Category: Jack
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By Jack, 7 I walk into the kitchen and Mom is just… standing there. Oblivious. Living her life. Not knowing the things I know. And honestly, it’s time someone helped her. I clear my throat. Loudly. Twice.She doesn’t look up.This is already going poorly. So I step directly into her line of sight and say,…
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It began like any normal day. I was minding my business, holding Puppy Dog Tequila like a shield, when Dad suddenly yelled, “GET ‘EM!” and launched himself at me and Jack like a giant, laughing monster. I screamed. Jack screamed. Dad screamed. It was a chorus of chaos. Dad tackled us onto the carpet. I…
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Last night I asked my mom a thing that made her eyebrows freeze: “Do you think God gets hungry, Mom? Does He like grilled cheese?” I pictured Him up in the clouds, just sitting on His knees, and maybe angels bring Him snacks whenever He says please. Then I asked, “Who made God first? Did…
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We pulled off the highway thinking it was just another pit stop—food, potty, back in the car—but Buc-ee’s had other plans. The doors opened and suddenly we were swallowed into a fluorescent kingdom of Beaver Nuggets, jerky walls, and bathrooms so vast they deserved their own zip code. And right in the middle of it…
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By Jack “Button Masher” Chunkerson, Age: somewhere between pureed carrots and sentience. It was a peaceful evening. Papa had his slippers. The couch was creaky with familiarity. The news blared—something about economic crises, political turmoil, and a raccoon hoarding pizza in a dumpster (that part was actually kind of inspiring). I observed.I calculated.I clutched the…
