THERAPIST SAY DRUNK HULK NEED MAKE GOAL FOR NEW YEAR! BECAUSE IT IMPORTANT CREATE NEW WAY TO DISAPPOINT YOUSELF IN LIFE! HERE ARE DRUNK HULK NEW YEAR RESOLUTION FOR 2012!

1. DRUNK HULK ACCEPT SAME SEX MARRIAGE! IF PEOPLES WANT HAVE SAME BORE SEX DAY AFTER DAY! IT NO DRUNK HULK BUSINESS!
2. DRUNK HULK NO CONFUSE “YOU WANT EXTRA PANCAKE” AS MARRIAGE PROPOSAL FROM WAITRESS!
3. DRUNK HULK FINALLY ACCEPT THAT OPRAH NO COMING BACK!
4. DRUNK HULK FORGIVE ALL PATIENTS WHO MAD DRUNK HULK NO GO MEDICAL SCHOOL!
5. DRUNK HULK LOSE 50 POUND! UNLESS DRUNK HULK IN ENGLAND! BECAUSE THAT JUST CARELESS!
6. DRUNK HULK NO LONGER READ ANY NOTE BY CLIFF! OR LIST BY CRAIG!
7. DRUNK HULK BUY NEW DOG! IF NEW DOG DIE! PAY MONEY FOR PROPER BURIAL! BECAUSE LAST DOG CLOG UP TOILET FOR MONTH!
8. DRUNK HULK NO TELL EVERYONE THAT BON JOVI DEAD!
9. DRUNK HULK NO REPEAT SELF ANYMORE!
10. DRUNK HULK NO LOOK UP OLD GIRLFRIEND ON BOOKFACE! NO WHEN IT EASIER LOOK THROUGH HER WINDOW AT HOME!
11. DRUNK HULK NEED BE MORE RESPECTFUL TO MONARCHY! AND SUPPORT BURGER KING! DAIRY QUEEN!
12. DRUNK HULK LEARN HOW WRITE CURSIVE! ESPECIALLY NOW THAT PRINT DEAD!
13. DRUNK HULK LISTEN TO ATTORNEY! AND LEARN DIFFERENCE BETWEEN DATE AND PLAYDATE!
14. DRUNK HULK NO LONGER CONSIDER ALL YOU CAN EAT BUFFET AS COMPETITIVE SPORT!
15. DRUNK HULK NO LONGER BE PACIFIST! AND RESPECT ALL OCEAN! NO ONLY PACIFIC!
16. DRUNK HULK REALIZE THAT JUST BECAUSE IT OPEN BAR! NO MEAN IT OPEN RELATIONSHIP!
17. DRUNK HULK NO MAKE FUN OF KARDASHIAN! UNTIL THEY DO NEXT STUPID THING!
18. DRUNK HULK NO MAKE FUN OF PEOPLES BAD USE OF THE ENGLISH!
19. DRUNK HULK NO WEAR LEGGING TO STORE! PUT ON PANT LIKE ANY DECENT HUMAN BEING!
20. DRUNK HULK BUY ONLY AMERICAN PRODUCT! NO MORE FRENCH KISSING! AND ENGLISH MUFFIN!
21. DRUNK HULK NO REPEAT SELF ANYMORE!

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DRUNK HULK THANK YOU ALL FOR GREAT 2011! HAPPY NEW YEAR!

- Art at top of the page is by @BeckINTL.

ONCE AGAIN DRUNK HULK NO MAKE MOST SEXIEST MAN ALIVE! DESPITE USE SHAKE WEIGHT EVERY MONTH!

INSTEAD OF FALL INTO DEPRESSION LIKE EVERY YEAR! DRUNK HULK DECIDE TO CHOOSE OWN MOST SEXIEST PEOPLES ALIVE FOR 2011! BELOW YOU FIND THREE MOST SEXIEST MAN ALIVE! AND THREE MOST SEXIEST WOMAN ALIVE! AS DETERMINE BY DRUNK HULK STRICT SCIENTIFIC METHOD!

MOST SEXIEST MAN ALIVE!

1. NEIL GAIMAN!

NEIL GAIMAN MOST SEXY MAN IN WORLD! HE DO EVERYTHING! HE WRITE! SING! DIRECT! TRAVEL! KEEP BEE! EXPERT ON LOST ART OF DURAN DURAN! AND CAN DESTROY ANY WEBSITE IN ALL WORLD JUST BY THINK OF IT! HE ROCK STAR! LIKE HUNTER S. THOMPSON! ONLY WITHOUT ALCOHOL! DRUG! ANGER! PARANOIA! BITTER IRONY! GUN! CRIPPLING LONELINESS! AND IF THOMPSON LIKE UNICORN AND TIME LORD! IF DRUNK HULK BREAST BIGGER! MORE FIRM! SYMMETRICAL! DRUNK HULK HAVE GAIMAN AUTOGRAPH THEM!

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2. ANTHONY BOURDAIN!

WHEN DRUNK HULK GO AROUND EAT AND DRINK EVERYWHERE! DRUNK HULK GET SLEEPY AND WANT GO HOME! BUT NO ANTHONY BOURDAIN! BOURDAIN LIKE UNSTOPPABLE EATING ROBOT SENT FROM FUTURE! “IS YOU NAME SARAH CONNOR? GOOD! YOU GOT ANYTHING TO EAT?” AND MORE HE EAT AND DRINK! MORE SEXY BOURDAIN BECOME! HE LIKE DORIAN GRAY! EXCEPT PICTURE BOURDAIN HIDE AWAY SHOW HIM AS NO HEALTHY AND OVERWEIGHT IN NEED OF RICHARD SIMMONS TO JUMP OUT FROM BEHIND TREE!

