In which the author received direction from the Spirit of Death.

Death pulled up to the curb in a 1958 Corvette, the one made bright red with white trim. I was surprised. Death’s rides are usually the other way around in the color scheme.

“Sweet ride! I see you’re sporting…

My friend Tony said this to me yesterday: It’s weird as hell out here.

I can’t agree more.

Everything about life right now has something attached to it, a parasite sucking away any hope for joy, satisfaction, contentment. Everything is an effort doubled, tripled in cost because of the drain…

In which the author admits to an unpleasant paradox.

It is no secret that I am a control freak. I have had the need for some sort of control for all of my life. I have had to learn how to train myself out of being in need of control.

In which the author imagines a day in the life.

The COVID has already taken eighteen percent of my town’s population and the government collapsed months ago. But that doesn’t stop the fact that I need supplies and that my cat is not going to allow me to go another…

In which the author casts personal morals as a fundamental force of nature.

During this quarantine, it is no secret that I am burning through my long-neglected reading list. I am pleased to announce that I have finally completed Prof. Hawking’s A Brief History of Time. As a brief review…

In which the author conflates personal grief with societal angst.

To be specific, my cat Frank died overnight between Friday and Saturday. Today is Sunday and I am still grieving hard for his passing. I suspect I will be for some time to come.

Frank was fifteen years and ten…

In which the author totally misses the point.

I’m going to talk about sex again today, Dear Reader, so if knowing that makes you squeamish already, then I recommend you move on to one of my other nihilistic pieces. There are plenty.

I am not alone in my daily struggle…

In which the author addresses that pain you are feeling.

Dr. Robert Metcalfe, other than infamously predicting the collapse of the Internet, is notable for his assertion that the intrinsic value of a network is proportional to the square of the number of nodes on that network. I am not…

In which the author considers life in quarantine.

Hey, kids, it’s me, the bitter cloud that goes with your silver lining coming to you live from my clean, well-lighted hovel perched on the edge of The Abyss.

In these precarious days, I am reminded of a book that was recommended…

In which the author demands satisfaction.

Dear Customer Service,

As noted in my previous emails, which you have neglectfully ignored, I would like to return your product, anno domini 2020, which was shipped defective. …

Stephen M. Paulsen

Spear Thistle (Cirsium vulgare). Debatably pretty. Lots of thorns. High-functioning depressive guarded by wit, sarcasm, and brutal honesty.

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