Tag: humor (Page 1 of 3)

Pain, Suffering, Fandom…and Fun!

June 14, 2026 /

I was digging through an old notebook the other day when I stumbled upon something troubling. Here’s the entry from December 2, 2024:

How was my Thanksgiving? It was crappy, thanks for asking. It was crappy for one reason: The New York Giants.

I fell into a dark place, which is not where you want to be when celebrating stuff like family and thankfulness. Thanks, Giants.

I’ve called myself a fan of this franchise since 2007, and during that time, they’ve never hurt me like they hurt me last Thursday. They lost 27-20 to the Dallas Cowboys (the team I’d hate most if the Philadelphia Eagles didn’t exist), yet the game was a lot less close than that score suggests. The Giants committed 14 penalties, which should add up to a felony. Worse, after a bitter Google search, I discovered the Giants haven’t beaten the Cowboys since 2016.

So there you have it. An eight-year octuplet of shellackings. And after the latest, which took place on one of the most fun-filled, joyous days of the year, I must ask myself why I care so much. Why did the outcome of a game I did not even bet on put me in such a bad mood I considered accepting the hangover guaranteed by a third snickerdoodle martini?

The answer is, of course, the nonsensical and self-inflicted form of torture known as fandom. We select our teams or players, then latch on like parasites in the proverbial colon, munching whatever nutrition or junk our host ingests. In the case of the Giants, mostly junk.

Have I mentioned this is nonsensical? It is. It makes no sense. My viewership or absence on Giants telecasts does nothing to affect the outcome. I can’t jinx them—no one can jinx them—because there’s no such thing as jinxing. No matter how hard we believe, believe this: The game transpires irrespective of us.

We should know all this by now, but we sports fans don’t. That’s why the word “fan” is derived from a more pejorative term: “Fanatic.” It’s a socially acceptable form of derangement.

Imagine, for example, your coworker arrived on Monday wearing a styrofoam cheese block on his head. We’ll call this hypothetical coworker “Reginald.” Reginald drinks Bud Light after Bud Light, complaining about the price between chugs, and he’s also been screaming and/or applauding and/or heckling you, all depending on your actions. At some point, Reginald removes his shirt to reveal the coarse rug beneath.

“Go Pack go!” he roars.

Reginald would, of course, be fired within the hour. But teleport Reginald out of the office and into Section G at Lambeau Field and he’d fit right in. Hell, they’d put him on the jumbotron.

Such is the overwhelming strangeness of sports fandom. I can only speak to it in my native United States, though I hear it’s even more voracious in other countries. And isn’t that adjective telling? “Voracious.” It sounds like a modifier for a predator in the jungle, yet it suits fans, too.

It’s nonsense. All of it. There’s no reason to feel happy or sad or anywhere in between about a team winning or losing. It’s no different than buying a shirt with the word “Heads” on the back and George Washington’s face on the front, then flipping a quarter and feeling depressed because it came up tails.

Deep down inside, I think we all know this. And yet, we delude ourselves anyway.

And that’s where the entry ended. I must’ve gotten a notification about the Giants doing something dumb. Happens all the time.

Kyle A. Massa is a comedy author of some sort living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include 10 books, along with several short stories, essays, and poems. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking cheap coffee.

Some links in this publication might be affiliate links. This means the author earns a commission on sales made through those links, while you pay no additional cost. Just another way to support indie authors!

Eulogy for a Box

May 30, 2026 /

About a year and a half ago, I lost a dear friend. My car.

Many called it “The Boxcar,” though the official title was Element, made by Honda. Indeed, it was an angular vehicle, like a tissue box on wheels.

My mom bought the Boxcar in 2005. She drove it everywhere: To work, school, and, on one memorable occasion, across a middle school’s back lawn when we were 20 minutes late to basketball team photo night. Our dog Daisy used to stand—not sit, stand—in the hatchback trunk, slamming into the walls whenever we came to a stoplight. And before you accuse us of animal cruelty, note that her tail wagged the entire time.

The Boxcar had a sunroof above the back row for reasons that remain unclear (usually one finds them above the front seats). When Daisy wasn’t bouncing like a pinball in the trunk, I’d recline and gaze up at the night sky as it scrolled past, hoping to glimpse a UFO. I never did, but if a UFO glimpsed us, the pilots might’ve wondered, “Haven’t these humans discovered aerodynamics yet?”

Yes, the Boxcar was rather boxy. Throughout high school and college, I had a reputation for driving slowly; I suspect the Boxcar was holding me back. That wide body and sloping hood reminded me of a bow-legged bulldog, and bulldogs aren’t sprinters.

 iconic? Also yes.

We overuse that latter adjective these days, but in this instance, it fits. “Regarded as a representative symbol”: That’s the New Oxford American Dictionary definition of iconic. And for me, the Boxcar truly became an icon.

To my knowledge, mine was the only green Honda Element on campus at Ithaca College in 2012. Thus, people recognized me for it. By “people,” I mean my friends, not strangers, since I rarely ventured outside my dorm. Yet still, this wasn’t your run-of-the-mill Sebring or F-150. I had a recognizable ride. If fact, if I ever arrived without it, friends would say, “Kyle, didn’t realize you were here! Where’s the Boxcar?”

On breaks, I drove that Boxcar from Ithaca to Albany and back, three hours each way. I cranked bootlegged audiobooks and/or CDs (remember those?), then stopped at Ithaca’s Taco Bell for the usual Crunchwrap. It was the car I drove to the occasional date. It was the place I first said, “I love you” to Sara, my future wife.

After graduating, Sara and I relocated to Colorado. We took the Boxcar skiing, hiking, camping, once even up the muddy slope of a mountain, gunk spraying beneath the back tires, and I was like “We’re not gonna make it!”, and Sara was like, “Just keep going!” We didn’t make it, but I give the Boxcar (and Sara) credit for trying.

A year-and-a-half later, we drove back across the country when we resettled in New York. Five years after that, we returned home from the hospital with our daughter Sasha in the same seat I used to gaze up at the stars in.

Oh, that Boxcar. It was durable, trustworthy, and ageless. Like LeBron.

