AdPock

When Captain Jack the Ajax first came to these shores, he did so with the intention of being a full-on superhero in the Silver Surfer ilk. But he soon learned that Silver Surfer spent more time actually doing shit than surfing, which Jack found dubiously unappealing. So now his superpower is just being one of the best damn surfers on the high seas. And for Captain Jack the Ajax, that is totally enough.

Billy bolts awake with a frown. Nothing like a worry alarm clock. He doesn’t mean to feel uneasy. But feelings have a way. Physically speaking, waking is just hard. Particularly for one who dreams so deeply. Fido, on the other hand, chomps the marrow at the bit, runs circles around the dining room table, leash in mouth. Against such waking instincts, Billy rises. He puts on his pants. First one leg, then the next. Like many a great man, though not many a great Scott! He slips on his shoes. Grabs the leash and poop bags. After some effort to slow down Fido’s circuitous sprint, Billy finally affixes his leash. Which means it’s go time. Fido calmly takes his place next to his master, dutiful as a soldier. They give each other that “go time” look, and hit the street in search of coffee. Not two doors down, they spy The Scowler. You’d think two people and two dogs who see each other every day could at least do something to acknowledge as much. But that stopped long ago; sh...

Sure, Dean caught fire when he downed that flaming shot, but at least he wasn't a pansy.

Fourteen minutes into his epic percussion solo, Al realized he had to finish putting away the dishes and stop smoking weed.

When Charlie Barker was but a wee pup, his master used to tell him no.  But Charlie Barker's such a creative spirit, the universe forces him to blow.

Backed again, To where I am, Still fighting the good fight. What choice is there? As i am always right. A righteous man is all i am. And All i’ll ever be. But a righteous man In an unjust world, Is ever far from free.

David felt good about performing his civic duty, even if he was only voting for the most Jewish-sounding candidates.

Right there and then -- perhaps because it was his birthday and he was now old enough to be President -- Tom decided he would no longer care what anyone else thought of him. From now on, he would just use the goddamned kiddie urinal instead of standing on his tiptoes, trying to look like an actual man.

Todd knew it was wrong to let Binky sit on his lap at a time like this. But he also recognized that Binky was the only other creature in the world he could share such a moment with. 

Before going on his afternoon walk, Tim spent the better part of five minutes trying to remember if he'd gotten high yet. He finally decided it was better to be safe than sorry.

"I'm not sure if there's much difference between worrying and praying." " Praying is positive. Worry isn’t." "It can be." "Nope." "What do you know?" "That there’s more." "Must be nice." "It is." "Would you mind praying for me to stop worrying?" 

I was the ocean Full and wet. I rose and fell. I sustained life, Took it away. Made weather rollick, Honeymooners undress, Full and wet. I'm dry now Arid and putrid, A bone picked clean. But my eyes still close and open, Squeeze tears from tired lids To wet my waking world once more.

Us versus them, the universal dialectic. You and me, the impartial magnetic. Turn down the fun. Hedonism can’t bring Socialism. Don’t trust lust. But in the end, we must. In the end... If there's really such a thing. If the earth stops spinning, The universe won't. What else would we want to be? But forever...

That was the moment AdPock knew it was over .

AdPock was fairly certain that both he and his wife could live without wine. But he was 100% positive they couldn't live together without it.

What if love doesn’t win? If penance has nothing to do with sin? If we’re destined to go backwards, within? Walls we build up keep us down. Danger, fear, hatred, rage, What weight do they add to this tremulous age? Should I go back to tuning it out? It used to work, I swear it did, Could go on with my life, Assuming mine were all safely hid. Now we're overexposed Even in all this darkness. How can I begin to shed light? When all I am is noise? Or worse yet, so far gone, To believe my words more important than yours. Does love make less noise than hate? Or more?

This is "St. Francis with Boobies". It's a blown-out photo of a painting I'm nearly finished with, which I'm giving to my pops on the occasion of his 75th, which has already passed. I'm therefore late. Which is better than forgotten completely, as he knows all too well. Aside from being paternal, in the patron saint sense, St Francis also has another relationship to my father. He used to collect St. Francis statues carved by a New Mexican artist named Ben Ortega . It may be odd for a Jewish guy to be collecting carvings of the Patron Saint of animals and Italians (I believe in that order) but Ortega carved beautiful ones, which my mom sold at the Southwestern art gallery she owned for my 10 most formative years. (Which is why I was raised by HBO .) Many a statue ended up in my parent's collection, seeing as Dad was Mom's best customer. I guess this painting is my way of thanking Pops (and Ma!) for introducing me to Ortega's art. Not just Be...