Christmas Deeds From The Heart

By Troy Rifkin

Earlier this month -- with the hope of achieving some measure of holiday cheer and good will towards men (and some women, perhaps, as an afterthought) -- I took it upon myself to go through the rather laborious task of repaving all of my neighbors’ driveways with cobblestone.

To me, cobblestone is an important feature of the Christmas landscape, particularly because it’s often found in England, and whenever I think of England I think of Christmas. Then, still thinking of both England and Christmas, I imagine all the sorts of Christmasy things the Brits do, year round, wearing their Victorian stovepipe hats and giving “Evenin’ governor” style greetings, their various and plentiful Scrooges whose hearts I’d love a crack at changing. Chasing said Scrooge or scrooges down a cobbled street with a revolver in my hand, shouting wildly and incoherently. That’d change things, I think.

My neighbors really earned this festive holiday treat, too. They’ve rarely complained (or involved the authorities or truly even seemed aware) whenever I’ve rummaged through their garages and various belongings therein, tampering with things that needn’t be tampered with on one or more occasion. And it’s good because if they knew what I did in there, boy, that’d be unpleasant. The police would want to know. I can say that for certain.

Anyway, repaving the driveways was a tall order, especially Mr. Lenius’, because this past summer he dropped a ton of money on a private contractor who coated the whole surface with a layer of asphalt, complete with a new rock bed beneath it. I don’t know if you’ve ever had to break ground on solid, almost brand new asphalt during winter before, but it is a hassle and a half. But that’s what Mr. Lenius’ jackhammer in his garage is for, tearin’ up earth and asphalt.

I borrowed Mr Lenius’ jackhammer for all other houses on the block, as well. It made the task much easier and faster. Seriously, you have no idea. Plus, because of the noise I made, my neighbors came out and cheered me on, and then later the police came, too. It was like a celebration, a celebration where people throw tons of rocks at me, and the police bludgeon and restrain me with nightsticks.

I was sad at how dissatisfied my neighbors appeared to be with my work. “I did this for all of you!” I exclaimed. But my shrill yuletide screams fell on deaf atheistic ears. It was life affirming, though. I can now honestly and belligerently say I know how Jesus felt eons ago during the very first Christmas…bitter and full of contempt for his fellow man -- but still wildly aroused.

I get mad thinking of it, though. Why try to be a good person? My neighbors’ biggest complaints were over the most nitpicky things. Like, instead of using “real” cobbles, I used bricks that I dislodged from their houses. Instead of discarding the project’s waste in a designated trash disposal unit, I tossed it through my neighbors’ closed windows.

It’s sad that commercialism has become so prevalent in our society that trying to do a little physically demanding favor like I took a whirl at is greeted with such disdain and bereavement. It’s either material objects or nothing, and I choose nothing. I’m sick of it.

I took the liberty of tearing up my block’s street, while I was at it (I’m a wizard with a jackhammer). My final goal was complete neighborhood cobblestone cohesion, so we could be fancy like in England. I didn’t finish repaving anything though -- or even try to, really, because eventually I got pretty bored. The court can “order” all they want, till they’re blue in the face. I’ll be in England stealing cobbles while dressed as Santa, revolver in hand.

a kind of dark poetry… (RE: where beauty goes to die) GUEST POST BY THE LOVELESS

Alternative literature… possibly the worst thing that has ever happened to art bar none. The dumbing down of common intelligence and the insistence of idolizing complete idiots who send texts to each other and charter it at “poetry”.

Alternative literature… So full of nothing, so empty and pointless that it should make the blood of any single mortal that even has so much as an ounce of respect for art in any form boil. A vapid form of “artistry” so void of any semblance of feeling, meaning or imagery that its the literary version of an artists painting a blank canvas with water.

There is one example of all these so called “poets” that is so engrossed in his “artistic” ideas that he himself has become so incandescently stupid, so perpetually banal that he insists on infecting the minds of even vaguely like minded “poets” with his emotionless and blank-versed thoughts.

So I suppose this is an open letter to you Steve Roggenbuck, I would love more than anything to wish death upon you but I rest calmly knowing that the oblivion that follows us all will see to that for. There is no more pointless attempt at pretending you have skill than attempting the primary school artistry of cutting up little pieces of digitized paper and crazy gluing them onto still shots of sunsets.