In fact, it only showed its age in its 18th year. Frequent doctor’s visits are part of getting old, and so it went for my icon. We took it to the mechanic every month, replacing brake pads, tuning wheels, fixing calipers, repairing hyperdrives, and paying out the ass for mechanical mumbo-jumbo I didn’t understand. Sara suggested it might be time to search for another vehicle, to which I hissed like Gollum at the suggestion they’d cast his precious into the fires of Mount Doom.

She was right, of course. If there’s one thing that hurts me worse than losing a dear friend, it’s spending money trying to keep them alive. We pondered the car owner’s classic conundrum: If we’re paying so much for repairs, why not put that money toward payments for a new vehicle instead?

I wonder if the Boxcar could hear us out there in the garage. I wonder if it knew. Eighteen years is old for a car, and it had well over 200,000 miles. I wonder if it was ready go, or if it said to itself, “I can do it. I can keep going. Just a few miles more.”

One morning that fall, the Boxcar wouldn’t start. I called AAA. AAA sent a guy. The guy was like, “I can’t fix this. Try your mechanic.” He estimated it would cost a few hundred bucks just to get the poor old thing started.

Instead, we called a towing company. Another guy arrived, this one wearing a “Hawk Tua ‘24” hat, and he hooked a chain to the Boxcar, then hauled it onto a platform, inch by inch. Sasha watched from the window, and Sara recorded her three-year-old little voice as she waved and said, “Goodbye, Boxcar. Dank you, Boxcar.”

We got a Godfather offer for the old faithful Box: $100. I’m sure this was just a tax write-off, since the dealer did us a favor by towing it away. We test drove several vehicles, during which process Sara thumped her head against the headrests of each, insisting, “It doesn’t go high enough! We need neck support. We need neck support!” We’d grown to expect such support from our Box.

Eventually, we chose a CR-V. I wouldn’t have minded another Element, but Honda discontinued them in 2011, so CR-V it was, and is. It’s a dark aqua shade, the color my frienemies the New York Giants wear, so naturally, we named the car Bluey.

Bluey is a wonderful vehicle. It’s got a remote starter, heated seats, Apple CarPlay, and a spacious interior. But it’s also decidedly average—a basic bitch, if I may be so crass. I spot CR-Vs every day on my commute to work, many of the same blue hue.

Yet Boxcars are rare. I glimpse them every so often, like proud, squat hippos on the riverbank, standing or plodding but never quite zooming by. (In fact, I think a hippo’s probably faster.) The sight brings me back to Ithaca, to Colorado, to the delivery room, to it all.

So to close this eulogy, or essay, or whatever it turned out to be, I’d like to quote my daughter.

Dank you, Boxcar. Dank you.

Kyle A. Massa is a comedy author of some sort living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include 10 books, along with several short stories, essays, and poems. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking cheap coffee.

Some links in this publication might be affiliate links. This means the author earns a commission on sales made through those links, while you pay no additional cost. Just another way to support indie authors!

The World Without Teeth

January 29, 2024 /

Smile!

Or don’t. Because in this hypothetical alternate universe, nobody has teeth. That’s the nightmarish scenario we are examining today in our ongoing “World Without” series.

But fear not, dear reader. I think there would be upsides to this world, too. So, without further ado, let’s get into it. In a world without teeth…

…Vampires Would Have It Worst

Humans need teeth to chew, but there’s still lots of food we can eat without them (I’ll be addressing this topic shortly). But think of the poor vampires.

Without teeth, how would they extract blood? A needle, I’m guessing, though I’m pretty sure you need a medical license for that. Maybe they’d just use a knife or a letter opener, but those feel too inelegant—not to mention messy—for any self-respecting vampire.

Now I suppose we could compare who has it worse: Dracula or Edward Cullen. But I’d rather not. Suffice it to say that all the vampires out there would be bummed.

…A Lot of Songs Wouldn’t Exist

In no particular order:

  • “Teeth” by Lady Gaga
  • “Brush Your Teeth” by Raffi
  • “Smile” by Wolf Alice
  • “Smile” by Avril Lavigne
  • “Smile” by Katy Perry

The Wolf Alice song is my favorite in the above list, though the Raffi tune comes in a close second, because it makes brushing my daughter’s teeth a little easier.

…Pictures Would Be a Lot More Awkward

Unless you’re a Civil War general circa 1863, your first instinct in a picture is probably smiling. But in a world without teeth, smiling becomes a lot less attractive.

Perhaps we’d go back to the 1800s approach, which means glaring sternly into the lens. Not exactly profile pic material, but necessary, considering the circumstances.

…The Tooth Fairy Would Go Out of Business

Because if she’s not collecting teeth in exchange for money, what other jettisoned scrap of the human body is she collecting? Hair? Toenails? Probably best not to speculate.

…The Gruel Market Would Explode

And I don’t mean literally (unless there’s a gruel-based chemical reaction I’m not aware of). Rather, in a world where you can’t chew, I believe gruel would be the food of choice.

What is gruel, exactly? I’m unsure. I think it’s the stuff they feed to prisoners in the Gulag. Whatever it is, it sounds funny, and I suspect it tastes something like grits, only better.

Of course, other foods would still be viable. Soups, smoothies, and the like would work. Also, baby food, some of which is surprisingly tasty. Just ask my wife, Sara, who enjoys our daughter’s puréed pears.

In fact, now that I think about it, babies are the prime example of a toothless world. Fortunately, most of them seem pretty happy—though maybe that’s because they can poop their pants whenever they want and someone else will deal with the mess.

Also, babies’ lack of teeth adds to their cuteness. Even when they do their gum-smiles, it’s adorable. I imagine it would be less adorable if someone like me, for example, a 31-year-old man with mushroom-shaped hair, were to do it.

I mean, if I smiled at you with no teeth, I doubt you’d be thinking, Aww, how cute! Instead, you’d probably be wondering, How much crack has that man smoked?

…Or Maybe the Denture Market Would Explode, Instead? Maybe?

Dentures are the standard substitute for teeth, yet in a world without teeth, would we have any concept of dentures? Maybe we’d all just slurp our gruel in ignorance of what could’ve been.

…Halloween Would End. (And I Don’t Mean Like That Movie, “Halloween Ends”—I Mean Literally.)

That’s because most Halloween candy requires teeth to consume. Snickers bars? Yes. Candy corn? Definitely. Taffy? You bet your ass.

I suppose you could continue the tradition of dressing up and visiting other people’s houses. But without the promise of candy, what exactly are you demanding from the people you visit? More gruel?

