Author: Chris Brotzman

As a rich and famous professional golfer, I don’t have it easy like other professional athletes. I actually have to work hard at my sport. I wake up early every day, at the crack of noon, drive to an exclusive private country club, lazily practice at a hobby for a few hours, have a vodka soda or two, and then go home to a meager wagyu steak dinner prepared by my personal chef. Sure, it’s a living, but it’s not glamorous.  Don’t get me wrong, I realize that joining this new LIV Golf tour started by Mohammed Bin Salman, the…

The rain was coming down hard and wet through the gunmetal midday sky. You could see the reflection of street lamps in the deepening puddles. I was sitting at my desk in an office that had my name on a frosted glass door. T-Rex Wolfe, Private Eye.  Today was supposed to be my day off. I’d spent the last two weeks on a case that worked me harder than a hooker works the Vegas Strip. Harder than 100-proof whiskey. Harder than learning how to tie a shoe. It was a case about a bus. More specifically, about the wheels on…

I wake up, get dressed, and walk out my front door like I do everyday. But today, the sky is glowing orange and ash rains down everywhere. My front yard looks like a smoldering desert landscape. I rub my eyes to see if that’s what I think it is – yep. In the middle of my front yard is Johnny Depp, playing an electric guitar. The chords emanating from the guitar sound like crows being boiled in acid. I ask myself: Is this the apocalypse, or am I just trapped in a fragrance commercial? I walk down my front steps…

I don’t want a lot for Christmas. Christmas. The light of my Douglas fir. The fire in my chestnut-roasting hearth. Christmas. Christ. Mas. The mouth says it with such subdued glee that one can barely recognize the giddiness stirring within the loins of its accepted perversion. Presents are coming. Santa has made his list; he checked it not once, but twice. And the only question for you, reader, is this: have I, Humbert Humbert, been too naughty? There is just one thing I need. The sweet breath of my young babe on the nape of my elderly, yearning neck. I…

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Simone Biles is a national goddam embarrassment. At first, I wanted to feel empathy for her. To try to understand the stress and exhaustion she must feel, spending basically her entire life performing for perfectionists. But then I realized that empathy is for pussies. So instead, I thought: This young woman is just straight-up lazy and unpatriotic and a “selfish sociopath.” She should be ashamed of herself to let me down like this. I mean, yeah, I’m tough as nails and love guns and have a sweet tattoo of an AR-15. But I’m also extremely emotionally invested in the U.S.…

Hello, constituent. I’m Local-Completely-Normal-Not-Weird-At-All-Housewife. Definitely not a robot. So much of human. Look at hair. Even teeth. Hands, too. And I’ve got lips. Very not a robot. Look at me blink! So natural! I’m here to tell you I’m running for Congress, because of reasons. Reasons you ask? So many of reasons. Let me tell you with my very human mouth of the reasons.Educations. Very educations. So much of all the things about educations. Can I get a whoop-whoop for all of the educations? Uh oh. Fear tactic time. POLICE is a word to say loudly while making a certain…

I sit at my desk, the sun beaming in  Across the pasture where I walk My dogs in the afternoon and I stumble across a CNN news headline That we’d all been waiting for, for like, Way too long – like, how did this take This long? —- Like, what? —– And after I finish my morning coffee, My mind packs its bags, throws on a coat, and boards A flight to New York City and joins the investigators Rummaging around the house of the former mayor Turned suspect – and I suspect what I’ll find in This house is…

It’s no secret we’ve been extremely divided politically the past four years. We’ve practically been at each other’s throats. Sure, your side stormed the Capitol and was literally at people’s throats, but that’s just a distant memory now. At this point, all I see, hear, feel, and know to be real is endless amounts of godforsaken snow. With below freezing temperatures gripping us from Houston to the Canadian border, it’s way beyond politics. I’ll ignore the fact that you want to punish poor people simply for being poor, and hopefully you won’t get offended by my belief that a living…

After playing “Wellerman” on repeat for the last three weeks, here are some Irish sea shanties my dog has written based on that tune, which must be stuck in his head, too. Soon may the postal man come, So I can bark bark BARK at him. Hey who the hell’s at the door? Oh I see him every day. Soon may we go on a walk ‘Cause I’ve been holding it all night long. I’m licking your face so you wake up, Never mind I already pee’d.  Soon may the kibble scoop come To bring my nom nom nom nom…