by Michael McFee

Little paper cuds we made
by ripping the corners or edges
from homework and class notes
then ruminating them into balls
we’d flick from our fingertips
or catapult with pencils
or (sometimes after lunch)
launch through striped straws
like deadly projectiles
toward the necks of enemies
and any other target where they’d
stick with the tiniest splat,
I hope you’re still there,
stuck to unreachable ceilings
like the beginnings of nests
by generations of wasps
too ignorant to finish them
or under desktops with blunt
stalactites of chewing gum,
little white words we learned
to shape and hold in our mouths
while waiting to let them fly,
our most tenacious utterance.

A kid who was a real jerk to me two years ago is sitting behind me.

His clothes don’t match and his pink denim shorts are pulled down to the point where I can see his underwear.

if u spit that spitwad crap into my hair your fashion sense will be permanently damaged i mean what

Instead of being productive at work, I’m watching one of the girls shoot spitballs around the room..

Amazingly, yes, we’re all in our twenties and still act like we’re five.

I say it just makes work more entertaining!


MY BEAUTIFUL WORK IN PROGRESS! I had another denim jacket that I was working on, but the bleach turned it into what looked like a giant spitwad. This is my first fashion project ever and I’m really excited to how this will end! So this is jacket #2 and I’ve been working on this since 12 pm. First I had to find a new denim jacket at a thrift store. After that I’ve stabbed my finger with an xacto knife, bleach ate my glove (or my nail tore a hole idk), my finger cut reopened, and bubbles spewed from the washer. But there it is! Many hours later and my jacket is coming along nice (I think)!