…Dentistry Wouldn’t Exist

Depending on your dentist, this might not be a bad thing. I don’t mean to be critical, but some dentists can be hyper critical.

“Your teeth are two different colors.” “You’re not flossing enough.” “You appear to have an alien tracking device lodged inside your molar.” These are all statements I’ve heard dentists say to myself or people I know. Except that last one—I got that from The X-Files.

…Cats Would Be Cool With It

Because many cats, including my parents-in-laws’ cat, Spice, have diseased teeth pulled later in life. When Sara and I heard this happened to Spice, we were aghast.

“Oh no,” we said. “Is she alright?”

Sara’s mom, Karen, only shrugged and said, “She still eats the same food. It’s not all that different.”

So there you have it. Without teeth, cats would be just as unimpressed as usual.

…I Would’ve Been a Less Dangerous Child

Yes, I was a biter, and I didn’t even have rabies. I don’t know why—I just enjoyed biting people. My mom tells me she got regular reports of me biting other children at school, which must’ve been alarming, to say the least. What’s more, I have a vague memory of biting my sister when she beat me at a friendly game of Horse. Sorry, Emily.

Problem is, bites can hurt just as much without teeth, as I experienced with my daughter, Sasha, when she was an infant. One time she tried eating a scrap of construction paper, and when I reached in there to fish it out, it felt like a garage door slamming on my finger.

Sashie isn’t an aggressive biter, but she does bite. Like, sometimes we’ll be hugging each other, and she’ll rest her chin on my shoulder, and it’ll seem like a sweet father-daughter moment until I feel a pinch and realize she’s gnawing on my collarbone. I suspect she’ll draw blood soon, and I’ll have no one to blame but myself. That’s how karma works.

Anyhoo, in a world without teeth, I would’ve been a little safer. But now that Sasha’s teeth have grown in, I’m in serious danger.

…The World Would Be Far Different

So I guess we can smile, because teeth still exist. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go eat something crunchy. I’ve made myself very hungry…

Kyle A. Massa is a comedy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include five books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

You can read more from the “World Without” blog series here. And if you want to see a specific topic, email kyle@kyleamassa.com.

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Thoughts on Crocs

January 7, 2024 /

As part of my ongoing attempt to make a complete ass of myself, let me tell you about my new Crocs.

I got them for Christmas. (Shout out to my mother-in-law, Karen.) They’re the Moon Jelly variety, which is a weird way of saying they’re periwinkle. This color is a bit more feminine than it appeared on the website, but that doesn’t stop me from wearing them. Everywhere.

I wear them on dog walks. I wear them shopping. I considered wearing them to a restaurant recently, though I opted not to embarrass my wife, Sara, by association.

This is the conflict every Croc-wearer must consider when venturing into public. Humiliation or contentment. Ridicule or comfort. To Croc, or not to Croc. We all know which Hamlet would choose.

It’s a constant struggle. No one in their right mind would wear shoes that look like hardened blocks of Swiss cheese with the handle of a child’s pail attached to the back unless they were extraordinarily comfortable.

Speaking of children, they can actually pull off Crocs. On kids, Crocs look cute, whereas on adults, they look like a mistake. My daughter Sasha has four pairs—yes, you read that right—and she loves all of them. She even puts them on her baby dolls, proving that she understands the rules.

Despite my newfound admiration for my new footwear, I draw the line at gibbets. Not to be confused with the giblets from inside a turkey, gibbets are those little tchotchkes you stuff into the holes of your Crocs so you can look even more silly.

Gibbets or no, I used to be very judgmental about Crocs. Man, I’d think to myself, Those shoes sure look dumb. Then, one day, I needed foot protection down in my unfinished basement. I practice music down there, plus it’s where our cats poop (these two events rarely happen simultaneously). Sneakers felt like too much work, my work shoes required dress socks, and our dog had stolen my slippers. All that was left were Sara’s Crocs. So I wore them into the basement.

Something strange happened over the next few weeks. I’d be out in public, getting gas or buying groceries, and I’d look down to find Sara’s Crocs attached to my feet.

Man, I’d think to myself, These shoes still look dumb. But then other thoughts crept in: Hey, that’s a nice breeze coming through the holes. I didn’t even need to bend down to tie any laces. And I thought that handle on my ankle might chafe, only I can barely feel it.

After a while, I was wearing Sara’s Crocs more than Sara. It was only a matter of time until I got a pair of my own. Not that I bought them—I’m too cheap to buy nice things. Even Crocs.

I’m wearing them as I write this, and I must admit, they’re a marvel. What other shoe comes with both a sport and a leisure mode? What other product slips on easy as a sandal, yet hides my hairy hobbit feet so well?

None other. Like the One Ring, there is only one supreme power, and its name is Crocs.

Not only are these shoes cushy—they’re sustainable. I hear they’re made from boiled cabbage or something, which sounds unbelievable until you feel them. The material is not quite plastic and not quite styrofoam. I suspect alien skin has a similar texture.

Though Crocs feel strange and look even stranger, their semi-edible quality is just another point in their favor. Imagine you’re stranded on an island like Tom Hanks in Castaway, but instead of befriending a volleyball, you only have your shoes as company.

Think you could roast your Jordans over a fire and get any nutritional value? Please. If you had Crocs, why, they’d make for not one, but two scrumptious island meals. Now that’s comfort.

That’s what Crocs provide. Comfort. Not just comfort for my weird hairy hobbit feet, not just the comfort of a meal in a pinch, but comfort for my ego, which is protected like organs beneath a bulletproof vest. Can any words harm me while I’m wearing something as goofy as Crocs? I’m insulting myself enough already. There’s nothing anyone can say to hurt me worse.

So, in the everlasting conflict between functionality and fashion, I’ll opt for the former. After all, if style is a battle, then Crocs are the proverbial white flag—or, in my case, the Moon Jelly flag. I’ll wave it high. I’ll wave it proud.

Kyle A. Massa is an author of some sort living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include five books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

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The World Without Albany, NY

November 29, 2023 /

Albany marked on a map of New York State.

Or as we call it around here, Smallbany.

Yes, I reside in our titular city. I have most of my life. We don’t have the glamor of Los Angeles, the thrill of New Orleans, or the sleaze of Philadelphia, but we’ve got…umm, other stuff. In this article, we’ll explore this great city’s hypothetical absence further.