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3. JOHN HODGMAN!

JOHN HODGMAN APPEAR EVERYWHERE! HE ON DAILY SHOW! NPR! BOOKS! PODCAST! BORE TO DEATH! WIRED! PARIS REVIEW! DRUNK HULK STARE AT DONUT THIS MORNING! AND SWEAR HODGMAN FACE ON IT! BUT IT NO ACTUAL HIM! IT EITHER WILLEM DAFOE OR JIM CAVIEZEL! HODGMAN IS SEXY JOHN MUNCH OF EVERYTHING! PLUS HE SMART AND FUNNY! SO HE SEXY!

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MOST SEXIEST WOMAN ALIVE!

1. MINDY KALING!

MINDY KALING IS SECRET WEAPON ON OFFICE! SHE DO EVERYTHING! PRODUCE! DIRECT! ACT! AND SHE WRITE! AND WHETHER SHE WRITE TV SHOW OR BOOK! KALING ALWAY FUNNY AND SEXY! DRUNK HULK LIKE HER BECAUSE SHE REAL! AND SHE MAKE DRUNK HULK LAUGH! DRUNK HULK TOTALLY BE HER MORK TO HER MINDY! THEN DRUNK HULK WALK ON BEACH AND DRINK PINA COLADA WITH HER!

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2. FELICIA DAY!

DRUNK HULK LIKE FELICIA DAY! SHE NO ONLY ACT AND WRITE! BUT SHE CREATE GUILD! CLEARLY SHE ON TO SOMETHING! DRUNK HULK ADMIRE PEOPLE WHO DO THING THEY WAY! AND DAY ONE THEM! SHE TOTALLY GET DRUNK HULK RESPECT! WHICH WHY SHE MAKE DRUNK HULK MOST SEXIEST LIST! AND DRUNK HULK NO ONLY ONE WHO THINK SO! EVEN HARRY BELAFONTE MAKE SONG ABOUT HER!

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3. EMMA STONE!

THERE NOTHING SAY THAT DRUNK HULK NO SAY BEFORE!

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ALSO! REMEMBER! YOU ALL SEXY IN DRUNK HULK BOOK!

DRUNK HULK: FACT OF MATTER IS YOU BETTER HAVE BEER GLASS THAT DRUNK HULK CAN GET HAND AROUND! AND THAT REASON WHY DRUNK HULK BAR TAB ONLY ONE OF ALL FOLK! THESE GOOD FOLK ON STOOL HERE! THAT NEED BE PAY BY 2020! AND DRUNK HULK TELL YOU! THERE THREE THING HERE WHEN DRUNK HULK OWN BAR THAT ARE GONE! THAT Q*BERT GAME! PORK RINDS! AND — WHAT THIRD ONE THERE? LET SEE!

Ron Paul: We’re talking about government agencies. You need five.

DRUNK HULK: OH! FIVE! OK! SO Q*BERT! PORK RINDS! AND…

(Unknown): MGD?

DRUNK HULK: MGD! THERE YOU GO!

Moderator: Seriously, is MGD the one you were talking about? The beer?

DRUNK HULK: NO SIR! NO SIR! DRUNK HULK TALK ABOUT THING IN BAR – MGD NEED GO! THERE NO DOUBT ABOUT THAT!

Moderator: But you can’t — but you can’t name the third one? And do you realize where you are, sir?

DRUNK HULK: THIRD THING IN BAR DRUNK HULK WOULD – DRUNK HULK DO AWAY WITH Q*BERT…

Moderator: Pork Rinds.

DRUNK HULK: PORK RINDS AND! LET SEE! DRUNK HULK NO…THIRD ONE! DRUNK HULK NO KNOW! SORRY! OOP!

“THERE 99 BEER ON WALL! BUT THEY KEEP TAKE THEM DOWN! AND PASS THEM ALL AROUND! NOW THERE NO MORE BEER! ON WALL! OR ANY PLACE! DRUNK HULK HAD 99!”

Click here to download the PDF of “Last Look” by Christian A. Dumais.

Two Americans arrived by train, exhausted, weighed down by luggage and nervousness. The husband had a map with a highlighted path to the rented apartment, but now that he could see how small the town was, he decided to trust his instincts instead. He moved quickly, several steps ahead of his wife, with a false confidence she had seen too many times before, but they were too far from home to argue about it even though they passed the same corner three times already.

As they walked through the town, they saw few people and nothing appeared open, which made her nervous there wouldn’t be a restaurant to eat at later. The wife couldn’t quite figure out why this town was important enough to stop in on the way to Bologna, but her husband insisted it was “one of those magical places tourists didn’t know about,” which she translated as cheap accommodations.

They reached the street just as the sun was descending behind the mountains. As stated in the email, the landlord was waiting outside the apartment. He was handsome and much younger than they expected, wearing a perfectly cut suit and holding a set of keys. He hugged them both as if they were long lost friends and invited them upstairs. The husband saw that the landlord was sweating, which seemed to erase the insecurity he felt towards his good looks and the way his wife couldn’t keep his eyes off of him.

