HEYYY!

Digger

How To Build Your Own Coffin

Written by By Scott Nicholson

   Blood and nails, that's all you need.

   Larry ran his hand over the wood. Smooth as a baby's ass and a mother's tit. He'd planed the cherry himself, by hand, not with one of those machines. Sure, he'd caught a few splinters, but that was the blood part of this business.

   And what were a few calluses? Skin turned to dust just as surely as brain and bone did. And your heart probably crumbled faster than any of it. The meat didn't matter. What mattered was how you walked off the stage. That's what they remembered. And Larry McMasters was going to go out in style.

   He dipped his brush into the shellac and lifted it to the lamplight. The thick, golden material hung from the brush like honey. If he sealed the wood, it would keep underground for a few months longer, maybe even a year. Would that be honest, though? Wouldn't that be putting just another layer between him and his return to the dirt?

Dirt from the Digger

Scuse Me

First, let me thank you for this award. Way back when I was scrawling with blunt crayons on a paper towel in Mrs. Nylonbottom’s kindergarten class, I never dreamed you guys would read my column. This is such an honor I can hardly--.

(A dark-skinned man in shades rushes from the edge of the room and pushes me away from the typewriter.) He types: “‘Scuse me, Digger, I’ll give your typewriter back in a minute, but there’s one thing I gotta say.”

Digger: Sir, these wonderful readers have just voted me the “Columnist of the Year.” And...hey, wait a sec, aren’t you Kanye West?

Kanye West: Beyonce wrote the greatest column ever, for ‘Us’ magazine. Or maybe that was a song.

Digger: That may very well be, and I am sure it’s a fine column or song, but this is my column and my readers want to hear what I have to say.

Kanye West: Well, what you need to say is that Beyonce is better than you are.