On the third day, they reached the end of the woods, beyond which lay a vast field of bramble. The going was rough and the companions had to wrap their legs and forearms in leather to prevent the branches from drawing a toll in blood. Ahead stood a wall of hills in the midst of which lay a narrow pass through the mountains. At least, that was what the trade folk had said. The clan traveled along a well-worn path, occasionally paved, that must have been an access road to the farms that once covered this area. The path had grown old, though, and the cobbles were so often dislodged that they were more hindrance than help along the journey. Hilgard nearly twisted an ankle which would have slowed their march and risked exposing them to the storms that were brewing on the horizon. Garyth turned to survey his charge but could not see Martin. The spindly yeoman had been straggling, burdened by an overstuffed pack, but had plodded on with determination. Twice Lilith had stopped and waited... Read More →
Vomit. Boogers. Dairy Queen.
Filed under: This Aint Sparta Tags: chocolate, michigan, tampon, vomit
We line up: myself, my wife, sister, mother, father, and niece, who points right away to the most geometrically-appropriate item, a perfectly round chocolate-something-or-other on a stick. We are at the Dairy Queen in Michigan City. And we are all damn excited. Scoping out the items on the menu, my mother and sister converse frustratingly about the lack of their favorite treat, a Mud Pie Blizzard. They are frantically trying to remember the ingredients: chocolate, coffee, oreo cookies… I know I will be content with my old standby: Snickers and Butter Fingers. I begin thinking about it and a smile crosses my face. It is soon wiped clean once I survey the general look of the place. I can’t help noticing as I wait in line the abject foulness with which this place has been managed. There are seven people behind the counter in disgusting-looking outfits covered in all manner of ice cream and goo, dipping their ungloved hands in and out of containers, wiping their noses on their sleeves,... Read More →
Fine, I’ll get a fucking cellphone
Filed under: This Aint Sparta Tags: apocolypse, cellphone, marijuana
This had to happen. It was destined that I call myself hypocrite one day. From the moment I opened my big fat mouth to proclaim to friends and family the myriad reasons why cellphones would lead to the first apocalypse. There are many reasons why my Spartan sensibilities react in defiance towards this tiny, blinking device held in such high regard by most. Reason the First: No one calls me for a reason anymore. They call me to relieve themselves of the boredom that comes from being alone in a car, on the train, or walking to the grocery store. The cellphone begs the question, “Although it might be the right time for you, how do you know it’s the right time for me?” How do you know I’m not jacking off, or working on my screenplay? Reason the Second: Do you know your mother’s phone number anymore? No, you don’t, because it’s right there on the screen. You type the letter. “m” and it zooms right there to “Mom.” Click go. She’s just not important enough anymore to... Read More →
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