The perfectly photographed angles in the apartment didn’t translate well to real life. It looked like a long hallway, narrow with an opening in the center for a makeshift kitchen. The landlord opened the first door to reveal a bedroom and a private bath that made a cruise ship quarters look lofty.

He took their passports in the kitchen, asking questions about where they came from and where they’re going. Because they were Americans on vacation, they had no complaints about anything. He said, “Americans. You happy with everything. Good for you.” He started to write a passport number down and stopped. He said, “Not like us. Italians are miserable. We have traditions and they no change for nothing. It shames me.”

Bells rang outside. The landlord looked at his watch and sighed. He returned their passports. The husband tried to pay, but he refused. “Pay later. No hurry.” He hugged them both again and left.

Alone, the couple finally relaxed. Though not what they imagined, the apartment was respite from the overwhelming foreignness outside.

While his wife used the toilet, he decided to check out the apartment. He noticed that the windows were all barred from the outside. He opened one to let in some air. The sound of chanting came from a nearby church.

He walked down the long hallway, amazed at its length. At the other end were two doors. One of them was to another bedroom. He saw a pile of luggage and wondered if more guests were staying there. He wished the landlord would’ve mentioned that.

The other door was

ajar.

He stopped himself from pushing it open.

He didn’t know why, only that his brain had gone electric and was suddenly reconnected to something irrational, something he hadn’t felt since he was a child when things lived in closets and creatures stood outside his window at night, waiting patiently for children to move in their beds to signal their invitation.

He felt his skin go cold and his fingers began to tremble.

He turned around, surprised at the violence and quickness of his actions, and walked back. He forced himself to walk slowly – despite the sound of the door opening and the sound of something heavy and wet moving behind him – as an act of grown-up defiance and childish denial, and like that boy who would not stir in his bed, he would not turn around.

He was about to reach their bedroom, ready to acknowledge how ridiculous he was to let his imagination get the better of him, when his wife stepped out and looked over his shoulder. She was talking to him when she suddenly froze, her eyes locked at something behind him. The first few words out of her mouth were words – something about finding a shop – before being replaced by guttural sounds.

“Hurk. Hurk. Hurrrrrk.”

His throat grew tight.

He looked behind his wife to the front door and realized that the landlord had taken the keys with him, and with that, he knew they were locked in. What he initially thought to be etched patterns in the door were now clearly scratch marks from fingernails. The dark spots in the wood were patches of dried blood. It was so obvious he was ashamed for not having noticed it before.

His wife’s body shook violently as if she were being electrocuted and the black hair on her head curled and turned white in front of his eyes. He smelled urine – there was no time to know whose it was – before his nostrils became overwhelmed with the smell of something rotten, something ancient. The chanting outside grew louder. His wife’s eyes rolled back into her head and her body started to fall. He caught her and pressed her to him, her head landing on his shoulder. He could feel her brittle hair cracking between his fingers.

Tears stung his eyes and he was suddenly full of anger because he was denied one last moment with his wife. He couldn’t remember the last time she smiled at him, the last time he kissed her, the last time something between them wasn’t routine.

He heard the sound of a massive moist mouth opening and smelled the dark humidity of its breath escaping behind him. He felt his wife’s body reverberate with the sound of her skull cracking. She was quiet now and her head lifted slightly off his shoulder as it was lighter and could no longer retain its shape. He felt an avalanche of hot liquid running down his back and splattering on the floor.

He hoped the disintegration of her sanity acted as a sort of anesthesia. And seeing that last shred of hope, he prayed there’d be enough time to turn around for one last look before it took his life too.

- You’ve just read “Last Look” written by Christian A. Dumais

This is a chronological look at the reactions to Drunk Hulk’s Gaddafi tweet. I’ve seen this happen before in previous tweets, but this was pretty overwhelming in terms to how everyone reacted to the news coming from Drunk Hulk. 

Check it out. I think you might be surprised by this. I’m confident that there’s a PhD paper here that’s begging to be written.

shlevy Shea Levy
How is it that this is how I learned this happened? RT@DRUNKHULK: GADDAFI DEAD! NO COOL! DRUNK HULK JUST FIGURE OUT HOW SPELL HIS NAME!

TheCaleStephens Cale Stephens
Is it bad I get my breaking news from @DRUNKHULK ?

pfreet pfreet
@keithmcgreggor Funny, the first mention of said breaking news in my twitter stream was from @DRUNKHULK

glenericreed Glen Eric Reed
Okay, I just learned major news from a @DRUNKHULK retweet by@NoReservations … has it really come to this?

lydia69 Diane M. Martin
I have no idea what it says about me but I just found out about Gadhafi’s death from a tweet by @DRUNKHULK

CoachZuckerman Jay Zuckerman
Two weeks ago, I was not on Twitter & relied on the news to keep me up to date. Now I first learn of Gadhafi’s capture through@Drunkhulk.

deanBarry Dean Adlington
@glenericreed: Okay, I just learned major news from a@DRUNKHULK retweet by @NoReservations … has it really come to this?”. ME TOO!!!

damndilettante Jason Lord
It’s a sign of the times that I first learned of the death of major world figure from @DRUNKHULK.

paulidin Paul Roth
I almost feel like I’d get the breaking news just as fast on twitter via@DRUNKHULK alone.

kanessie Karen Glass
OK, I’m not sure if I can be comfortable hearing major news from@DRUNKHULK before @BBCBreaking. #bravenewworld. ?

