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Goodnight, Sweet Dirtbags

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I was going to write something light but heartfelt for this little farewell, but then I realized that neither you nor I want to have some safe space type cry-in where we all touch wieners and have feelings.

But, before I get to what everyone really wants, I’ll say a few quick things:

Writing for TFM and living in Austin have been five of the best years of my life. It was college 2.0, but I was being paid to do it. It was glorious. Undergrad included, I basically got to go to college for ten years of my life, and all without the bummer of becoming some nerd pediatric oncologist at the end of it all. That’s not a bad decade. (Except on my body.)

Thank you to everyone who invited me to be a part of TFM, and to those who made my time here so damn fun. I grew exponentially as a writer working here.

To my readers, you’re the best. On a shitty day you were what kept writing fun, because writing for you was fun, and a huge part of why these past five years were amazing. Few things were as much of a blast as running into TFM fans at bars and getting drunk with them. Thanks for all the free shots, drinks, beers you forced me to shotgun, and… uh, other stuff.

To the commenters, who are a subset of the readers, fuck you, you lowlife shit pool of typing proficient AIDS strains. I hope one day to make a picture of the car accident you die in my iPhone background. But also I love you too.

So without further ado, here is the ending of my planned Todd Storm/Frat Romance Novel crossover series.


Storm lumbered up the fraternity house stairs after Darren, who was ten steps ahead but losing ground. The house seemed to shake each time one of Storm’s boots hit a stair.

“FREEZE!” Storm bellowed. “IN THE NAME OF THE LAW!”

“Eat my ass you fucking hobo dick with a mustache,” Darren called back, laughing.

Darren was unfazed by what Storm considered to be a holy command. Storm was enraged by his indifference, which only pushed the officer harder. A ten step gap became eight, became five, became three. Storm reached out his hand, which had a tazer in it, which had a bayonet sloppily taped to it. Storm had a scientific theory that electricity is more debilitating if you’re first able to open a wound on a suspect and then shoot the electricity into said wound. It had certainly proven effective on those monkeys he bought from an Indian zoo that he mistook for an Indian monkey jail, where he thought monkeys that were caught stealing fruit from markets were incarcerated. Storm had been eating monkey meat for weeks.

He’ll be SHOCKED what happens when a man doesn’t obey the law, Storm thought with a clever smile.

He chuckled to himself as he attempted to stab then electrocute the twenty year old he had begun relentlessly pursuing after seeing him drinking from a tall boy of Natty Ice while an innocent but wild-eyed girl gave him what was clearly a hand job (received with mixed emotions) on his fraternity’s front lawn.

Storm swiped, but missed. Darren reached the top of the stairs and rounded a corner.

“My prince!” a girl’s voice called out.

“Ugh, alright,” Darren replied.

Storm hastily rounded the same corner Darren had.

A pain so sharp and so cold overcame Storm that he froze where he stood. It was a total sensory overload, followed by his senses rapidly dulling. His neck was stuck. Something was… in it. Storm looked down to see a tomahawk jutting out of his throat. Down the hall stood Blackout Marty. His eyes wide.

“OH FUCK,” the guy standing next to Marty screamed.

On the wall behind Storm, at the other end of the hall, was a loosely taped picture of Hillary Clinton, surrounded by hatchet marks. Marty and his fraternity brother had recently purchased a new tomahawk, despite the protestation of the entire house’s e-board (though Darren encouraged it). They were having some target practice in the worst place possible, and now Marty had lodged his new tomahawk deep into the throat of Officer Todd Storm.

Storm sunk to the ground. The pool of blood under him grew quickly.

“Hahahahaha holy shit,” Marty laughed, too drunk to realize he just murdered a guy.

I die… I die serving the law. Valhalla awaits me. A great hall of meats and plump, topless women whose nipples are the color of wine. I lived a good, proper life. I gave it to uphold justice. I have no fear now. I die a good death, as a good man, Storm thought.

The monkeys that were still alive in Storm’s basement were, at that moment, fighting each other to the death because they were starving and had no other source of food.

Storm faded into eternity, proud of his life, his only minor regret being that in dying on his final case, The Case of the Underage College Student Who Had A Beer Outside, he would not be able to serve justice one last time.

And so passed Officer Todd Storm, Overzealous College Town Police Officer.

The fraternity president walked into the hallway, puked, and started crying. There were now twenty or so guys at the scene.

“Jesus Christ Marty you killed a guy,” he wailed.

Marty took a swig of Wild Turkey and rolled his eyes.

“Okay dad.”

“Who knows a good lawyer?” The president asked.

Everyone raised their hand.

In Darren’s room Sophie lay waiting for his touch, undressed, nipples upright, and ever-moistening. Oh how she longed for her brave, handsome prince to take her, to join with her so they may dance in her garden.

Darren ran in and closed the door behind him.

“My prince!” she declared.

“Ugh, alright,” Darren replied.

“I want you. Come into my garden,” Sophie begged him as she spread her legs.

“Man… that… that bush is… a lot,” Darren said.

“Does my garden entice you, sir? Do you long for my touch as I do yours? Do you remain trapped in the wonderful prison that is the memory of me offing your jack this afternoon?”


Sophie put her legs into the air and giggled. How sprite-like she thought she was.

“Listen, I think there’s a dead guy in the hall so…I don’t know how into this I can get. So let’s just do it doggy and make it quick,” Darren suggested.

Twas more than enough for Sophie. And so they made love, all through the next eight minutes. And then she left, and Darren never replied to a single snap or text she sent from then on.

Todd Storm was laid to rest in an unmarked grave, and the fraternity suffered no consequences, as Marty told Storm’s Captain that Storm had tripped and fallen on his tazer bayonet. Seeing as this was totally plausible to Storm’s Captain, and because the Captain also did not want to explain to the media why an officer had a bayoneted tazer, let alone a pile of monkey bones in his basement, the Captain let the whole thing be. He wanted to keep his job. He had a family to take care of. His wife, Carol, and his sweet daughter, Sophie.

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