Alternative literature is the death or art, artistry and literature in general. Those who allow this common idea to grow will perpetuate the decay of the zeitgeist of humanity.

enjoy your slow painful demise.

I will revel in the pain of your minds.

and laugh when education dies and your minds revert to that which you were changed from.

-signed… The Loveless

Is it better to put your hands in the air like you just don't care, or to put your hands in the air with deliberate purpose and direction?


Barry Biggs

How did you get your book published?

Honestly, when mine was published I didn't know anyone, so I gave it to someone who did know people, and he gave it to that person that he knew and he talked to him and they forgot and then i reminded them and somewhere in the mix my book came out: Heartsongs by Barry J. Biggs.

How did you do it? Murder? Romance? Cat Humor?

new weird sentimentality or i meant it you sandals or i did i did but then i died quietly with other leather straps and i destroy to that because i don’t want to be the national spelling bee champion of poetry categories and what they mean but you might call me amelia earhart’s cunt in the comments anyway

By Ramona Beastly

sometimes i get the slippy edges of these poetry terms regarding new boy old man scents of mentalmilkity and leaking sincerely spin beard cleanings mixed up. i read them because i want to know them so i can rub them through me even though i can’t always completely draw their faces. not when they run out on cheap bridges so scuttle and certain that this is indeed the surface that looks most like a human nature preserve. lowghosts always come slicing through us anyway. they drip us on their bombberry pancakes.

i watch the bridges shutter old birthday cards onto the bright of boats. i touch the handrails stuffed with broken windows and lorinne neidecker’s old bathroom mats. leaf is noticed over and over on the back of each mat in the kind of ink designated for crosswords. now the word leaf looks like well water stains to me every time i see it roasting on the end of deciduous barking stuck near a dog. rust shots. rust shots. rust shots for everyone with a swallow.



3v3ry1 w1th 4 p33n s4y "sup"
3v3ry1 w1th 4 h0t c0nch s4y "m4ck sh1ck 1 w4nt u s0000000 b44444dddd"

1ts 0k4y 2 w4nt m3 1n th3 r41n. 
u 4r3 fruck3d up, L0L
u 4r3 th3 r41n

1 4m w34r1ng dr34dl0cks f0r th3 f1rst t1m3 
s1nc3 1 w4s b4pt1s3d. . .  

1 t3ll u 4r3 wr0ng 4 w4nt1ng:
+ 4 n3w c4r
+ v4c4t10n
+ f4sh10n f0rw4rd cl0th3z

!!!T0SS TH3 S4L4D 0F M0D3RN1TY!!!
1f u h4v3 3n0ugh fr13ndz u c4n cr0wds0urc3 y0ur B1LLZ
3xc3pt 4 1nsur4nc3, L0L

1 4m $56,000 1n d3bt fr0m stud3nt l04ns
but 1 4m n0w 4 M4ST3R 0F H1PH0P0L0GY.

ppL s4y 2 m3, "m4ck sh1ck, y d0 u l1st3n 2 s0 much 

1 t3ll th3m wh3n 1 4m tw3nty s3v3n 1 w0n't B tw3nty s3v3n
1'll B s3v3n t33n 43VR, *L0L*

l00k, my L1f3 1s 4 v4c4t10n & y0urs c4n B2. B)

Mack Shick is an independent tween hip-hop producer, rapper, poet and social engineer. He will release his fourteenth mixtape of 2012, The Truth, on December 21st. Buy his sixth t-shirt, "ALBACORE", at

What are the possible NEGATIVE EFFECTS...

Sinclair Arnold

What are the possible NEGATIVE EFFECTS of technology that remain unseen to a populace of sheeple? (I use the term "sheeple" for ironic effect, a meta-irony transcending the already extant irony that's come to embody its usage by the knowing and unknowing alike.)

Here's a generic picture of a computer:


Booty Cam Time

Barry Biggs

 "just having fun enjoy"

Is this a happening worldwide?

Is this video happy or sad?

Could be the saddest video on the internet.

Does anyone have a video that is more sad than this?

Do You Write Sober?


Does someone you know write while sober?

If so, how long have they been sober?

Do you feel you need to be sober to write?

Alt Lit Gossip and HTML who?

 Lenny Toasterface

Has Alt Lit Gossip gone too far?

It is not hard to be the best of the week when everything in the week is stale and common and expected. DUH!