BATMANassistant batman’s assistant
Pretty amazing and funny that the @DRUNKHULK reported that Gaddhafi died before any major news source

HCoppinger Hope Coppinger
I’m afraid I may have just learned important international news from@drunkhulk. While I’m grateful, I’m also deeply concerned.

pillarofsalt pillarofsalt
Kinda fucked up to hear about major news stories from satire accounts; @DeathStarPR was the first Steve Jobs tweeter,@DRUNKHULK Gaddafi.

monokero Iris
How I found out Gaddafi is dead: @DRUNKHULK tweeted about it. Not sure what this says about me.

pattychase919 Patty Chase
Finding out important world news from @DRUNKHULK is pretty weird.

teacheyd Daniel Teachey
True story: I first heard about Qaddafi’s death on twitter… from@DRUNKHULK. What a world…

dday515 dday515
so @DRUNKHULK just informed me that gadhafi is dead. This is the world I live in.

heldermira Helder Mira
“@DRUNKHULK: GADDAFI DEAD! NO COOL! DRUNK HULK JUST FIGURE OUT HOW SPELL HIS NAME!” Again; this is how I receive breaking news.

Kat_in_NY Kat_in_NY
What does it say about the world if I learned about Gadhafi’s death from @DRUNKHULK?

joe_is_tweeting joe stephan
I really need to change my morning surfing order. @DRUNKHULKshould not be where I get breaking Gadhafi’s death news.

chambo_SF Michael Chamberlin
Amazingly, story broken by @DRUNKHULK: GADDAFI DEAD! NO COOL! DRUNK HULK JUST FIGURE OUT HOW SPELL HIS NAME!

jason_sims Jason Sims
Just had major world news broken to me earlier by @DRUNKHULK.#WhyILoveTwitter

tjsander Travis J. Sanders
Can’t believe I found out that Qaddafi died from @drunkhulk

DeanDMX Dean Mayers
I found out about #gadaffi from @DRUNKHULK. I am ashamed. :/

vitriolick vitriolick
@Kat_in_NY you weren’t the only one learn about it from@DRUNKHULK first. Does that say more?

_mandolin amanda
I love how I found out Gaddafi died from @DRUNKHULK before@nytimes

RayS Ray Slakinski
@andersoncooper what @DRUNKHULK is not a valid source?!??!

impenn Mike Surette
I don’t know if it’s sad, or awesome, that in this era of media, I first got news of gadhafi from @DRUNKHULK

namon Namon Washington
RT @glenericreed: Okay, I just learned major news from a@DRUNKHULK retweet by @NoReservations … has it really come to this?

sarathelaundres Sara Wagner
I first learned about the rumors that Gadhafi was dead from@DRUNKHULK, is that a reflection on me? Or a reflection on society?

VultureAM Matthew Malone
I learned of the possibility of gadaffi’s death from @DRUNKHULKbefore any news outlet. There is something wrong with the internet

BrianGoodrich1 Brian Goodrich
Gaddafi is captured and possibly dead and @DRUNKHULK is the only one in my twitter feed to mention it thus far…what a world!

feemcbee Fee McBee
I love that I found out Gaddafi is dead from @DRUNKHULK

k_stocks Kevin
How the hell did I learn about Gaddafi’s death via @drunkhulk

Radioeatsbrain Kimber Price
Wait, did I just learn about big news via @DRUNKHULK ?

enosone A. Lima
Just so you know, I learned about Gaddafi’s death/capture from@drunkhulk and not #CNN or #BBC. Carry on.

seajo Chelsea
Years from now, I’m going to have to remember that I heard about Qaddafi’s death not from a credible news source but from@DRUNKHULK.

clever_cupcakes Clever Cupcakes
Nothing like getting world news from Twitter. The first I heard of #Gadhafi‘s death was from @DRUNKHULK.

VGFreak1225 Peter Schaper
The Twitter account that broke the news to me about Gadhafi was@DRUNKHULK. I don’t know if that says more about me or you guys.

mickathud Elaine K.
@ShakespeareGeek - I learned this from @DRUNKHULK. Hurray, Twitter-age!

mgcuthbert Michael Cuthbert
I just found out about Gadaffi’s death from @DRUNKHULK on twitter. Talk about alternate news source.

katekiefer Kate Kiefer
well, i found out about gaddafi from @drunkhulk.

helliemaes Helliemae’s Caramels
I just learned the #Gaddafi news from @DRUNKHULK. Ok @twitter, you’ve hit a new role in my world.

AdmTaptap Admiral Taptap
@DRUNKHULK I learned of his death from you. How cool/sad is that?

