I’ll show you my bumper if you’ll show me yours — I love a traffic jam. What can I say? I’m just a natural people-person. It’s like a human chain, only instead of holding hands, we connect bumper to bumper. Nothing brings humanity together like a traffic jam, and when we’re united, there is nothing that we can’t NOT accomplish. …

Some dreamers gaze beyond flat horizons, seeking aloft their brilliant destiny, in the stars, promises like diamonds, stratus visions of sparkling ecstasy. The sky attracts buoyant, jet stream yearnings. Unbound from gravity weighing the air, bluish optimism blithely discerning deflects the dross of terrestrial cares. But we who dream down glean visions in dirt, our troubled minds sift through mud and rubble. Among butts, bugs, and puddles underfoot, hope can yet be grasped by bending humble. Tarnished pennies are unseen searching high, but glimpsing low rewards the wayward eye.

Resistance is futile, and not very nice — I can’t wait for “Singularity.” That’s what scientists call the phenomenon whereby sentient artificial intelligence surpasses human intelligence. Unlike humans coming of age, AI machines can be trusted with the keys to the car and to get home before curfew. Actually, AI blew by human intelligence a couple decades ago…

No appointment necessary — If you think you might need psychotherapy, I’m here to help. I am not a psychotherapist, but I’ve watched enough of them on TV that I think I could fake it. Honestly, it doesn’t look that hard. Ask a lot of “how did that make you feel” questions. No matter…

Why, the more we consume, the more we waste? This sad irony of precious refuse, adheres like dirt to our careless disgrace, for what’s aquired, we’re oft eager to lose. Weekly, we perform routine gorge and purge, voiding lives of packaged adjunct garbage cached in bins, the spoils of our urges, cast where it confers no further damage. What’s done is disposed in this ritual, tossed aside in addictive convenience, for shunning our spoils turns habitual, the regretted scraps of grief and grievance. Consequences, we dispense and discard but rubbish, like shame, can catch us off guard.

It’ll cure what ails ya — I’m still haunted by the memory of how I learned that my mother was not all-powerful. It turned me into a skeptic for life. …

A new “Holidazed” novel by Gregg Sapp For months, in anticipation of the Y2K apocalypse, Aeons had been proselytizing at locations across Columbus, at bus stops and crosswalks, on freeway entrance and exit ramps, in parking lots outside shopping malls, in the middle of the street at Broad and High…

At a cozy abode nearby the burbs, the Woke folk enlighten winter’s solstice, such that dazzled pilgrims park along curbs, to gaze agog at glossed holiday bliss. Marvel at the gay glowing of glitter, rainbow diodes, sparkles of lavender. As Menorah and Kinara flicker, Asian lanterns waft above David’s star. Native Inflatables galore cavort, brown Clauses, trans elves croon hallelujah. Persons of color appear to report the birth in a barn of infant Buddha. Planning their Yule for ideal diverseness, fanciful souls keep the X in X-mas

from “The Christmas Donut Revolution” by Gregg Sapp — 6:10 AM December 19th at the Drip ’n’ Donuts shop, north side of Columbus OH Huck (aka, “Hyung-ki”) objected to several things about wearing his Drip ’n’ Donuts nametag. First, as a matter of principle, he disapproved of wearing any trademarked corporate logo or brand name. Not even images that…