I don't know if this is a sign of things to come or not. What I do know is that HTMLGiant is a very boring website with very boring articles and a bunch of folks in an ivory tower handing out boring like it is candy that matters. Your site is like a baseball minor league . It is cute, but haha.

I, Lenny, think that Alt Lit Gossip needs to investigate the greatness levels of the things they report on. Recently, there were many articles that were just tumblr posts reblogged that had nothing to do with lit. It was cute, but come on.

The molds are made. The names have been dealt. This is a culture becoming stale and common before our very eyes. The issue is not quickshit. This issue is bullshit, and no one putting down their foot for what they believe in so that they can make friends.

I like making friends, so I go out to a bar and act dumb and dance and sing. then I go home and I write. I write to understand what making friends is all about. Lenny is a hidden force. Lenny knows how to tango.

Twitter is good for making friends. So is Facebook. The social web allows us to blur the lines between friends and fans in a way never before seen. I believe Scream 4 touched on this motif. It seems pertinent to take into account that LANGUAGE LIKE THIS IS FUCKING OUTDATED AND BORING, DAD.

You know though, it is okay that everything sucks right now, because we all make mistakes. And blind positivity along with blind negativity butting heads will never get anywhere. But if we take the time to stop acting like writers for some game show and just act like people; this place will be a lot better off.


Is Lit

Tyle Signer

Question: Is lit too stupid, while not being dumb enough?


by Fritzlos 


Fritzlos has been published in many places in this timeline. He currently lives outside of it.

Queen's Jubilee

by King Crab

I loved a girl
so sweet to me
O on the day
of Jubilee

Such bright fair hair
sweet locks of glee
I held her close
on Jubilee

And as the queen
did crown us we
could not believe
such Jubilee

For in the crowds
were ladies three
pert maidens nude
for Jubilee

O so we wept
never to be
I tapped 3 puss
on Jubilee

King Crab is a great and loving crab father to three sweet and beautiful wives and don't you dare touch him.  Don't you dare.

Old Insincerity by Terd Macchio

Poop in my mouth, I will howl... - G-Berg, 1st white rapper
Old Insincerity, as we all know, has been a movement that hasn’t only shocked the nation but has rocked the very foundations of the written world. But what, and more specifically who, and more-more specifically how is Old Insincerity?

I’m sorry, can you repeat the question?

As you know—cause everyone and their mother knows—not my mother—she’s dead—I killed her—I was afraid she’d find out I write Old Sincerity fiction, you see—as we all know, one pioneer of Old Sincerity is Dogwalk Happen. Originally a beat poet, Dogwalk was ostracized from the coffeehouse scene for shitting in Allen Ginsberg’s mouth in 1955 while he was asleep (Ginsberg was asleep, that is, not Dogwalk, he was quite awake as he did the shitting). Though this act catapulted Dogwalk out of the up-and-coming writer scene that would one day inspire 19-year-olds to read “On the Road” and become even bigger dicks than we ever thought possible, it’s important to point out that this ol’ “shit fiasco” inspired Ginsberg’s most famous poem, “Howl.” “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,” being a direct reference to Dogwalk’s disdain for opinions, ideas and emotions.

From there, Dogwalk spent most of his time trying to “game” the system. That is, he held no job, wrote no poetry, and was on welfare.

Don’t go to the Appalachians kids – it could happen to you.

In recent years, as you know, as everyone knows, during Dogwalk’s “sabbatical,” a new generation of poets rose to more concretely define what Dogwalk started. I first met the likes of Edmund Paddlebath, Sinclair Arnold, JJ Curry Ford, and Fritzlos as I roamed the streets of LA, attending readings in which poets forwent the traditional process of using words to convey ideas, and just cried uncontrollably on stage. This, as we all know, was a precursor to Old Insincerity, containing too much raw material to be really insincere. Also, there were in fact women there too, but they’ve all gone on and married and had kids, so I don’t see any reason to mention them.

It wasn’t until Terd Macchio’s novels “Powerlifting at Sears Automotive” and “Reed Richards” that a concrete Old Insincerity scene or “voice” started to form. With Terd’s success, Alternating Literature became more popular, particularly with toddlers whose discerning taste in language was well suited for the work being written. Combined with Dogwalk’s return to writing (specifically, writing murder mysteries about the color spectrum), Terd and Dogwalk have started to define a generation of writers tired of what their professors are telling them to read, and are determined to create work that future students will similarly get tired of.

