Fiction

31 May 2018

Broke-Ass Honeymoon: How To Do It On A Shoestring

By Genie Cartier Getting married is fucking expensive. Even if you don’t buy into the wedding industry’s insane money-burning-bullshit pressure, if you have a wedding and there are more than a few people there, chances are you just spent a big chunk of your savings on it. And if you

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02 Mar 2018

When a Work Email Chain Goes Very Very Wrong

by Devin Holt Editor’s note: Most stories are made out of paragraphs that lead to the next paragraph. This fictional account of an email thread gone very, very wrong uses a slightly different format.                                

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05 Jan 2018

How to Talk to Women Without Harassing Them

How to Talk to Women Without Harassing Them: Guidelines for Well-Intentioned Men Guest post by Genie Carter Recently, I was at Powell station looking up the Muni and Bart times on my phone and trying to quickly figure out which one to take home, and a man came up to

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17 Nov 2017

BAS Fiction– Them SpaceCrafts: Part 3

Them SpaceCrafts: Part 3 by Devin Holt   Missed part 2? Read it here. I knew what to do as soon as I saw that map. The SpaceCraft Nikes were legendary. Word on Instagram was they only made 50 pairs, in a cross-promotion with Mistah F.A.B., the Warriors, and Google.

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08 Nov 2017

BAS Fiction– Them SpaceCrafts: Part Two

THEM SPACECRAFTS: Part 2 by Devin Holt Missed Part One? Read it here. I figured it out in the middle of the night: I had to go to that creepy, crumbling warehouse next door. Somehow, it would help me get Papi to come home from the fires. That’s what Mom,

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01 Nov 2017

BAS Fiction– Them SpaceCrafts: Part One

THEM SPACECRAFTS: Part One by Devin Holt Turns out it’s good that Aunt Tina is so bitchy. Because if she wasn’t, none of this would have happened. Papi would have got burned in the fires, we never would have found them SpaceCrafts, and Damone wouldn’t be two-inches from becoming my

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06 Sep 2017

BAS Fiction- It Pays

IT PAYS by Allyson Darling   Violet-colored feathers encircled my eyes; the elastic tied around my head pulled at my hair — a Mardi Gras mask wasn’t exactly the item I had imagined wearing to protect my identity. I lied on my stomach with my feet splayed out on a

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