So, without further ado, in a world without Albany…

…America Wouldn’t Exist

Before you scoff, just remember that one of the 56 signers of the Declaration of Independence was a cat named Philip Livingston, who happened to be an Albany native. Without him, were those other 55 white guys really going to sign the paper? My imagination says no…

Independence Hall in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The Founding Fathers sit around debating stuff.

Samuel Adams: Pass me another Cold Snap.

Benjamin Franklin: Somebody cut that guy off. And where the hell is Livingston?

Thomas Jefferson: Late. He’s coming from Albany. 87 is brutal this time of day.

Benjamin Franklin: That’s the city with the Empire State Plaza buildings that look like a bunch of radiators, right?

Benjamin Rush: Those don’t exist yet. And neither does I-87. Now are we gonna sign this thing or what? I gotta rush home.

John Hancock: I’m down. I’ve been practicing my signature.

Benjamin Franklin: Yeah, we know, Hancock. But we’ve got to wait. We can’t sign anything without Livingston.

Benjamin Rush: Why not?

John Adams: Because then we’d only have 55 signers.

Benjamin Rush: So?

Thomas Jefferson: Because we already commissioned the monument, and I’m not paying for touch-ups, okay? Let’s just wait for Livingston.

Josiah Bartlett: Hear, hear.

Benjamin Franklin: Who are you again?

You get the idea. Without Albany there’s no Philip Livingston, and without Philip Livingston, there’s no Declaration of Independence. You’re welcome, America.

…High School English Students Would Be More Cheerful

And I don’t just mean those from Albany. You see, in many American high school English classes, students are forced to read Moby-Dick by Herman Melville. I’ve only met a single person in my life who enjoyed that book: My dad. (Shoutout to my dad.) For everyone else, the 50-page descriptions of whale blubber aren’t exactly thrilling.

What does all this boredom have to do with Albany? Well, Mr. Melville earned his adolescent education at Albany Academy (where I also worked as a camp counselor for, like, seven summers, NBD). Without Albany there’d be no education, and without the education there’d be no book, and without the book there’d be less drudgery for subsequent high school students. And if they could destroy Albany just to spare themselves from Moby-Dick, I think some would.

…New York City Would Be the State’s Capital

Non-New Yorkers might be surprised to recall this, but no, the Big Apple is not the state’s capital. It’s Albany. Yet without the latter, the capital wouldn’t be Buffalo or Rochester or Syracuse. Saratoga, maybe. But in all likelihood, it would be NYC.

I love the City, but it already has enough going for it, such as the New York Stock Exchange, the Statue of Liberty, New Year’s Eve celebrations, Madison Square Garden, and the New York Yankees.

By comparison, what does Albany have aside from being the capital? We have Nipper, a 28-foot tall replica terrier that sits atop a building downtown. And that’s about it, as evidenced by my next point.

…My Wife Would Have More To Do

When Sara and I considered moving back to Albany in 2016, she asked me to describe the city. Here’s my comprehensive list of amenities:

“Well, there’s the Egg, the mastodon museum, and the Magic store.”

The Egg is a performing arts center downtown that resembles an egg yolk, hence the name. The mastodon museum is my shorthand for The New York State Museum, which boasts the skeleton of a mastodon. And the Magic store is Flipside Gaming, a local hobby shop I patronize every few months so I can lose at the popular trading card game Magic: The Gathering.

For Sara, this wasn’t much of a sales pitch. I’m surprised she still wanted to move, because we were leaving Denver, Colorado, a far cooler town. Yet she joined me nonetheless, and we’ve been here ever since. I consider myself very lucky.

…Sports Franchises Would Go Somewhere Else to Die

Albany is famous for attracting third-rate professional sports teams that leave after a handful of years. It happened to the River Rats, the Devils, the Firebirds, and most recently—and painfully—to the Empire.

I loved the Albany Empire, albeit mostly from a comedy standpoint. My good buddies Jeremy and Ryan had season tickets with their family, so they’d sometimes invite me to games.

These games weren’t only entertaining—they were educational. After all, we learned new rules every time we attended. Did you know players could catch touchdown passes off the screen behind the goalposts, almost like a bank shot in basketball? We didn’t, either…until the Empire did it.

The team boasted numerous memorable characters, including a guy with the nickname “Boom-Boom” (can’t remember his legal name) who celebrated touchdowns by standing on the logo and pretending to rev a push lawnmower. It was transcendent.

But of all the characters on the Albany Empire, the greatest was the quarterback, Tom Grady. Not Brady. Grady. Jeremy and I designed shirts with the B crossed out and replaced with a G. I still wear mine.

Though Grady wasn’t quite as successful as his NFL counterpart, he still put up stats (number six all-time in passing yards and number five in passing touchdowns, according to ArenaFan.com). One time he was signing autographs on the sidelines prior to a big-time game (one-dollar hot dog night), and Jeremy and I would’ve asked for his signature on our custom-made shirts, if only the other autograph-seekers weren’t 12-year-old children. Later, in 2019, Grady led the Empire to the ArenaBowl XXXII title. The fans even stormed the field, which was the greatest moment in Albany history since earning a shoutout in the Erie Canal song.

Sadly, a less savory character arrived to ruin it all: Antonio Brown.

You might remember AB as an electrifying wide receiver for the Pittsburgh Steelers, an equally electrifying complainer for the Oakland Raiders (for whom he never played a snap), and an even more electrifying quitter for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. After the NFL gave up on him, you might’ve thought he’d start a cult or something. Instead, he became the majority owner of the Albany Empire.

This was fun at first, since famous people avoid Albany like my cats avoid my dog. However, based on Brown’s previous behavior, everyone knew where this was going. And it went there.

Brown started by failing to pay players, then cutting them when they complained. The Empire’s coaching staff was no exception to this merciless treatment; according to a brilliant ESPN story chronicling the whole sad affair, the team had three different head coaches in a five-game stretch. AB wasn’t paying his league dues, either, and with seven games still left to play on the schedule in 2022, the league voted out the Empire. And once again, Albany lost a pro team.

That ended up being a long anecdote. But few momentous events happen in Albany, so we’ve got to celebrate them all, even the failures. Especially the failures.

