Toast Points for the Week of May 29th

Hey Toasties, what are you up to this fine Friday afternoon? I’m looking for good summer cocktail recipes, because I like the idea of sipping summer cocktails on my screened-in porch. If you have a favorite, maybe tell me about it in the comments, and maybe I’ll learn to make it this very weekend.

This was a short week that felt very very long to me. It was a good week, though!

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Butter Churning

In the hours and days after it’s release, I heard breathless accounts of Mad Max: Fury Road as the second coming of action films and better yet, folks said, this was a feminist movie! Given the overall disdain if not blatant disrespect and degradation most movies express for women, I took this as mighty high […]

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Herpes of the Heart: A Short Story

Three doctors confirmed I suffered from some sort of emotional herpes and they suggested I stop fucking everyone. No more but I was bored, but he was cute, but she was cute, but they were bored and cute; just close up that trap of myself. The thought of doing so flung me into the pursed lips of the pastor and I couldn’t help wondering if his lips were as tight as his asshole. And if so, was there nothing to his endless drilling of me but perhaps a chance at undoing the “I’ve a daughter your age” look he thought I hadn’t seen.

When done, he makes slow attempts at conversation and I watch the lights from cars on the highway hit the window of his hotel. Now and now. And now and not for awhile again until the new now. It’s past 3 am. My car is outside, but what’s 3 am when there’s only waking up a few hours away.

“It’s non-smoking,” he says and then something more about the road, the life, the lost. And I just nod and finish my smoke and start making the bed my very own. The thing about sleeping next to strangers is to pretend they aren’t there when you’re done. Otherwise there are many night hours spent imagining them brushing their hand on your thigh as an invitation. Is it now? Do they want it now again? The same ways or new? Or, perhaps when they want to hold you close, it’s only to wring your neck. I don’t know anyone that had a wrung neck, but it’s what I think about along with the 178 dollars from his wallet that I stole before he came out of the bathroom, before any of the naughty got started. I’d never done that before. I don’t even know why I’m doing it now other than the fact I might have heart herpes and need some sort of follow-up appointment.

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If Actors In Famous Movie Scenes Were Costumed From My Wardrobe

West Side Story

Tony runs through the alley, calling for Maria. She appears, and he turns towards her delicate voice.

Maria is perched on her fire escape wearing flannel drawstring pajama pants and an old Coldplay t-shirt. Tony makes his way towards her. If he’s disappointed, you couldn’t tell by his beaming smile. Wishing she had left her bra on until it was closer to bedtime, she decides to play this coyly.

Breakfast at Tiffany’s

Holly is still seated in the backseat of the taxicab. Paul holds the door. “You call yourself a free spirit, a wild thing, and you’re terrified somebody’s gonna stick you in a cage…” 

The camera focuses on Holly, who is enveloped in an enormous puffy coat, staring intently while taking a quick, nervous drag from her cigarette. The shot is tight and direct, and the oversized puffy hood takes up more than half of the screen. Then — dramatically — Holly rests her head on the back of the seat, and the whole puffy hood bulges around her dainty features, making her appear as though she is, in fact, caged.

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Burning Slag: A Short Story

All the children had been given away, and now Darcus Mullins found herself driving the curving road up toward Isaban to look again at the burning slag heap. Along the way, she would pass the house where Leonard had been sent, and she would slow the car to a crawl so she could peer down into Hatfield Bottom where he sat playing in the mud with his new foster sisters, patting pies into shape and drying them on the low stone flood wall. Between the leafless trees she could see his dark head bent in concentration, the little white heads of his new sisters beside him, the littler one with her arm crooked up over his neck.

The screen door to the little clapboard house was scotched open, and Darcus knew that the girls’ mother was keeping a careful eye on the children. The windows were rolled down in the car, and Darcus heard music coming from the house, Donna Fargo. “Funny Face.”

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A Bit Of Fry And Laurie Friday: Greek Restaurant

Gordon and Stuart are two of Fry and Laurie’s greatest achievements. They were never better than when they did that one-upsmanship-y businessman patter. “What am I, a peasant or a busy executive?”

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