6:21AM

A tangerine Scion pulls into my driveway 6 minutes late. I get in the car and look the rookie over. He’s cut from the funny pages: pink-cheeked and yellow-haired, with a Dennis the Menace cowlick. His new badge gleams.

“Officer Wu at your service,” I say.

“Whup Ass Wu?”

“Only one I know. Sergeant Fagen asked me to ride in with you so we could have a talk before your first run.”

“This is a real honor.” He shows his teeth and we shake hands.

“North and Clybourn is next. Doors open on the right at North and Clybourn.”

The train starts to move. Arms tangle with arms, grabbing for something to grab. Legs tuck in, not to trip other legs. Eyes search for a safe place, avoiding contact with other eyes. I have read the same paragraph seven times. Seven times. And I’ll probably read it seven more. Monkeyfucking Dostoyevsky.

Consider the asshole. Now I’m not talking about that pesky micromanager at work or your impossible-to-please mother, I’m talking about that indispensable void between your nether regions that so often goes underappreciated. Much like myself these days I’m afraid. But as a proctologist, rated number one in Palm Beach County according to a 1998 edition of the Jewish Senior Advocate, assholes, particularly the unhealthy ones, is what I butter my bread with. For I am in the business of maintaining the state of your rectum. No, not your anus, Princess, my fine-feathered Budgie. Believe me when I say it, what a joy it is to seldom see your asshole. Even if I pried apart your tidy green feathers, I doubt I’d come across it so easily. There’s only one woman for me these days, Princess and at least your squawking won’t bring on another migraine.

Day 1: My Brother is Pelting Me with Hershey’s Kisses

Each festive chocolate pulled from the candy dish is swung over the living room planter en route for my head, trunk, or at least a limb. With the older sibling advantage, his aim is precise. For years he has practiced his technique, has mastered the maneuver of recon, sweeping up each fallen missile to prevent a return attack. One eye on the target, one eye scanning the carpet. His arms and legs, a unified machine with one purpose: to annoy.

You have one hour to complete the following exam.

1. Your best friend asks what you think of her new yellow couch. Which of the following is not an appropriate response?

A) Pointing out that, as a licensed interior designer, you can’t comment until you receive a retainer.
B) Pointing out that the color is “goldenrod,” not yellow.
C) Pointing out that the piece is a “sofa,” not a couch.
D) Pointing out that it is late, and you must be going.