…My Family Would Have Fewer Hilarious Stories of Bureaucratic Dysfunction

Both my parents worked for New York State, so they’ve got hours of content on this subject. For instance, my mom worked in the Department of Education (shoutout to my mom), and during one meeting, the office brass distributed newly designed business cards, stressing how important and paradigm-shifting they would be. Then someone raised their hand.

“You spelled ‘education’ wrong,” they said.

Now if that isn’t a moment straight out of The Office, I don’t know what is.

…The Movie Salt Would Not Exist

Salt is a middling 2010 action-thriller starring Angelina Jolie as a spy or something. Fact is, the only reason I watched Salt is because it features a pivotal chase sequence shot in Albany. Evidently, ours was the only city willing to shut down its multi-tiered highway system for several days, just for some cash and a “special thanks” in the credits.

Though the scene is supposed to take place in Washington, DC, you can spot numerous Albany landmarks in the background, including the aforementioned New York State Museum and a decaying warehouse that’s stood downtown since I was a kid. Albany wins again.

…I Wouldn’t Exist, Either

There’s no me without Albany, and I’m not just saying that because it rhymes. I was born at Albany Med and have lived here pretty much all my life, so without it, I wouldn’t be here, and you wouldn’t be reading this, and you’d never know about Philip Livingston, and that would be sad for all involved.

…The World Would Be Far Less Interesting

Albany might not be one of the premier cities in the country, but it’s home. Here’s hoping our next sports franchise fares a little better.

Kyle A. Massa is a comedy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include five books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

You can read more from the “World Without” blog series here. And if you want to see a specific topic, email kyle@kyleamassa.com.

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911, What’s Your Emergency?

November 19, 2023 /

An animated GIF of a 911 call making a smartphone buzz.

Here in the United States, if you’ve got an emergency, you’re probably calling one of two numbers: 911, or your mother. In this blog post, we’ll discuss the former.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

This is how 911 operators always answer the phone, and I think it’s a good policy. Otherwise, you might have situations like this…

…[Dial tone.]…

“Hello?”

“HELP! The call was coming from inside the house and now some masked psychopath is trying to murder me!”

“I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong number. This is Arby’s. May I take your order?”

You may be wondering how my hypothetical victim dialed Arby’s instead of an emergency hotline, and the simple answer is, I have no idea. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, modern 911 operators know what they’re doing.

You can see it in their choice of question. “What’s your emergency?” Presumptuous, maybe, but also warranted, considering one only calls in dire situations. Surely nobody would ever do something like this…

…[Dial tone.]…

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Just watching the Giants game. You?”

“This number is for emergencies only.”

“I know, that’s why I called. Have you seen Tommy DeVito play quarterback?”

The “what’s your emergency line” isn’t one of those movie inventions, by the way. It’s real. I’ve had occasion to call the police twice in my life, and I assure you, these are the first words spoken when you call.

Now if you’re a cold-hearted individual, that might give you an idea. You might wonder if this job could be outsourced to AI. After all, if all one does is utter a pre-written line and record information, couldn’t that task be automated?

I certainly hope not. Imagine, for example, you found yourself in a life-or-death situation, and when you called 911 looking for help, Siri answered. Here’s the transcript of your conversation…

…[Dial tone.]…

“Siri here, what’s your emergency?”

“Help me, Siri, the masked psychopath has returned! I’m being murdered again!”

“On it…”

“Huh?”

“Here’s what I found on the web for ‘masked psychopath.'”

Then she’d serve you results for discount Halloween costumes, which would be great if only you weren’t getting disemboweled.

With Siri, this is par for the course. I frequently ask her questions (e.g. “At what level does Charizard learn Flamethrower?”), and rather than giving me a straight answer, she farms out the work to a web search. It could be worse—she could be using Bing instead of Google. But there’s never any compassion, which is why I don’t want Siri or any other AI fielding my call. I want a trained operator, dammit.

I know I took a jab at movies a few paragraphs ago, but if we’ve learned anything from them, it’s that 911 operators are dedicated individuals, albeit a little psycho-obsessive sometimes. For a perfect example, see Jake Gyllenhaal in The Guilty. If you’re in a pinch, you’d prefer someone who will literally—spoiler—go to jail for you. Not freaking Siri.

So here’s to all the 911 operators out there. You’re all heroes, or at least better at your job than AI would be. I salute you, I commend you, and when you ask me what my emergency is, I’ll gladly tell you. And thanks for asking.

Kyle A. Massa is a comedy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include five books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

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The World Without Halloween

October 31, 2023 /

Halloween

This article might be controversial. After all, Halloween is a beloved holiday. In fact, in terms of belovedness, it’s right up there with Thanksgiving, Christmas, and International Juggling Day. Maybe not that last one.

But hey, this series is often about appreciating subjects through their hypothetical absence. So let’s start appreciating. In a world without Halloween…

…Michael Myers Would Actually, Really, Seriously Be Dead

Because he’d never exist. Get it?

For the record, I wouldn’t mourn. Though most regard John Carpenter’s 1978 slasher film Halloween as an all-time classic, I think it’s overrated. I recognize everything it did for the genre, but I find it tiresome when Mikey survives for, like, the 13th time.

Speaking of 13, that’s how many Halloween films exist. I’m not exaggerating. I’ve only seen the original, so I can’t vouch for the rest, yet something tells me Rob Zombie shouldn’t be making movies. That said, his and all the Halloween movies are undeniably lucrative; they’ve grossed a collective $885,966,037 worldwide, according to Wikipedia.

Imagine what filmgoers might’ve spent all that money on instead. Probably a different holiday-themed horror franchise, like an ornery cyclist who runs people off the road to their dooms on National Bicycle Day (Google assures me this is an actual day). I’d call it Cycle of Violence. Hey, did I just become a multi-million dollar movie executive?

…Trick-or-Treating Wouldn’t Be a Thing

This would be a massive blow to the Candy Industrial Complex, which invented Halloween just to clear their back stock of Baby Ruths. But won’t someone please think of the children? They are the ones who would suffer most. For kids, Halloween ranks higher on the grand fun meter than Paw Patrol, bounce houses, and TikTok.

…Well, maybe not TikTok. But if it does, that’s really saying something.

…No More Costumes, Either

Everybody loves dressing up for Halloween. Except me.

