When the voice on the other end of the phone said that Chloe had, well, done something with the drama teacher (and just like that, with a lingering pause after the done that was meant to really give the import of the euphemism time to sink in), the first thing ...

I grew up in Highland Park, Texas. That doesn’t mean anything to you, unless you’re from Dallas, but if you were, you would probably hate me for it. Technically, I grew up in University Park, but the two suburbs share a school district, and apart from electing a different mayor and city council they are practically indistinguishable.

Since the advent of the internet, the intimacy that we feel with our pop songs has changed. When content is so utterly customizable, taste is automatically effected; musical taste can now be articulated in a broad spectral slate of enumerations—the hyper-textual urge to craft for yourself a sort of ...

He ate all of the beans, slowly. He would examine one shrewdly in his hands and finger it around before putting half of it in his mouth and chewing. He was happy, and reached out toward me with his hands. His hands were rough and callused, like a paper lunchsack or a leather punching glove. The tufts of hair poking over the back of his hands moved over my face, and I felt aroused.

As an exercise, imagine the entire Facebook network as a real world, in some temporal place. In this world, the human being is replaced by the personal homepage of Facebook; in place of bodily organs and anatomical processes are substituted “about me” sections and a wall for public posts.

During a slow weekend this past July in St. Petersburg, Russia, Rob Madole, Tim Nunan, and John Nelson started scheming, started to talk of raising hell.

JuicyCampus, an anonymous forum devoted to gossip and rumor, has taken off in recent weeks on college campuses across the nation, and represents what is perhaps the final stage of the digitization of student identity. Where before individuals controlled the level of disclosure contained in and the accuracy (or inaccuracy) of their online façades, now anyone may say anything about anyone.

Before you roll your eyes—surprise! another starry-eyed undergrad paean to Barack Obama!—I’ll have you know that here at the Nass we’re not in the business of writing portentous presidential endorsements, as is the wont of our esteemed colleagues over at The Prince. We’ll never know ...

The most vexing thing, for me, as an admirer, is that he chose to hang himself, a gesture he had to have known was deeply dramatic, in the tradition of Brilliant Suicidal Writers like Woolf and Hemingway.

A work by Rob F. Madole.