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Stories by Adam Parfrey

God, Christ, Satan, or Con?

San Diegans Worship a Miracle Man

It is like baking a cake. I stir, I knead, I pound, I twist, I bake you. I drawn you in tears I scorch you in sobs. I make you a sweet and crisp, an ...

A Revolution of Small Guns

On this chill evening, a mere fortnight before a Trilateralist named Clinton got the nod, American-built cars of substantial steel pull up in front of Lakeside’s Harvest Christian Fellowship. The bumper stickers say it all: ...

Woman Carries Elvis Presley's Test Tube Tot

“God Made Me Do It,” She Says SPANISH EYES by Debra Wimer (From the Ginger Aldett Fan Club Newsletter; abridged by Adam Parfrey) The first thing I remember is crying over how tragically short Elvis ...

Elvis appears in North County driveway

Esondido's Debra Wimer carries the torch

G is for generous always giving of herself. I is for ideal, she’s more perfect than anyone else. N is for newcomer, but a STAR she will be. G is for generous, her generous way ...

Budd Boetticher ends up near Ramona

Bare knuckles

There are the little men. Then there is Budd Boetticher. I don't mean his size — he's a compact man with an easy smile and vaguely Mongol eyes that hint at a barbaric zest for ...

Citizen Keane: The Saucer Eye Orphans Have Lost Their Father

The big-eyed kids suffer a painful paternity suit

Keane kids were the true pop art, much more a mass phenomenon than Warhol’s Brillo boxes or Lichtenstein’s exploded comics.

Russian brides — more than you imagined

Natasha is my name. I like cook and sew. I marry you, yes?

It's a peculiar setup. Strangers write strangers, attempting a mating dance despite cultural barriers so fierce that very little is communicated beyond the desire to communicate. Take Ed Burden (name pseudonymous by request), airline pilot, ...

Tales of loss and desolation: Merry Christmas!

Reader writers pour out souls

A criticism implied in every gift I don’t remember Christmas. None in particular. There’s this Christmas thread, an irregular stream of pictograms (orange snowriding disk = delight) linked by an underlying Christmas smell (new plastic, ...

San Diego, My Lovely

On the noir side of town

Stretching east of 30th Street, the Mid-City mesa has for decades been a Gasoline Alley wasteland of car washes, card parlors, dinky pink bungalows: low-rent neighborhoods whose obscurity is secured by distance from freeway off-ramps.

The latter days of El Cajon's Unarius

The gods must be crazy

Don’t forget, if you have negative feelings against me it is not me as a person because I am not an individual, I am the Infinite! — Uriel speaks, in Effort to Destroy the Unarius ...

Let’s Be Friends

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