One year, for example, my mom spent hours doing my Count Dracula makeup. She’s a painter, by the way, so it was excellent. However, I took one look at myself in the mirror and became terrified of my reflection (ironic, considering I was a vampire). My poor mom watched as all her hard work went down the drain—literally. Ever since, I’ve been a curmudgeon with costumes. Sorry, Mom.

However, I believe I’m in the minority on that. Many people enjoy donning their Halloween costumes, including NFL fans attending games on or near our titular holiday. I once spotted a man in the stands wearing an Aaron Rodgers jersey overtop a Minion costume jeering at Kirk Cousins while drinking a Pabst. It was quite the sight.

…There Would Be No Controversies Over Halloween Candy

Might not be a bad thing, considering these are some of our dumbest controversies. Every year, people earnestly argue that candy corn is a quality candy, or isn’t, then get outraged by the response. This is about as productive as pounding one’s head against a door—and likely has a similar effect on the brain. That said, I just poked fun at Baby Ruths a few paragraphs back, so I’m part of the problem.

…Horror Movies Would Diminish in Popularity (Slightly)

We all know half the fun of Halloween is watching scary movies with loved ones (or, if you happen to be crowded into a theater with noisy strangers, hated ones).

To be clear, horror movies are eternal, and I would never suggest that killing Halloween would kill their popularity. But there’s no doubt this would reduce it, at least a little. After all, what other time of year would horror movie viewership peak? Spring? Too hopeful. Winter? Too Christmas-y. Summer? Too packed with Marvel movies. Halloween, and fall in general, is just right.

…The Dark Knight Wouldn’t Exist

At least not in its current form. That’s because the film’s plot was inspired by Batman: The Long Halloween by Jeph Loeb & Tim Sale, a graphic novel that features a killer who murders on holidays, starting with—you guessed it—Halloween.

Without Halloween there’s no comic, and without the comic there’s no inspiration, meaning Christopher Nolan and co. would have to look elsewhere for ideas, perhaps returning to the campiness of the Adam West Batman. Somehow, I don’t think Shark Repellent Bat Spray jives with, “Some men just want to watch the world burn.”

Furthermore, speaking from personal experience, losing this film would be a tremendous blow, not least of all because I saw it four times in theaters. Being a high school sophomore at the time, I was convinced it was the greatest movie ever made by anyone, ever. I’ve since decided that distinction belongs to Troll 2, but Dark Knight is still in my top 10.

…Your Neighbors Would Have More Lawn Space

This one is self-explanatory.

…The World Would Be Far Less Interesting

Happy Halloween! Hope you enjoy all that candy corn.

Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include five books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

You can read more from the “World Without” blog series here. And if you want to see a specific topic, email kyle@kyleamassa.com.

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The World Without Taco Bell

August 21, 2023 /

The World Without Taco Bell

Would a world without Taco Bell be worth existing in?

I’m unsure, reader. But sometimes the best way to appreciate greatness is to imagine our lives without it. So, in the spirit of celebrating everybody’s favorite subpar brand of cheap, grade-D ground beef-based fast food, let’s start imagining. In a world without Taco Bell…

…There Would Be Far Fewer Five-Year-Old Taco Sauce Packets Stuffed Into Drawers

I love Taco Bell, but seriously, they give you way too many sauce packets. Sometimes they’ll stuff them in there without even asking, making me wonder how the bag doesn’t rip from the weight of all those individually packaged condiments. It feels like a waste to throw them out, so you’ll end up cramming them away, only to rediscover them years later in the dark recesses of your cabinets.

The good news is, there’s so much sodium packed inside that they’ll never go bad, no matter how many decades into the future you rediscover them. Enjoy!

…We’d Have Fewer Late-Night Options

We all know why people order food after midnight, and it’s not because they’re looking for fine cuisine. It’s because they’re drunk, high, or both, putting them in the perfect mind state to make bad decisions. Enter Taco Bell.

To be fair, Taco Bell is like Samuel Adams beer, in that it’s always a good decision…or maybe it’s simultaneously good and bad. Good in that it tastes good, bad in that it’s bad for you.

…Sylvester Stallone’s Acting Career Would’ve Ended

Let’s step back into the 90s for a moment. Sylvester Stallone is making a lot of movies, though few of them are any good. I mean, when’s the last time you watched Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot? Other than 1993’s Cliffhanger, it’s a rough decade for the Italian Stallion. But there was another glimmer of hope: Demolition Man.

I first watched this movie with my dad, who specifically encouraged me to see it. When I asked him why, he answered, “You’ll see.”

In this sci-fi action flick, Stallone plays a reckless cop who’s cryogenically frozen in 1996 and thawed out in 2032, finding himself in a puritanical future. I enjoyed the explosions and the random cameo of Jack Black as “Wasteland Scrap #2.” But most of all, I enjoyed the police banquet scene.

Why? Because the banquet is catered by Taco Bell. Yes, according to Demolition Man, we can all look forward to a future where Taco Bell is given the respect it deserves. My dad knows me well.

In a world without the Bell, this movie would lose a critical plot point. And without this movie, Stallone would lose one of his only two good movies in the decade. Talk about Live Más.

…I’d Be Deprived of Treasured Childhood Memories

Once upon a time, there was a young lad who lived down the street from a combination KFC-Taco Bell restaurant.

The young lad’s favorite item on the menu was a combo meal of two chicken strips and two tacos, plus two sides of his choosing. This was not a healthy meal, nor was it high-quality, but it was delicious. Whenever the young lad’s parents asked him what he wanted for dinner, lunch, and sometimes breakfast, he’d answer, “A number six combo meal, please.”

When the young lad grew into a man (or at least a little less of a lad), his beloved KFC-Taco Bell closed down, ceding its building to an ostentatious conglomerate known as Starbucks. Nowadays, the man often drives past that Starbucks location, and when he does, he sighs longingly, thinking about what once was and what will never be.

In other words, down with Starbucks. Bring back my KFC-Taco Bell!

…I Would Lose Out on a Favorite College Tradition

Yes, the Bell has been a lifelong obsession. When I was a student at Ithaca College, for example, I formed a tradition for myself. I would stop at Ithaca’s Taco Bell (still thriving to this day), then order a chicken quesadilla and a Crunchwrap Supreme. Next, I’d head down the road to the nearest gas station and purchase a Monster energy drink. As you can see, I was a very health-conscious individual.

