Fred Reed has been published in Playboy, Soldier of Fortune, The Wall Street Journal, The Washington Post, Harper’s, National
Review, Signal, Air&Space, and has worked on the staff for several of these and other publications.
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The Great Possum-Squashing and Beer Storm of 1962:
the Remains of My Country
by Fred Reed
Gelding, by Lily: The sorrowful rise of neuter man
Women became enraged that men regarded them as sex objects. Men were puzzled. They didn’t know what else to regard as sex objects.
Would you rather cuddle one, or step on it?
Sex and Radioactive Cholera
In the morning I get up, throw a few coffee cups against the wall in reflexive rage before killing the neighbors dog, and then assault a lady on the subway. The male riders cheer me on: patriarchal bonding. Then we stand around and compare genitals until I get off. Hey, it’s guy stuff.
Remember that after the divorce, she is going to hate you. How much do you think she’s going to want you around, after she has re-daddied your children?
A Plague of Grief Therapy
Grief Therapy? Hey, this is pretty scary. The country may be riddled with grief therapists. Like grubs in a rotting tree.
yet more Fred:
What is the place of internet columns in the scheme of things? Do they amount to anything beyond self-indulgence?
A billion-dollar company has no difficulty in buying out a character-filled, self-reliant farmer who makes less than forty thousand dollars a year. Soon the anonymity of numbers sets in and, anyway, there’s no community any longer.
A partisan view of Mexico. Ajijic is like every good Mexican town–narrow streets stoned not paved, with a central plaza loaded with plants and benches and a monster gazebo for bands.
Building a system to spy on Americans, the government assures us that it won’t use it to spy on Americans, Legalizing unlimited surveillance of everybody is not trivial.
The trouble with terrorism is that it produces too many psychotherapists. This nonsense is now the normal American response to misfortune.
Expatriots don’t hate America. They just wonder where it went. Anyway, ex-pats these days form a sort of global community.
In American environmentalism, it’s the capitalists who act like communists. Zealots want enemies, allies, and simple answers.
You don’t need a culture of a virus to release it into the world. In principle, all you need is the DNA sequence and some lab equipment.
A report from the far side of Mars
Yes, Mommy. A well-regulated state.
Mourning as a performing art. Migraine television.
Random thoughts on expatriation. Pulling the plug.
Remedial condescension. Are we sure this is what we want?
A subliminal war. The average possum could do it better.
Going faster and faster. The acceleration of decline.
Doing the DC Bob. You’da thought moscow was too big to move.
Florida, Hillary, and airports. Maybe them terrorists just got their towels wrapped too tight.
Our legal circus. Clowns, dancing bears, and attorneys.
Blowing up at Dulles. Grenading We Will Go, Grenading We Will Go, Hi Ho….
Space aliens at Roswell. Hant did it.
Must we scorn cannibalism? Toward overcoming euro-centric western prejudices.
Warring against ourselves. En route to banning yo-yos.
Warring against terrorism. What if this is more serious than it looks?
Placing women in physically demanding jobs in the military, as for example combat, is stupid and unworkable. Here are the Army’s test results.
Hahvud gets sillier. Queer studies comes to Romper Room.
Airline security. We’re not serious. Take a train.
Posing in the pluke bucket. Ba-a-ad Mo-sheen. Worse maintenance.
Sensitivity and Sergeant Rock. Whither the military?
Evolutionary theology. Neither heresy nor theresy. OK, I’m sorry…
But the constant assault on little boys is, I think, an extension of The Chip, the snappish, distempered animosity toward all things male.
Democracy. Sort of. Kinda. Maybe, anyway.