Dr. W. A. Frost's Ides of Revolution

 The Kings Theatre had been long abandoned by the city for over half a century, haunted by the memory of that fateful night in 1978. No one knows exactly what happened, but from tragedy arose legend. 143 people entered the auditorium that April night, prepared to see a terrifying new film just recently brought to America out of West Germany. "Der Kuss der Lust" was some sort of return to the German Expressionist Horror of the 1920's, a film scarcely heard of outside art houses in Berlin, and the hapless crowd came in droves. By the end of the showing, the police had arrived, the majority of patrons leaving the theatre in handcuffs or straightjackets. The city never released any information on the event, opting instead to board up the grand building and never speak of the subject again. That is, until 2024. The group stared up at the Grandiose Marquee, excited for the long awaited return of their neighborhood movie palace. The four of them giddy with anticipation, they eac...

  “Alright, my Musical Mentees, welcome back to my Channel! I am your friendly neighborhood musical critic, Kyle Donaghue, and today we’re going to be reviewing something a little bit out of our typical wheelhouse!” Kyle sat with feigned excitement in front of his webcam. Though on the outside he eagerly drew out his intro for the 250th episode of his “Musique Critique” web series, internally he was livid. The young YouTuber had dreamed of becoming the go-to modern music critic on the platform but after almost two years of barely breaking a thousand views, he recognized he needed to do some market research on what his 347 subscribers wanted to see. Thus, after asking his audience for requests, the music of some newer wannabe rockstar gained traction to be reviewed. To the music conservatory graduate, such low-brow “music” was beneath him; yet reality dictated that the business of content creation was based upon supply and demand. His audience demanded it, and if he wanted to gain a...

I wanted so badly to be like him. I’d stare at him from afar every day I commuted home from work. He was tall, he was stacked, he was dark, he was fuckin perfect. Each time I saw those arms, twice the size of my head, I had to stifle til the little moan I knew would escape my lips. I didn’t know his name, I didn’t know anything about him except he must have lived nearby, since he was jogging nearly every day down the main strip. No shirt, beadlets of sweat glistening on that ebony skin, trailing down a set of washboard abs into a soaked pair of black shorts. He was everything I knew I could never be. Surely a couple roid rages helped him along the way, but there’s something to be said about genetics. He had the genes I wouldn’t ever have. So I would sit there like creepy voyeurist every day and drool over this sweaty lug of a man I’d never met but so heavily admired. I couldn’t tell you what the catalyst was for my google search that day. Maybe it was the fact I was bored out of my min...

“Just one more week, Mr. Winslow. The shop is slow, my boss reduced my hours. But I have enough coming in this next check to pay off some of the arrears…” David pleaded, his voice quivering. After several bad months, he was behind on rent for the very first time in his life. Was that enough to convince the landlord for some patience and leniency? Of course not. As he droned on about the lease and the state laws, David kept typing furiously on his laptop. All the stress of daily bills and daily life had taken it’s toll on his degree, and his grades had started to slip. What he needed was an injection of funds, and within the next few days. He hung up the cell phone, hit the submit button on his essay, and immediately starting hitting the job boards. His new Applicant Headshot proudly sat atop his impressive résumé filled with internships and volunteer work. A deep breath and he started searching. First listing: Receptionist Needed, part time, 7.25/hr. Definitely not enough to even cover...

  There’s nothing more amazing than having possessed a body. Being dead gets kinda fuckin’ awful, bruh. You’re floating around, looking at others live their lives, knowing you’d live it better… I mean, that’s Emilio! Look at him. He’s got so much potential, and he’d rather be taking fuckin’ filter selfies on Instagram for his 300 followers. If only he’d have hit the gym for a few years, joined the football team… Woulda been a whole different story. He wouldn’t have needed my help. But, I mean, I can’t complain. Profits flow upward, bruh. I’m in charge now, so I get the gold. So first of all, that tackle was bullshit. We were winning, some fucker had to come knock the life outta me and shut down our sports program. I watched the school get less and less swole, less fit, and it killed me. I needed to do something. That’s where little Emilio came into play.  He was a little prep. You know, that little shit who would walk around and talk shit about people he doesn’t even know. He ...