During my three-hour drive back to Albany, I’d eat, drink, and listen to  an audiobook on my iPod Classic. This tradition was enjoyable for two reasons: First, because I got to eat Taco Bell, and second, because there were no viable rest stops between Ithaca and Albany, so I always made excellent time. 

…Long John Silver’s Would Die

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Long John Silver’s fast food location without a Taco Bell attached to it. This is likely a parasitic relationship, with Taco Bell being the proud lion on the savanna, and LJS being the tape worm living inside the lion’s colon.

…A Thriving Community Would Vanish

And I’m not talking about the Roanoke Colony. I’m talking about Taco Bell fans.

For people who revere the Bell, meeting another aficionado is a momentous occasion. For instance, my brother-in-law and I have had no fewer than 30 separate conversations about the greatness of Taco Bell. Sometimes we even discuss how long it’s been since we’ve last eaten there, often in sad and wistful tones.

And that’s not all. Have you been on the Taco Bell Instagram account lately? At least 20% of their posts are pics of people heading inside after attending prom or getting married. There’s even an online literary magazine called Taco Bell Quarterly that I desperately want to publish a story in. Wish me luck.

…The World’s Collective Happiness Would Decline by 6%

I’m docking one percentage point per decade Taco Bell has existed (the first Bell opened in 1962). We have to be scientific about these things.

…The World Would Be Far Less Interesting

So would a world without Taco Bell be worth existing in? Alright, fine, I guess so. But it certainly wouldn’t be the same. I, for one, am glad it’s still here.

Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include four books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

You can read more from the “World Without” blog series here. And if you want to see a specific topic, email kyle@kyleamassa.com.

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The World Without “Star Wars”

May 8, 2023 /

Star Wars

Four days ago, in a galaxy super close…

…It was May the 4th. As the nerdiest holiday on the calendar, it’s a celebration of all things Star Wars. So today, we’ll be discussing this glorious franchise, and how different our world might be without it.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this. But, in a world without Star Wars…

…We’d Be Missing All the Memes

Youngling memes, Darth Plagueis the Wise memes, “Hello there” memes. So many memes! Granted, most come from the prequels, since they’ve got such hammy dialogue. But the point still stands. Like the execution of Order 66, Star Wars memes are works of art. As such, they must be celebrated.

…Scrolling Credits Would Never Be an Acceptable Form of Exposition

Not that I’ve ever seen goldenrod paragraphs floating through space in any other movies. But Star Wars set the precedent, meaning the next time you need to explain the rise of a totalitarian military regime in your galaxy, here’s your method.

…The Mid-Budget Adult Drama Would Still Exist

Along with Steven Spielberg’s Jaws, Star Wars pioneered the Hollywood summer blockbuster. It popularized big-budget, effects-laden film franchising, which evolved into cinematic universes several decades later, most notably the Marvel Cinematic Universe. And, because of Marvel, what movies rarely get financed anymore? Mid-budget adult dramas. Thanks, George Lucas.

…George Lucas Would Have a Rough IMDB

Speaking of George, if you extract Star Wars from his credits, he’s leaning on Willow, Labyrinth, and Indiana Jones. All good stuff, though he tarnished Indy with the whole ancient aliens thing. Here’s hoping Dial of Destiny is better; the title keeps reminding me of Tenacious D in The Pick of Destiny.

There’s another blemish on George’s resume, and its name is Howard the Duck. I’ve never seen this film, but I’ve heard podcasts about it, and let me tell you, it sounds horrendous. I mean, here’s the opening sentence of the Wikipedia synopsis:

“Howard the Duck is 27 years old and lives on Duckworld, a planet similar to Earth, but inhabited by anthropomorphic ducks and orbited by twin moons.”

No wonder it won four Razzies.

…Some of Our Greatest Nerd Debates Would Never Be

Did Solo shoot first? Was Jar-Jar Binks a secret Sith Lord? Should Midi-chlorian count be an official stat at the NFL combine? I’ve had many similar debates with my friends, and they often get heated.

For example, as soon as we left the theater for Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker, we were arguing. Jeremy and Robby maintained the prequels were better than what we’d just witnessed, while I countered with the mere existence of Jar-Jar Binks. I still don’t know who won that argument—but at least we could have it.

…No More Jar-Jar Binks

While we’re on the subject of Jar-Jar, he gets more hate than Howard the Duck—which is really saying something. In fact, I’ve only ever met one person in my entire life who doesn’t despise him, and that’s my wife, Sara.

“What?” she said. “I think he’s funny.”

This statement proves Sara is the kindest person on the planet, and perhaps in the entire galaxy.

…I’d Lose My Hottest Take

Even with JJB, I honestly believe Star Wars: The Phantom Menace is a magnificent film.

This isn’t a bit. I really mean it. If I could dial up any Star Wars film on Disney+ (not that I can, because I’m too cheap to buy a subscription), this would be it. It’s got incredible production design and imagination, not to mention the greatest lightsaber duel in the franchise’s history. Where’s my DVD player?

…We’d Have Far Fewer Culturally Relevant Weird Sounds

It’s rare that a film’s sound effects become as recognizable as the dialogue. The hum of the Lightsaber, the respirator of Darth Vader, the beep-boop of R2-D2—all great. Even the silly, ululating call of that lizard thing Obi-Wan rides in Revenge of the Sith caught on with my friends. To this day, we’ll shout it at each other across rooms, usually in public, making people wonder what’s wrong with us.

…Phish Wouldn’t be Phish

My brother- and sister-in-law are big fans of the jam band Phish, so they tell me all about the group’s special lingo. For example, if you spot a shirtless, hairy, sweaty, and high man at a Phish show, you’ve just spotted a Wook. Though the origin of the term is difficult to identify, I’m thinking it must be from Star Wars’s Wookies, as in Chewbacca, as in space Bigfoot.

Wooks are a mainstay of the jam band scene, as I understand it, and are therefore essential to Phish’s economy. Without Wooks, could Phish even afford to be the band they are today? I think not.

…Walmart’s Shelves Would Be Barren

I’m being a little facetious. I know Walmart carries far more than just Star Wars collectibles. But have you seen how much Star Wars stuff they have? Whether it’s action figures, video games, t-shirts, replica lightsabers, or Lego crossovers, I’d venture a good 25.75% of their inventory is from a galaxy far, far away.

