Adam Spielman

A writer's blog.

This is Christopher Hitchens, reporting dead from the godless soup of eternity. Approximately ten hours ago – ten hours relative to what remains unclear – the atomic ejaculate of a Tennessee man cracked the Christian firmaments and the myriad zealots of Christ are swarming. The nest has been stirred, comrades and friends, and they’ve taken …

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It was my intention to keep this blog strictly fiction, every inch of content nothing but stories.  But the more I look into this world of blogs the more it seems like kind of a silly and unrealistic goal.  I think it’s alright if this one is mostly stories. First, I want to thank everybody that’s been …

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Jim stood and stretched. The house was gone and the Paradise around them was flat and gray. Above them the mushroom cloud looked like an inverse tornado. He looked at his penis. “How many megatons do you think that was?” Jim said. Cherry lay on her back, nearly comatose. “A lot,” she said. Her breasts …

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In Paradise, the snooze button gave you six minutes.  Jim hit his again.  He’d lost count.  Maybe two hundred hits, maybe a thousand. Outside his window the sun was shining and the birds were chirping.  Every goddamn day with the sun and the birds and the breeze.  He buried his head in the pillow. His …

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Annual Cleopatra Lottery Spend a Night with the Egyptian Queen! Enter in person at:  777 Lay Lady Lane We accept both chance and fate. The Cleopatra Lottery is run by the Paradise Grant Committee and is in full compliance with the Pussy Pact.  All participants enter willingly and with full knowledge that their indulgence rights …

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Jim couldn’t take it anymore.  He looked away.  The angel laughed, grabbed the telescope, and looked for himself. “This is nothing,” the angel said.  “You should have seen Carthage.  Or Nanking.  Or Rwanda.  Hell, I’ve seen prison-rapes that were more entertaining.” “Entertaining,” Jim repeated.  He just couldn’t wrap his head around it.  “So this – …

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Jim was on a pleasant hike through a mountain pass.  It felt good to breathe some fresh air.  Some Tennessee air.  A lazy crick ran alongside him, and there were birds in the trees.  If there were seasons in Paradise, it was late summer.  Everything was green and the air dangled between warm and cool. …

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The Orgy was a floating ship with red sails.  It was enormous and Jim couldn’t fit it into his brain. It’s like New York City flying over Tennessee, he thought. “How big is this place?” he said. “You’re looking at it.” “No, I mean, like, the whole thing.  Paradise.” Cherry flicked him in the nose.  …

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“Fore!” Jim yelled.  Even in Paradise he hooked the damn ball. “Ha!” Hitler laughed.  “Right in the trees!” A bear-drawn chariot carried them up the fairway.  Jim looked sideways at his companion, thinking he looked much better without the mustache.  This was all the result of a lottery, the winner of which was balls deep …

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“Pizza? I didn’t think there’d be pizza in heaven,” Jim said. “Why not? Pizza is the shit,” the angel said. “And cursing. And beer? Is that beer?” In fact, the table was laid out with all the things Jim loved. Chicken wings, malt whiskey, chili fries, club sandwiches, those little wieners wrapped in bacon. Over …

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