DauneRobinson Daune
RT @breakingnews: US official: Libyan leaders and @drunkhulkhave informed US that Moammar Gadhafi is dead – AP

xfloormattx Matt
@NotAlwaysNews @DRUNKHULK reported he was dead before most were confirming he was captured (on my feed).

hasBen Benjamin Brinkman
despite following multiple news sources, the first mention of Gaddafi in my Twitter feed this morning came from @DRUNKHULK

ohheyadanielle Danielle
I learned about #Gaddafi‘s death via @DRUNKHULK. Drunk Hulk: My newest source for world news! Thank’s Drunk Hulk!

acecuts Ace Cutshaw
I’m feeling very conflicted about the fact that I learned about Gaddafi’s death from @DRUNKHULK

The_Rhonda The Rhonda
I try to stay informed, yet I still receive first word of some important current events from @DRUNKHULK. Not sure if that’s sad or awesome.

roboxstudios David Pietrandrea
I find it wonderfully amusing that I learned Qaddafi had died from@DRUNKHULK

Kraemer Mark W Kraemer
This is the internet. I first heard about Qaddafi’s death from@DRUNKHULK

EvilChick Evil Chick
Will never forget I found out about Gaddafi’s dead from@DRUNKHULK

dasKroop matt krupa
Sign of the 21st century: I first heard news that Gaddafi was killed from @DrunkHulk

benp78 benp78
Raise your hand if you first heard about Gadaffi being killed this morning from @DRUNKHULK. What a surreal world we’re living in.

Bikeflu Josh
I will always remember October 20, 2011 as the day that Gaddafi was killed and I found out about it via @DRUNKHULK

AnitaN AnitaN
I found out Gadhafi was dead from @DRUNKHULK. I don’t know if this is social media at it’s best, or just personal failure.

Download the PDF copy of “Geneva Street” right here.

As far as I know, the house on Geneva Street is still there. Whether it still stands or not is irrelevant, because it still exists in my dreams, looking down at me as I approach with its dark windows, its archway frowning, its foundation absorbing my shadow.

My father used to live in it when he was a child. My aunt – my father’s sister – lived in the house when I was young. There are a lot of memories with the house. My memory blurs with my father’s. He’ll tell a story about something he did at the house when he was a child and I’ll think, that was me, wasn’t it? It was me who left pennies on the railroad that ran behind the house. It was me who rode the bicycle down the hill towards the railroad and hurt myself. It was me who woke when a train passed at midnight and wondered if a drifter would crawl through my open window.

The building next to the house is where the first carousels were built. Sometimes, when I played in the backyard, I could hear the music that the horses marched to in circles. The music made the winter air ambiguous and the summer air dreamlike. There was a little rose garden behind the house where I’m convinced I saw my first fairy, a girl with large orange Monarch wings, and she was collecting fallen rose petals to put in her book.

There was a lot of magic at the house on Geneva Street. It was something I could easily identify with. My hearing impairment allowed me to see life at a distance and magic sort of bloomed in the void in between. I was young enough to know that magic was good, but not old enough to understand there was such a thing as the bad kind of magic. I just knew that the house was a good house with a few bad corners. The corners were fuzzy and vague and intangible, and if you weren’t paying attention, you could get lost in them.

I remember my aunt cooking in the kitchen and telling me about a ghost that she once saw there. It was wandering in the living room at the front of the house. I avoided the living room for a while after that, but eventually my curiosity got the better of me. I really wanted to see a ghost. I thought of ghosts as imaginary friends that people could see. I wanted to talk to one. Maybe it would want to play with me.

There was one place in the house I didn’t like. When you went downstairs into the basement, there was a parlor if you turned left. It used to be a kitchen when my father was little, but my aunt had turned it into a salon. There was a large barber chair that would rise if you pushed down on the handle. Before the parlor, to the left of the doorway, between the stairway and the parlor wall, was a little closet. The doorway to the closet wasn’t exactly even, as if it were carved out, and instead of a door, there was a red curtain. The closet was tiny and there was usually only a broom and a mop in it. It looked like a room that shouldn’t be there, like a weed pushing its way out of a crack in the asphalt.

The first time I noticed the closet, I was exiting the parlor to go upstairs. My eyes caught something red and when I turned, I saw the curtain shifting suddenly, as if someone or something had closed it quickly. I stood there a minute just staring at that curtain. It looked like the kind of curtain you saw at a movie theater or a stage play. I thought to open the curtain but I ran upstairs instead.

My first dream with the closet started like the last memory, only when I looked at the curtain, there was a mime with his head sticking out of the curtain. His face was a perfect white and his eyes were huge and yellow. I could only see his right hand, also white, which held the curtain. He brought a long pale finger to his black lips, signaling me to be quiet. Then he brought the same finger forward and beckoned me to come. The finger moved back and forth mechanically, as if he were scratching the chin of some invisible creature.

Despite the impossibility of the situation, I made my way towards the curtain. The crime of any dream is its ability to make you do the things you know you shouldn’t do. With every step I made toward the curtain, his smile grew more and more, his lips stretching to impossible lengths, wrinkles folding over one another upon his cheeks. And when I made it to the curtain, I looked up at the mime. He was taller than I thought. He opened the curtain. The small closet was not there, instead there was only darkness. This didn’t bother me though. Instead, what began as a tickle in my brain and expanded into panic was my inability to see the mime’s body. I took a step back. The mime’s smile faltered, an involuntary gesture that made his face turn ghastly. His eyes turned to slits and darkened. His hand reaching out for me was the last thing I saw before waking.

I took the dream personally in the way that only children can. I never trusted the closet after that. Though I kept refusing to acknowledge it, I still felt myself drawn to it, like my tongue gravitates to a loose tooth. Whenever I passed it, my eyes would be fixed on the curtain. And while I was curious enough to approach the closet, there wasn’t enough courage in the world for me to open the curtain.

