Loneliness. An airport at 3 a.m. Somewhere, the sound of vacuuming. A beat-up old suitcase, unclaimed, goes around all night on the carousel. My life is like that bag. No, even worse … my life is like a squeezed-out tube of Anusol in that bag. Actually, I flatter myself—my life is not like the entire tube of Anusol but just the part that goes in the rectum.
As little as $1 a month ($12 a year!) goes a long way towards supporting our editorial staff and contributors while keeping us ad-free. Become a McSweeney’s Internet Tendency patron today.