Cell Phone Operating Systems

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Salutations cadre, this is Mikayla, Matthew’s wife, and I’m addressing you savages so it sounds more important the next time you hear the deep caramel bass of my husband’s voice, or whatever. Last May, The Wayward Irregular introduced a short story series called Tincture, and it’s apparently resonated strongly with the five or six of [...]

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Older Episodes

Memories Don’t Work Like We Wish They Did Excerpted from: Revenants of War An Attempted Guide for Safe Warrant after The Whatever To the forfeit wanderers and other wayward souls living in the scar: This is a poor excuse for a travel guide, confusing at best, but if you're still …
I’d asked the young man behind the automated scanning machine to repeat himself, and this was merely an effort to prevent TR, my companion, from absolving the man of his larynx with a roll of breath mint candies. “Young man,” I began, “the gentleman to my left is TR Schroder, …
Feeding Out Among the Crows They arrived at dark, and it was the men on rooftop with loaded rifles that cemented Rhamuel’s distaste for strangers. The populace wasn’t terribly large, but it covered a few blocks here and there, and seemed to make way for the amenities that most people …
I'd Be Happier If We'd All Take a Long Walk Paper football or a rubber-band shootout did well to occupy those lulls in the night, but nothing passed the time quite like a gunshot victim. The tightly braided Devia didn’t handle the lulls as well as her brunette coworker, but …
Lest We All Take a Dive Into the Blackness Together Rhamuel inhaled deeply through his nose, and pondered the world. They’d made camp under a billboard, and after having been awoken by Rhamuel gently sprinkling sand into his ear, Marcus began to question his own decision making abilities. Dawn strikes …
So I'm in this meeting at work, and this meeting is about young people, and in this meeting I realize I'm an old person—I am now a peer to my peers—and I'm woefully short on stool softener. Addressing the reader-e.g. you, right damned now—isn't something I've been wary of during …
I’ve re-introduced coffee into my life, and it’s decisions like these that put me in my office chair at three in the morning with a bloody nose, stark naked and trying to order the owner’s manual for a 1973 Dodge Dart, an automobile I’ve never owned. I’ve fallen off the …
I’ll Still Be Short, If You’ll Be Still Old Mother placed her hands in her lap, gestured to the wooden table at her side, and ordered the boy to practice a decision of fate. On the table sat two likenesses carved from timber: a hammer and a chisel. “The hammer,” …
And Wouldn’t You Know It, Here We Are An old man and a young man sat across from each other in a bar, locking stares with joy and fear, and while the young man had a simple question, the old man would be dead in seven minutes. One's age was …
I’ll Leave You to Your Being Sick Grave robbing requires a corpse, so at most, this was all just simple thievery. At least, that’s what Rhamuel liked to tell himself as any proper heir to the abandoned goods he was claiming may have simply had their bones turned to dust …
This isn’t the first office I’ve flattened my ass in, but the rules among the beasts never change—you need to think fast, never abandon food, and bared gums are a clear sign of aggression. You have to be a hunter, a cutthroat with a ragged blade and thick merciless ichor …
I’ve been having aberrant fantasies about a neon striped seafood buffet somewhere in the middle of the desert. I’m doing my best to arrange a vacation getaway to Las Vegas, the land of vice and degenerate corruption, dancing people in Asian-themed face paints and all manner of glimmer and noise. …
It started with what sounded like a soft gurgle just a few inches behind my neck, and when my bare toes started to soak with rain water, I relinquished all hope for this damned ugly day and the whole sullied week. There’s not much room for pause when your office …
When I woke up on Sunday morning, little did I know that by lunchtime I’d be deep in the mountains, sitting on a piss stained rug in some stranger’s remote indoor zoo, a pocket full of cash and the realization that there was literally nowhere to run. Dogs, this whole …
The whole scene collapses my brain like a whoopee cushion: I’m no longer sixteen years old, and Taco Bell is no longer a “quick decision” kind of thing. It’s laborious. No longer can I wade up to the counter and start picking out items—something they’ve newly rearranged from only six …
In all things, in the trials and tribulations of life, there is solace in casserole. Think calmly, think midwestern people, think midwestern things. Wooden spice racks, communal suppers and the special sort of calm that accompanies the orange dusk of a hard day’s work. The sun sets, slowly drifting underground, …
Without getting terribly country-western in this opening sentence, I’ll submit the following: I’ve got friends in weird places, and sometimes, they sing pretty songs. I’ve loaded up the computer with a tall stack of music, and it’s all performed by one finicky and difficult near-ginger artist, my close friend, Allen …
Every night, right before a much deserved period of unconsciousness, I enter the bathroom and perform a ritual—a ritual convincing my wife that my mind has finally snapped. Everyone pees before bed, a quick micturition to get the pipes all clear and keep the weird dreams about watersides and lemonade …
I’m sitting here, a pint sized Hoyo de Monterrey balanced on this ancient keyboard, and things are turning squirrely. There’s a solid length now between me and the days of pawing over a feed reader, each post a possible morsel of sustenance, each headline some terrible missile aimed for my …