A Villanelle for Day-Drinkers

Do not settle for a Pepsi or Sprite.
Corn syrup can’t fizz your troubles away.
Day drinking sets all your problems aright.

Next to a yapper on a twelve-hour flight?
When you get bumped by the beverage tray,
do not settle for a Pepsi or Sprite.

Suffering Bears fans whose team is a blight
do not despair over games in Green Bay.
Day drinking sets all your problems aright.

Good parents whose babies fight sleep all night
hit hard stuff like whiskey at breakfast; they
do not settle for a Pepsi or Sprite.

Your job’s a prison, your boss a smug shite?
Know, as you plot how to get through the day,
day drinking sets all your troubles aright.

Go get a real drink, just not one that’s lite.
Fuck what your neighbors or in-laws might say.
Do not settle for a Pepsi or Sprite.
Day drinking sets all your problems aright.

May 19, 2017: Shadow Trumpers and AFATS: A Serious Problem

"The news couldn't get more depressing,"
she said as she started undressing.
"The MSM
's unfair to him!"
And Emily* started redressing.

*Emily (not her real name) canceled her Tinder account in the taxi (that's right, a taxi, a taxi not an Uber because "Emily's" not a fucking tool) on the way home. The next day she met a man, an actual man, in real life, at a bookstore (not Barnes & Noble or one of those fucking Amazon monstrosities but a real fucking bookstore), and they soon fell in love. Due to her near-fuck with a Trump supporter she was unable to engage in physical love with her new boyfriend for nearly eight months. She tried, Lord knows she tried, but as soon as she started to undress she'd be racked with stomach cramps and overcome with nausea and rage. Her doctor informed her she suffered from AFATS, or Almost Fucked A Trumper Syndrome. AFATS is a serious condition affecting hundreds, possibly thousands depending on how drunk they were, men and women across the globe. Emily was lucky. Through hard work, intense therapy, and the support of her family and friends she was able to overcome her Trumper-induced aversion to sex. She also became involved in the movement to require so-called Shadow Trumpers to make their affiliations known before pursuing potential romantic relationships and is rightfully regarded as a hero. Morality, if not always the law, demands that people who have HIV/AIDS disclose their status to potential sexual partners; the same holds true for those suffering from Trumpism.

April 21, 2017: In Honor of Earth Day, A Serious Dialogue Between Sarah Palin and Donald Trump

"The Earth is now fucked, that's for certain."
"It's ourselves we really are hurtin'."
"Let's just ignore
it and argue more
'bout which of has the oranger tan."

Note on pronunciation: you have to put a lot of emphasis on the last syllable of "oranger" and almost elide the middle syllable to get this one to sound right.

A note on who's talking: it doesn't matter which one of them says which lines.

Author's note: even I'm getting tired of the spraytan jokes. On the other hand, Trump can go suck a colostomy bag like it's one of those fucking applesauce pouches my children are so crazy about.


If you want to know what's wrong with American society, consider the following incident. Seven or eight years ago I heard a crash and a man crying "My leg! My leg." I looked out the window of my second-floor apartment and saw that a man had been hit by a car. I ran downstairs, while my wife called the police. The driver and a hipster whose hacky sack game had been interrupted were, when I arrived, trying to convince the man, whose leg had been knocked off in the collision, not to call the police. The leg was fake. (I fictionalized this incident, taking what details would work for me and inventing new ones, in a short story called "One Man's Trailer Trash," which you can read if you want to take your mind off what's wrong with American society, but it won't work, it will just make you feel worse.) The man had been riding his bicycle on the sidewalk, and the car had come out of the alley without honking. The driver said to the cyclist, who was trying to strap his leg back on, that riding on the sidewalk was illegal and the police would probably give him a ticket. I said, "You hit him with your fucking car." The hipster said, "OK, no one needs to be an asshole." I said, "Fuck off," which he did, back to his hacky sack game.

Is the problem that we don't have enough people who are willing to stand up for legless cyclists? Is the problem hipster diplomacy? Is it that people pull out of alleys without honking? The problem is that if you're poor, you're not shit. If you have one leg and you ride a bike because you don't have enough money for a car and you look a little homeless, you're not shit, and when you get hit by a careless driver it's going to be your fault. The problem is that even with me on his side the cyclist was convinced the police would give him a ticket, so he put his leg back on and rode away, and the driver got back in his car and drove away, not too far, though, because remember my wife had called the police and describe the car. It's not like he went to jail or anything; one of the only hit-and-run incidents in which the police actually catch the driver and the victim is gone. I probably should have ran up to the car and told the officer everything I saw, although I didn't actually see the collision, instead of laughing.

That's the problem, and I don't know how to solve it other than by saying "Fuck off" to most of the people I meet, which I know doesn't help.

A Defense of Steven Mnuchin

As an American it is my right to believe whatever I want to believe irregardless of such meaningless concepts as reality or dictionary. I believe it's Friday, even if "science" tells me it's Tuesday, so here's a Friday Limerick about Steven Mnuchin. Steve Mnuchin, at least he's not insane!

Our treasury sec Steve Mnuchin
some say is the biggest mdouche in
the country today.
At least he can say
he ain't in cahoots with no Roosian!