The closet was the first thing I can clearly remember hating.

I’m thousands of miles away from Geneva Street today, a continent and an ocean separates me from it, and yet, I’m only a step away from its shadow when I’m sleeping. In my all-too-frequent dreams, I’m wandering in the house on Geneva Street. Ghosts are floating all around me. The ghosts are harmless. We laugh together sometimes. I walk into the kitchen. I look to the door which leads to the basement. The ghosts tell me not to, but I never listen. I open the door and descend the small set of steps. If I go straight, I can walk out a door to the backyard where there’s sunshine and horses dancing in circles to music and fairies flirting with roses. I turn left instead, to the basement, and of course, the closet. Once I’m there, I pull back the curtain, because in my dreams curiosity is the same as courage. The closet is now replaced by another set of stairs leading downward into darkness. I follow the steps. It gets darker and darker.

The darkness gets thicker the farther I go. The absence of light becomes suffocating. The stairway feels endless. The air is hot. Eventually, there’s a light far below. The presence of light is the invitation for the noise to begin; scratching sounds usually followed by shrieks. I keep moving even though I know what’s going to happen next. When I reach the light, the source of the sounds will be revealed. I’ve seen this creature hundreds of times by now, and it hasn’t gotten any easier with time. Once I’m standing in front of it, the creature moves with the stealthy precision of an eel. The creature grins and opens its mouth as it moves closer. I can hear its breathing and when its blinks, the sound of its eyelids sliding across its yellow eyes suggest something juicy.

There are slight variations to this scene. Sometimes the creature isn’t in the light; instead it descends the stairs behind me. Sometimes, the creature isn’t there at all. In its place is a cardboard box of all the things I’ve lost in my life. Socks. Toys. Books. Odds and ends. I go through the box carefully. Each item I discover brings me closer and closer to the present. Finally, when the box is empty and all of my things sit on the floor, the creature is standing next to me – only he is in the shape of a man. He is the mime, but without his makeup. His skin is black as diesel. His eyes are still yellow above that same horrible grin. He has a long tail that taps the walls behind him. He picks up a watch or a tie or a lost memory that smells of alcohol. He sniffs it heavily, his yellow eyes rolling up in his head, before turning away and gesturing me to follow.

There’s this room in the distance. An open doorway with a light inside that flickers and moves back and forth, casting shadows that twitch and stretch all around me. There is someone in there. I can hear crying. Sometimes I don’t move, sometimes I take a few steps forward. If I get close enough to the room, the mime will stop and look at me with an expression bordering on pity, his grin nowhere to be found. Sometimes I think that if I enter the room, the dreams will finally end, and other times I think that if I enter the room, I’ll discover another set of stairs descending into more darkness.
There were birthday parties at the house on Geneva Street, slumber parties, games of Hide and Seek that went on forever, adventures at the railroad track, cloud gazing…but all these memories of sunshine and laughter are overshadowed by that closet in the basement and the creature that lives inside of it. My mind has transformed these beautiful memories into some kind of dark mythology.

Some nights when I wake up, I can’t tell where I am or when it is. I feel like I’ve been here before for something that hasn’t happened yet. If I pull it apart and decipher the details, it fades away in its own absurdity. Other nights, in that brief clarity between wake and sleep, it feels like it’s not a mystery at all; I just need to avoid the basement and walk outside into the sunlight instead. Perhaps the fairy will be waiting for me. Maybe she and I will have a laugh about all of this and ride the carousel until the dizziness and laughter wakes me up.

There was this woman from a few years back. I met her at this party. To be honest, I wasn’t sure how I got there. The house was massive. The people were all nice, but strangers. At one point, I went to find a bathroom. Each door I opened revealed a bedroom. Eventually, I came across a reading room. She was all alone, standing there like she was waiting for me, with an open book in her hand. She said she needed to get away from all those people, and before we knew it, we had spent the whole evening talking to one another. When we finally left the house, we learned that the party had ended hours before.

Months later, I ended up telling her about the dreams. I didn’t have a choice. It was dark and I could feel her next to me in bed. Her hand was stroking my face. My heart was still beating too fast. My throat still aching from the scream I carried with me when I woke. When I was done telling her about Geneva Street, I asked her what she thought it meant.

She didn’t say a word.

I wanted to tell her that I was afraid, that I was tired of being afraid of memories. I also wanted to tell her that I loved her even though I knew it wouldn’t be enough for us, that we were over before we even started. I had this brief image of one day opening the box and seeing her in there, and my eyes were overwhelmed with tears. I wanted to tell her so many things, but the water in my eyes made me feel stupid and weak, and the way she pushed closer and held me so tightly, like she was keeping me from falling, somehow had me feeling lonelier than I’ve ever felt. I thought to myself, I am here, but I am not here.

It was quiet for a few minutes. Her fingers traced the path of one of my tears to its end. I could feel her mouth trying to say something, but instead she let out a heavy sigh. She kissed my forehead again and again. This was when I realized she was crying too. I felt her feet touching mine, only it felt more like a hand.

Finally, she said, “Your life would’ve been so much simpler if you hadn’t found me in that room.”

- “Geneva Street” is a story from the book Empty Rooms Lonely Countries by Christian A. Dumais.

Like the story? Buy the book.

Want to hear a previous draft of “Geneva Street”?

Download the PDF copy of this story right here.