Terd insists that Old Insincerity is about spending the most amount of time you can on a piece to ensure you get the most meaning out of it. Literally, that is. Taking any semblance of meaning, and chucking it right out the window. “If the piece is heartfelt, or emotional, or true in any manner of speaking, it’s not insincere, and only pussies write sincerely,” Terd Macchio has said. “Sometimes I’ll spend days replacing all my adjectives with different types of vegetables. And don’t even get me started on verbs. Don’t use verbs in your poetry.”

Dogwalk has called into question, as we all know (you know this right?), Terd’s actual dedication to Old Insincerity.

“He wrote this really truthful, caring piece about his mother.” Dogwalk recently complained. “It was full of spelling errors, didn’t have one capital letter, and was raw emotion. It was disgusting. I don’t care if it was for his mother’s memorial, you put one iota of sincerity into your work, then you’re not Alternating Lit material.”

As personalities clash, there are many things to ask. Where is Alternating Lit going? Where is Old Insincerity going? Should we try to define it? What’s the use of defining it? Does it really help to define something? Can that turn people off to it? Does it make those who define it sound like they’re in some sort of club that no person in their right mind would want to join? Does Fritzlos really prevent himself from going number two through sheer concentration alone?

Who the fuck cares.


Terd Macchio

Let's Talk

by King Crab

I have seen America with eager eyes
I have seen America with my friend Kevin

I meant to say "black tights" but
I said "black rights" accidentally

baby, I'm gonna knock you 'round
like the bouncing cube on this Windows screensaver

"Yes," I said,
"You look brilliantly homeschooled."

Susan B. Anthony is an animorph
Susan B. Anthony, feminist and half-jaguar

freedom isn't free if you pay for it
because then it's not free

why do birds suddenly appear
everytime i bird call?

call the doctor
ask if I can eat 2 chilli dogs, not just one

sensual, exotic
beverages are erotic

i'm putting my foot down
then picking it back up and putting it down again (it's called walking)

King Crab lives in the sea with his Queen Crab and his crab mistresses.  He ate all of his kids.  He has three children's books forthcoming from Harper Collins.

My Night Grilling Corndongs for Dick Jagger's Venezuelan Housekeeper, PussyTanya, and DICKSCOVERING AMERICOCKs Taste Better When I'm Being AsphDYCKziated by Grope Hardy

That nite was tu-nite.

Grope Hardy went home for his brother's funeral and ran into that chunky diabetic girl he dated in high school. Did he ask her to suck him off right there in the "Salty Snacks" aisle at the grocery store? Did she bite because of pent up bitterness from being dumped, or simply because she was hungry? Did she not sever his cock entirely but take a good sized chunk with her and leave him with nothing but a hefty ER bill and a depressing story to tell at the ten year reunion?


Christoper Columbus discovered America so he could suck some dick. He woke up in Spain one morning and was like “Fuck this, I gotta suck some dick!” so he went to America, because he knew there was a ton of dick to suck there. He got dressed and ran to the king’s castle and was like “Hey King, let me go to America because I gotta suck some dick!” and the King was all “Ok, but first you gotta suck this dick!” so Christopher Columbus sucked that King’s dick until he came three ships full of sailors to take him to the dick-sucking mecca that is America. Once the ships were ready to sail, Christoper Columbus sucked all the sailors’ dicks and pretty soon they were all in America. There was only one problem though: Christopher Columbus couldn’t find any dick to suck! He was about to starve to death when a friendly Native American named Squanto found him. Christoper Columbus immediately started sucking his dick. I mean Christopher Columbus was sucking his own dick, not Squanto’s. Christoper Columbus was too busy sucking his own dick to notice Squanto. When Christopher Columbus was finally done sucking his own dick, another Native American named Pocohontas showed up. She didn’t have a dick, so Christoper Columbus sent her away. He later starved to death due to lack of dicks to suck.

Florence Lawrence is sucking your dick right now. Go ahead, look down.


Once long ago in the U.S. of A.
there was an old man named Harry O'Shea.
He willed to his country his massive dong;
the architects built, now it stands strong
as the Washington Monument's core today.

Harry O'Shea Jr. is proud as a peacock of his heritage. And another thing.