when Molly ain't feelin' right 'bout something.

The Rambler peels out, leaving me standing at the foot of porch. Black smoke lingers where the Rambler had been curbed, the stink of rubber everywhere. So what the fuck just went down?

"Molly!" I shout, loud as I can. Then I collapse onto the bottom step and stare straight out to where the Rambler ain't no more, still not understanding shit because, shit, because—well, I guess because I ain't had the guts to get it all together.

Then, in all the crazy silence that just hangs, Pokerface, who I'd damn near forgotten 'bout, she starts to Ahwooo Ahwooo Ahwooo, a mournful howl, like she just knows someone bought it or something.

So that's when I'm hit with this 'piphany shit, this revelation that strikes me like a damn bell. Just like in them books Molly's always tellin' me 'bout, always tryin' to get me to read.

Molly, see, and all the shit that just went down—well, none of it, none of it at all had anythin' to do with the dog.

female back

photo courtesy of Fernanda

© Robert Aquino Dollesin 2008