The DJ Mixxy Magic Mix [DMMM] is 34:28 minutes in length and contains 10 songs. Since DJ Mixxy Magic [John Fuego, 27] has been labeled a terrorist, we consider the DMMM a Weapon of Mass Destruction – specifically, an aural bomb. For the layman, consider the songs on the mix as a series of basic chemicals available anywhere, safe for home use, but becomes a weapon when put together either in the correct order or in specific amounts. The DMMM is the first and only aural bomb in existence that we know of, which is why it is paramount that we understand and hopefully replicate it.

Since this is now a Homeland Security matter, this report – neither comprehensive nor thorough – is meant to update the new departments on the current situation as quickly as possible. For more specific details, please consult the revised Aural Weaponry (ReMix Edition) report. Speaking frankly, these terrorists have ruined aviation because of 9/11, and pie-eating contests because of 3/14. We’ll be damned if they ruin our music too.

The events as we know them: DJ Mixxy Magic started his weekly Friday shift at 21:00 at [name redacted], in Tampa, Florida, on June 21, 2013. Witnesses report that though he was in good spirits, he was “distracted” and “smoking more than usual”. His blood alcohol level was 0.9. There were no traces of drug use in his system.

For the first four hours of his shift, DJ Mixxy Magic’s work was “normal” and “satisfactory,” and “nothing out of the ordinary [happened].” However, at 1:03, witnesses observed DJ Mixxy Magic accept a call on his cell phone (phone records reveal the unlisted call was 5:32 minutes in length). No one heard what was spoken, but he was clearly upset with the caller, gesticulating wildly and – according to two witnesses – possibly crying. At 1:09, DJ Mixxy Magic ordered a beer and a shot of tequila. A waitress brought him the drink at 1:14, and he was observed consuming both drinks quickly. The mix reportedly began at 1:17 with Air Supply’s [title redacted].

What follows are some general effects and observations of the mix as documented by security cameras (no sound) and witnesses.

TRACK 1:   The song is said to have elicited cheers from those on the dance floor. “We thought, you know, he was being ironic,” said one witness. There was no noticeable decrease in the number of dancers, however. “We just kept dancing. You know, ironically.”

TRACK 2:  Those who were dancing and/or attentive to the music began sobbing uncontrollably at the :34 mark. Some continued to dance, but the numbers decreased significantly.

TRACK 3:    Simply put: every couple in the room broke up. One married couple of four years amicably agreed to divorce. Those not present with their partner either made a phone call or sent a message at this time. One acquired SMS reads: I’m going to stay. I’m never coming home. You’re going to miss me in the days to come.

TRACK 4:   Drink orders increased to an unmanageable level. Some patrons ordered beers, chugged them immediately, and requested more. Tips increased by 600%. “I made more during that song than I do most weeks. Thanks, Leonard Cohen.”

TRACK 5:    Everyone was on the dance floor. Even the club staff danced (“I can’t explain it…it was like I didn’t have a choice”). Anderson, the doorman (who wore earplugs), said, “If I wasn’t there, anyone could’ve walked in and helped themselves to whatever they wanted. Money and all. I should’ve known something was wrong right then. I mean, this is Color Me Badd we’re talking about.”

TRACK 6:   Track unknown. The dancers suddenly stopped (not in unison, “but close”) and stood still as if in a deep trance, all staring at DJ Mixxy Magic’s booth. “It was like they were waiting for further orders,” said one waiter. All witnesses claim to have never heard the song before. No one agrees on the lyrics.

TRACK 7:  Everyone left the dance floor. Initially, they appeared dazed, as if waking up. Once the confusion wore off, the intimacy started. As reported, everyone suddenly started groping, kissing and fondling those nearest them. “From a dance party to an orgy in less than a song,” Anderson said. “It was disgusting. Like filthy animals!”

TRACK 8:    By this point, everyone was engaged in sexual intercourse. Partners appeared to be random and traded easily. Sexuality, race and age did not appear to be a factor.

TRACK 9: Track unknown. The biting started instantly. The obtained footage doesn’t show anyone expressing any signs of pain; the opposite in fact, which is why it’s so alarming when the blood appears. The fire that consumed the club can be seen in the footage during this time. The cause of the fire is still undetermined.

TRACK 10: 20% of the club’s patrons are dead before this track starts and another 25% are in critical condition. Anderson, naked and covered in bite marks, breaks into the DJ’s booth and turns off the music. When the music stops, people begin panicking either because of what they did or the fire. DJ Mixxy Magic is found dead of a self-inflicted gunshot to the head.

Currently, 8 of the 10 songs have been identified. It is our understanding that other factors unrelated to song order should also be addressed, such as the choice of segues, temperature, club lighting, etc. For instance, some witnesses claim that track 3 skipped twice and the volume increased significantly during track 5. The tests so far with chimpanzees have proven to be unsuccessful, though it has been determined that they are more sexually active when inebriated. Track 2 does make them cry, but we can’t determine if it’s just because it’s Cher. Also, human subjects might be better, as chimpanzees do not grasp irony.

We’ll continue to update everyone with our progress on a need-to-know basis as determined by the newly appointed Homeland Security DJ (speaking of which: Congratulations, Levi!).