What would they do with all that extra shelving? Probably stock more Minions merch.

…I’d Need New Dad Jokes

When you become a dad, you make dad jokes. You can’t stop it or control it. It just happens.

So it went for me when my daughter Sasha was born. During the winter, for example, she often wore oversized hoods, which made her look like Emperor Palpatine. From that day on, I dubbed her “Baby Sith.” Fortunately, Baby Sith hasn’t yet exhibited any Sith-like tendencies, i.e. killing the person who named her, i.e. me.

Now that she’s a year-and-a-half old, she makes lots of weird sounds, many of which are gurgles, and sometimes she sounds a lot like Chewy. Hence, “Baby Chewbacca.” If she ever starts complaining about the coarseness of sand, I suppose I’ll have to call her “Baby Ani.”

Of course, the most obvious dad joke in Star Wars is the Vader classic “I am your father” line. I’m being careful with that one, though, because I don’t want Sasha reacting the way Luke did: “No, no, that’s not true. That’s impossible!” Even if you’re the enforcer of the Galactic Empire, that one’s gotta hurt.

…The World Would Be Far Less Interesting

May the force be with us. Always.

Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include three books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

You can read more from the “World Without” blog series here. And if you want to see a specific topic, email kyle@kyleamassa.com.

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The World Without Haircuts

April 16, 2023 /

Haircuts and the World Without Them

This might seem like an odd subject for our “World Without” series, but we’ve reached a point where we need to jump the shark. You know, like when The X-Files replaced Mulder and Scully, or when Fonzie literally jumped a shark on water skis. Plus, as I wrote this one, I realized it was pretty interesting.

So, without further nonsense, in a world without haircuts…

…Pantene Would’ve Produced The Rings of Power

In a world without haircuts, we’d have a lot more hair. And in a world with more hair, shampoo products would become even bigger than Silicon Valley tech giants. With their surplus income, I can imagine Pantene entering the streaming game with their own service: Pantene+ (just $7.99 a month, plus tax).

What’s the first IP they would adapt? Lord of the Rings, of course, because everybody has long, silky hair in Middle-Earth.

…Except Aragorn. His is kinda greasy.

…Edward Scissorhands Never Would’ve Found His Calling

Or maybe he’d put his scissorhands to different use. Why not circumcision?

…Wigs Would Become Obsolete

This would give my wife, Sara, and I quote, “extreme mixed feelings.” Let me explain.

According to Sara, French aristocrats of the 18th century used plaster to keep their big hair looking big. Apparently, this attracted rats who’d burrow inside the plaster while the aristocrats slept, inspiring the French to develop hairpins not for fashion, but for skewering nesting rodents.

This claim seems dubious to me, especially when Sara says they’d go about their days with dead rats rotting in their hair. There must be more to the story, but the ending always dissolves into unintelligible giggling. I’ll circle back if I ever hear the rest.

…My Hair Would Be Extremely Fluffy

My hair doesn’t grow down—it grows out. I’m fortunate that it grows at all, especially considering my grandpa began balding in his 20s, but headbanging to “Mars for the Rich” just isn’t the same when your hair has the approximate shape of a cream puff.

…I’d Have No Newsletter Subscribers

While we’re on the subject of my hair, I once sent a newsletter about it to all my subscribers. This was during the early days of the pandemic, so I, like many, hadn’t gotten a haircut in far too long.

My subscribers were not amused. In fact, 26 of them unsubscribed, which is a personal record.

Without haircuts, I’d probably send tons of newsletters about my crazy hair, losing more and more subscribers until I had none left. But hey, at least I’d save on my Mailchimp subscription.

…Scaling Towers Would Be Way Easier

Rapunzel’s hair is her calling card, but without haircuts, there would be a lot more Rapunzels. Hence the ease in tower-scaling.

…Long Nails Would Be the New Countercultural Statement

It was against the law to have fun in the 50s, so if you were a dude, society demanded you wear your hair short. That’s why the 60s countercultural movement embraced the flow. (For more information, I recommend the 1973 Who song “Cut My Hair.”)

However, long hair would be far more common in a world without haircuts. That’s why I think long nails would’ve become the new countercultural statement instead. “My nails are like my spirit, man: Dirty and untamed!”

…The World at Large Would Endure an Abject Tragedy

Aside from bellowing, cursing, and general lunacy, a hallmark of Nicolas Cage’s career has been his ever-changing hairstyles.

Compare the receding mullet of Con Air to the jet-black quasi-Pat Monahan spikes of Ghost Rider. And we can’t forget the California surfer flow of Season of the Witch. At a rough estimate, Cage’s unpredictable haircuts provide 28.9% of the fun of his performances, leaving the other 71.1% to the aforementioned lunacy. He’d still be great—just not as great. And if that’s not tragic, I don’t know what is.

…I Might’ve Avoided Not One, But Two Traumatic College Memories

I’m a bit of a cheapskate, so when my college chum Jason offered me a free haircut during our freshman year, I said, “Sure, buddy!” I should’ve asked for his credentials because, as it turned out, he had none.

I requested a cut like Leonardo DiCaprio in The Departed. What I got was Friar Tuck from Robin Hood. Jason kept clipping my sideburns, and, deciding they weren’t even, continued to clip them up and up and up until I no longer had any. He also left me nearly bald in the back, for reasons that remain unclear.

The result was so heinous I hid it beneath a hat for weeks on end. You’d think I might’ve learned something from the experience, but when senior year arrived, I asked my friend Erik to cut my hair next. In my defense, he cut his own and it looked good, so I figured he could do the same for me.

Again, I was mistaken. Erik took chunks from my scalp at random, making me resemble a head of broccoli nibbled by a rabbit.  I still don’t understand how this happened. Sabotage, perhaps?

Whatever the explanation, in a world without haircuts, I might’ve been spared several weeks of people asking, “What happened to you?” (Also, this makes me think Ithaca College should offer a degree in hairstyling. Seems to be a common gap in our education.)

…The World Would Be Far Less Interesting

Haircuts are pretty important, I’d say, especially after writing this article. Good thing they’re still a thing.

Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include three books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

You can read more from the “World Without” blog series here. And if you want to see a specific topic, email kyle@kyleamassa.com.

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