Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23 Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23

A Note from the Wet Bandits, by Gina Myers

I’ve been sick

for two weeks

but America

has been sick

its whole life.

Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23 Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23

The Gift of the (Da)magi(ng), by Alissa Nutting

Della and Jimmy fought all the time. People often told them, “You fight like a married couple!” This joke was usually told by a mutual friend to diffuse tension, as Della and Jimmy’s fights public fights were personal and awkward.

Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23 Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23

Hermey in New York, by Ravi Mangla

For Hermey, those snowy, lamp-lit evenings had lost their luster. Once, as a younger man, he would frequent the queen bars in the Village: bottomless glasses of bourbon and crushed up Klonopins. But he was six years sober and Karim could sense when he had been in the proximity of liquor.

Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23 Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23

Sometimes, a Rifle Really is Just a Rifle, by Erin Fitzgerald

The snowy December recess at Warren G. Harding Elementary School was only the beginning.

Flick’s mother had re-bandaged his tongue after dinner without comment. But when he’d gone into the parlor to say good night later, she’d thwacked him across the head. “Did you have to let those boys get to you? Mr. Schwartz is a garbage man, for Christ’s sake!”

Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23 Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23

Good Grief: An Oral History of the Northfield Christmas Play Special, Brought to you by Coca Cola, 1965; by Dave Housley

Charles Brown: I think it was called like the “Coca Cola Northfield Christmas Special” or something like that? And then the next year -- after, you know, all the publicity -- they switched to “Charlie Brown Christmas.” Which, I mean, obviously that’s why I go by Charles now. I didn’t exactly come off super awesome, am I right?

Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23 Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23

The Snowman in Love, by Tom McAllister

Thirty years after the incident in the greenhouse, Karen would relate it to her second husband as a turning point in her life—an ostensible adventure that would become the focus of countless therapy sessions, that would lead to investigations and the incarceration of a fumbling magician

Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23 Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23

The Ghosts of Christmas Future: Holidays 2014

From 2014: Barrelhouse revisits some holiday classics

Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23 Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23

Self-Portrait in a 19-inch Magnavox, by Randoph Pfaff

Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23 Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23

Nature Boy, C’est Moi, by Matthew Dufus

At puberty I changed my allegiance

from Hulk Hogan to Ric Flair,

that kiss-stealing, jet-flying

limousine-riding son-of-a-gun.

Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23 Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23

Jimmy Snuka Loves the World, by Daniel Romo

I stood on the edge of my bed—ready to leap,

sign language I love you inches from the ceiling

declaring that my descent was more than simply

mimicking my favorite wrestler’s finishing move.

More than a haphazard crashing down onto my

younger brother.

Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23 Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23

Demolition, by Ryan Murphy

It took me beating my dad at ping-pong to realize that Demolition were just a couple of middle-aged fat guys in S&M gear.

Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23 Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23

May 13, 2014, the Order of Elimination: Lessons Learned from the 1988 WWF Royal Rumble Match, by Todd Kaneko

20. ‘The Natural’ Butch Reed

We have come to watch the Royal Rumble, the ultimate battle royal, and you are a natural warrior. We have come to see twenty men take a beating and your body is chiseled from dark marble, your fists swinging like wrecking balls.

Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23 Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23

The Kid Before the Heartbreak, by Amy Rossi

I’m only going to let you down.

He said this before he even had a second drink. I was walking toward the jukebox, and I didn’t even realize he was talking to me. But when I turned back toward the sound of his voice – deep, with a Texan edge – he was looking right at me.

Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23 Rebecca Barnard 1/12/23

Meeting Moolah, by Jeannine Mjoseth

After 12 hours of fast food and freeways, I reached the outskirts of Columbia, South Carolina. I pulled over to the side of the road and checked my map. This couldn't be right. No way a professional lady wrestler's school would be stuck in a little suburban neighborhood like this. But there it was, amidst the single-story ranchers, the block-long Moolah Drive.