Today is the second birthday of Twitter’s Drunk Hulk. It was on this day two years ago when I finished writing a short story at Starbucks and on a whim checked to see if “drunkhulk” was available on Twitter. As I’ve explained in interviews before, my goal was to treat Drunk Hulk as the ginger between the sushi that’s my real writing; a light distraction from my heavier work.  I had no idea that it would take on a life of its own and largely define my work for the next couple of years.

If you’re interested in the details regarding Drunk Hulk’s origin,  you can read what I wrote last year when the feed turned one.

The Year in Review. This has been a nice year, certainly less hectic than the first year. One of the year’s highlights was making Time’s 140 Best Twitter Feeds and then making #21 in the reader poll (see left), beating out tweeters like Patton Oswald (what? really?) and Sarah Palin (yes!). That was enormously gratifying.

Other highlights include seeing more amazing Drunk Hulk cartoons by Beck, Mike Dawson drawing Drunk Hulk, being contacted by Comedy Central for the second time regarding a project (which fell through, but still, awesome!), talking about Drunk Hulk before a live audience, getting a shout out from Anthony Bourdain, Drunk Hulk making the now-defunct Peanutweeter, the Death Star PR interview, the UGO interview, Drunk Hulk telling Emma Stone his feelings (thanks, Jim Carrey!), and a ton more stuff I know I’m forgetting at the moment.

My Biggest Challenge was – and continues to be – getting readers to crossover from Drunk Hulk to my other work. Because I’m all over the map when it comes to my writing, it’s hard to find that happy medium. I can’t say, “Hey, if you like Drunk Hulk, maybe you’ll like this intensely disturbing horror story I wrote.” Or “If Drunk Hulk makes you laugh, try out this short story about Americans and violence.” Or, “If you like alcohol and humor, you’ll love my book Empty Rooms Lonely Countries when it’s  not busy trying to make you cry.” You get the idea. It doesn’t work that way, sadly.

I created False Starts to give the people the funny, which has brought a crazy amount of traffic here (thanks to Neil Gaiman for helping me with that), but outside of the website, it’s a concept that simply doesn’t work. At least, that’s what agents and publishers have politely told me.

I’m currently working on a novel, a fast-paced horror thriller that’s as funny as it is dark, but again, it’ll probably be a hard sell when most readers only know me as Drunk Hulk. I mean, it’s the road trip, haunted house, zombie apocalypse, detective love story you’ve been waiting your whole life to read. Why wouldn’t you want to read that? My hope is to one day find a literary agent who can help me navigate and tell me what I need to do. Any takers? Seriously, I’m all ears.

Advice. I’ve received a lot of emails in the last year from people wanting advice on how to make a successful Twitter account, as if there was some secret to it. As far as I’m concerned, a lot of people have done it better and far more successfully than I have, and continue to do so. I’m still surprised to see the number of Drunk Hulk’s followers growing every day, still amazed to see that people are still discovering the feed. I thought that the joke would’ve gotten old by now, but people continue to respond positively to the big lug.

If you do want advice on how to do something like Drunk Hulk, the best I can offer you is the following: Did you think the idea through before you started? Does the concept have a good enough shelf life? Will you be able to have material that will last more than a week? A month? A year? Are you prepared to do the work? I ask these questions because I’ve noticed a lot of feeds start out with strong jokes but then they realize that there’s no where else to go. Or they post two tweets and give up because they didn’t get the response they were aiming for.

The thing to remember is that Drunk Hulk wasn’t an overnight sensation. It might look that way if you arrive to the BBQ late, sure, but Drunk Hulk took over a month to get 1,000 followers. A year to get 50,000. And almost two years to break 100,000. I’ve worked my ass off to get those numbers, and I feel like I’ve earned every one of them. I don’t take the numbers lightly either, as I’m completely aware that they could disappear at any moment. It’s an ongoing process and it requires work. If you’re not ready to do that, then there’s a good chance your feed isn’t going to go anywhere.

The lost Beck cartoon. Above is a Beck cartoon that I’m pretty sure never officially made its way online. It’s been the background for Drunk Hulk’s Twitter page and a lot of people have contacted me asking where they can see it. Well, here it is.

Answers to Commonly Asked Questions.

• Though Twitter only allows 140 characters, I never use more than 125.
• A Drunk Hulk book proposal was made and shopped around, and though several major publishers expressed interest, their legal teamscommon sense won the day.
• No, I’ve never been contacted by Marvel regarding Drunk Hulk.
• There is only one Drunk Hulk joke I made that will never see the light of day (it was so crass I couldn’t believe I wrote it).
• I haven’t made a single cent from Drunk Hulk.
• While I’m confident your website is amazing and your project is the Next Big Thing, I probably won’t post a link to it as Drunk Hulk.
• Drunk Hulk only follows one person: @PuffChrissy
• Yes, I really do live in Poland.
• 42.
• Here is the complete list of Drunk Hulk Interviews. And sure, he’s available for more.
• Drunk Hulk is no longer available Bar Mitzvahs. I apologize for the inconvenience.

Drunk Hulk for Halloween? I’ve gotten a couple of emails from people telling me that they’re going to be Drunk Hulk for Halloween. If you are, please consider sending me your pictures and, if you’ll let me, I’ll post them here.

Thanks. As always, I want to thank all of you for supporting Drunk Hulk. I really do appreciate all the feedback you’ve given me. Without your participation, I wouldn’t have this ridiculous platform to write and make jokes.

Thank you for reading.