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Just trying to have some fun with it // None of this is meant to be taken seriously // //

Flash Fiction about a cult and sports drink, among other things.

Photo by ALEXANDRE LALLEMAND on Unsplash

I stumble quickly and loudly out of my room on my way to vomit.

When I finish in the restroom he’s on the couch already ripping into a 12-pack and says I should try mixing a Cool Blue Gatorade half-and-half with some orange juice (hold the pulp), chug it, then snap one off, take a shower and thank him later.

“Cures any hangover,” he says. “Best remedy there is, if you ask me. Aside from weed. And, you know, hair of the dog, but that gets a little cyclical and tough to keep up with.” He holds up a beer.

Flash Fiction.

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You should have seen them run.

People who probably — from the looks of things as they formed a low-level and slow-moving stampede down the street, heading west, trying to get as inland as they could, because it was coming from the bay, or at least somewhere around there, in that moment nobody knew the origination point — hadn’t done it, the running, much or at all for the past few years at the very least. …

For some reason it keeps getting rejected.

Photo by Tim Goedhart on Unsplash

It’s great to be mindful and live in the moment, sure, but it’s also important to have some foresight. Like, you should always order another Whopper for the next day, especially if you’re going to have a heavy night. You’ll need it. Trust me.

Life isn’t about the number of breaths you take. It’s about how many people mention you in their Instagram story on your birthday.

If you’re never in an official, meaningful or exclusive relationship, you’ll never be tempted to cheat!

When you’re shelling out a bunch of money for therapy that is out of network, try your…

A brief primer on letting it out.

Photo by Tom Pumford on Unsplash

Sometimes you just need to have a good cry.

Maybe you’ve lost someone you love. Maybe life isn’t going the way you thought it would, and you’re feeling a little bit powerless to change your trajectory. Perhaps your job sucks. Could be you hurt someone or yourself. Or maybe you just had a pretty shitty day, a week, a month or even a year.

The potential reasons for a justified weeping are nearly infinite. And just when some of us think we’ve run out of reasons, another one or two darken our doorstep.

(I’d actually go as far as to…

An ode to “PS I Love You,” a writing home without which I fear I’ll be more lost than ever.

Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash

I have a hard time letting go of things.

Always have.

From the ephemeral to the more lasting and persistent, truly moving on has never been one of my strong suits.

I tend to fall in love with ideas and people and sometimes the ideas of people, and to commemorate moments after the fact that I could have handled differently but will never, ever get back.

It’s something I’ve been working on getting better at for years, this whole concept of truly letting go. And something I likely have years more work to do to really figure out, I think…

We used to be carried in the arms of cheerleaders.

Photo by Rangarajan Ragunathan on Unsplash

That summer I was working at one of those Taco Bell / Pizza Hut hybrids and I’d tell people (many would of course ask) that I just simply liked to Líve Mas and one way of doing so were continuous attempts to truly Outpizza The Hut — that I liked to be within hands’ reach of a Crunchwrap Supreme and/or personal pan pizza for 40 hours a week, give or take.

They’d generally look at me quizzically with maybe a little bit of worry and then neglect to take the conversation any further, which was kind of why I’d engineered…

She warns me that sometimes she gets car sick.

Photo by Dan Gold on Unsplash

We’re on our third round of daiquiris, the legit kind, when I confide to Sophie this is my first time ever having legit daiquiris and I now know that I fucking love them — that they are delicious and a great delivery mechanism for alcohol.

Before this evening I’ve only ever had the gaudy frozen kind from trying-too-hard beach bars, and they gave me brain freeze instantly and a hangover before too long. The only reason I ordered my first one that night is because when she showed up half an hour or so late because of work stuff I…

A short story about an atypical initial meeting.

Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

We’re halfway through our second drink when during a brief lull in the conversation she takes a biggish sip from her pint, turns toward me and says, “You know what? I almost didn’t come tonight, to be honest. I feel like we can be honest, right? I thought about doing one of those last-minute cancelations where I tell you something came up with work or I’m not feeling well, whatever, something you can’t call me out on for being untrue because you never know, but that you’re also at least a little bit suspicious of being a lie. …

It would’ve been kind of nice to go through that “Girls have cooties so keep them far away from me and my toys” phase.

Photo by Hudson Roseboom on Unsplash

The first time I fell in love it was with a girl named Kristin.

I was in kindergarten, the middle of that early stage when you’re completely unaware of the way people you find attractive can and will make you feel for most of the rest of your life.

I had no idea what the hell was going on at first — why I was feeling the things I was feeling, or what I was even supposed to call these emotions. I was all of 6 years old. I knew nothing at all of love beyond what I’d seen in…

“All of this? It’s honestly at this point just not a hill I’m willing to die on.”

Photo by Benjamin Child on Unsplash

“If we’re done here, I’ll give you back some time.”

“The deliverables you were expecting and refused to negotiate on were quite frankly out of scope, no matter how much I initially believed in the promise of this project.”

“When your mom started to provide unsolicited feedback I felt like there were too many cooks in the kitchen. I should have flagged it sooner, I know.”

“I feel like we ramped up so quickly — without either of us being properly onboarded.”

“I was never able to align with your child-bearing timeline. …

Scott Muska

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