April Giveaway/Short Story Announcement

Thank you, all four hundred sixty-two of you, to everyone who entered the Goodreads book giveaway for Barn Again in March. If you didn't win, which you probably didn't, don't despair: you have options:

  1. Enter the April giveaway: https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/228517-barn-again-a-memoir.
  2. Read the whole book for free on a website called Wattpad (not recommended; no offense to Wattpad; it's just a long book to read online): https://www.wattpad.com/story/87677264-barn-again-a-memoir.
  3. Pay $0.99 for the ebook on Amazon (not recommended; much offense to Amazon, and I hate ebooks): https://www.amazon.com/Barn-Again-Memoir-Alan-Good-ebook/dp/B01N8U5W5P/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1491060610&sr=8-2&keywords=barn+again+a+memoir.
  4. Go on Amazon and pay $13 for the print version: https://www.amazon.com/Barn-Again-Memoir-Invasive-Species/dp/099817100X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1491060745&sr=8-1&keywords=barn+again+a+memoir.
  5. Order a signed copy through my website and use the code 6E5HZR4 to get $3 off (definitely recommended, although if a million people do it at once I'll be in trouble because I only have five or six copies on hand at the moment): http://malarkeyweb.com/new-products/barn-again-a-memoir.
  6. Whichever option you choose, or even if you choose none of the above options, please think about making your way over to The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature to read my latest short story, "Paris (When I Die)," which was just published today: http://www.deadmule.com/alan-good-paris-when-i-die-a-short-story/.



Special Non-Friday Limerick: Dear Donald, Fuck You, Donald. Sincerely, Existence

The Earth don't really need protecting
from the poltroons that we keep electing
because any day now
she can say "Go 'way now"
and we'll experience like a brief awareness that we are about to enter eternal nothingness while the Earth will probably really flourish in our absence for the next few billion years until the sun dies and existence as we once knew it is wiped out like one of those sand pictures Tibetan Buddhist monks spend hours and hours erecting.

Because You Can't Burn an Ebook

Are you a fucking maniac?

Do you think liberalism is a plot to destroy Christmas? Do you need a new TV because you doused your old one in holy water to protect it from Lady Gaga's Super Bowl performance? Did your parents name you "Deplorable"?

Or maybe you're the type of Salon.com-style identity-crazed pseudoliberal who's inclined to think someone like me ought to be preemptively kicked out of the literary canon on the basis of being a person of achromaticity experiencing cockhavingness—before I even get a chance to be excluded on the basis of unpopularity?

If you answered yes to any of the above questions, I need your help. Would you please consider boycotting my book? It's called Barn Again: A Memoir, but it's really a novel. (If you think fiction is devil-work, this is the book for you to hate!)

Pay special attention if you're a legislator from Arkansas: you'll probably want to ban my book from your schools because Barn Again promotes, among other evils, anti-authoritarianism, cunnilingus, and craft beer.

The hottest trend in boycotts is to actually buy the product you're boycotting in order to make a statement, so here's a suggestion: order Barn Again through my website and request a signed copy inscribed to—get this!—not yourself or like your grandma or something, but Donald Trump. Because I hate Donald Trump, maybe with more nuance than other Trump-haters but still hate, and if you make me make out the inscription to him, oh God that would show me!

Or you could take a selfie where you're holding up my book and flipping off the camera, and you could give it a funny caption like "fuck u AG I just bought your book & now I'm about to throw it in the trash next to my New Balances BITCH!"

You can save some money by just paying $0.99 for the ebook, which is itself a fuck-you to me because I hate ebooks, but that wouldn't be much of a protest because you can't burn an ebook.

You could always choose the more traditional but currently unfashionable style of boycott where you simply refuse to buy my goods, but if you go that route it is essential that you make a big and annoying deal about your boycott and make sure it trends on Twitter. Otherwise your effort is wasted!

If a group of maniacs in the late nineties hadn't tried to get the film version of The Tin Drum banned from the public library in Joplin, Missouri, I might not have even heard of Günter Grass until I got to grad school; yet if I hadn't gone and read The Tin Drum because so many maniacs were pissed off about it I might not have pursued literature and writing and thus never have gone to grad school. I don't make a ton of money off my degree, but my life would be so much poorer without it. You can make a difference in another misfit's life just by making a big enough stink to get my name in your local newspaper!

It's difficult for a writer such as myself—agentless, unfamous, lacking the resources to take writing retreats to the fucking Hamptons while I struggle to achieve recognition—to get noticed, and I can't think of a better way to grab attention by the pussy than by getting boycotted by a bunch of deranged ideologues, which is where you come in, by calling me a gutter-mouthed cultural elitist and telling your friends and Fakebook minions that I'm a godless devil trying to destroy the world through vocabulary.

(Obviously—I mean, it might not be obvious to a lot of people, which is why I'm compelled to include this parenthetical, tongue-not-in-cheek note, I'm being facetious. I don't want to be boycotted. I'm sure it would be good exposure, but it's not the type of experience I want to court. I'm mainly just mocking Starbucks boycotters and tennis-shoe-burners while trying to appeal to some of the people who, whatever their flaws, are less prone to over-reaction. Maybe one or two of them will read some of this, probably not this far, and think about buying the book. A long shot, I know.) Getting back into character:

Gut-thinking fit-pitchers of America, you've made this country an increasingly shitty place in which to live. Here is your chance to do something positive.