Cheridomingo – Shapeshift | Album Review

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everybody lives!

Musical genres can be tricky. In theory, they’re a kind of shorthand used to categorize bands with vaguely similar sounds in order to help match them up with the right audience. However, the result often leaves musicians pigeon-holed into certain scenes or expectations. Sometimes, though, a band will decide to throw genre conventions out the window, finding ways to bring all of their influences together. Examples of this include emo stalwarts The World Is A Beautiful Place & I Am No Longer Afraid To Die, “nü pop” favorites Cheem, and newcomers Cheridomingo here on their first full-length release, Shapeshift.

The name of the record couldn’t feel more appropriate, as the Ventura County natives spend ten songs rapidly moving between different alternative genres with clear appreciation and reverence for the music that came before them. Be prepared for a combination of pop-punk, post-hardcore, electronic, nu-metal, emo, and more. It might seem like a lot to take in, but the songs have continuity in the form of vocalist and guitarist Anthony Avina.

It’s clear that the title Shapeshift has a dual meaning, referring both to the way the band weaves together different styles as well as the themes found within Avina’s lyrics. Across the tracks, the singer runs through a list of fears and anxieties keeping him at a distance from the world around him, all written in a way that feels relatable to any listener or onlooker. The most direct example of this universality is on “/cry,” the third single off Shapeshift, which finds Avina lamenting, “If I die young or I grow old, it makes no difference / I’m afraid of where I will go after my life ends.”

Discussing the album, Avina stated that he never had someone in his life to reassure him that things would be okay, forcing him to create that person within himself. We all do this to some extent–shifting between personas we’ve developed depending on the situation we find ourselves dealing with. While those themes recur across Shapeshift, there’s plenty of lighter fare, too, like the chorus of “Limerence,” which is delivered in a melody that accurately captures the nervous energy of falling in love.

Caught on the line, reeling me into you
I’m terrified that I’d die if you tell me to

The fact that Shapeshift moves so seamlessly between styles is also a testament to the band’s musicianship and songwriting. Credit should go to lead guitarist Adam Dobrucki and production from Zach Tuch (Movements, Trash Talk, ZULU), as the guitars sound crisp and easy to define. Nothing on the record feels unnatural or disjointed, which can be a common pitfall while trying to bring this many different genres to the table. The rhythm section keeps the proceedings moving smoothly with their own moments to shine, such as bassist Alex Gonzalez’s work throughout “/cry” and how drummer Simon Beck intertwines physical drumming with electronic beats.

The catchiest song on Shapeshift is “Disconnect,” a pop-punk-post-hardcore track that brings to mind the best output of bands like Saosin or Balance and Composure. With the chorus, Cheridomingo shows that they’re capable of coming up with hooks that can stick in your head for hours on end. It’s songs like this that have the power to win over hordes of fans at live shows, so here’s hoping “Disconnect” makes regular appearances on the band’s setlist. 

Of the album’s three singles, “/cry” is a clear standout. This track brings the band’s nu-metal influences to the forefront, with elements that harken to Deftones as Avina’s effects-laden voice is heard over a thumping bass line. This mood feels like it stands in direct contrast to the more emo-tinged opener “Like A Chain” or the 2000s alt-rock found on “Peace of Mind.”

Cheridomingo even dips into straightforward pop music at points, most notably with “Get In.” which picks up immediately where “Disconnect” leaves off. The song starts off on a somber note but quickly turns into something that wouldn’t feel out of place on mainstream pop radio. Similarly, the song “Sympathy” includes sections with strong Panic! At The Disco vibes while also folding in some post-hardcore elements that bring a harder edge. 

Shapeshift is a good album with moments that are great. Avina’s vocal melodies are very strong, and together, the band has already shown they’re capable of writing quality songs across different genres. By offering so many different styles on the same record, Cheridomingo encourages listeners to keep an open mind and explore something different than they might normally listen to.

The state of music only changes through experimentation, and a lot of that happens through the blending of genres. With that in mind, if Shapeshift can be considered an experiment, it should be seen as a successful one on the part of Cheridomingo. As long as they continue to develop their style with future releases, they will undoubtedly be a band to keep an eye on.

Nick Miller is a freelance writer from Ypsilanti, Michigan, primarily writing about the world of professional wrestling. He also enjoys playing music, reading, tabletop RPGs, and logging Letterboxd entries (AKA watching movies). You can find him on X at @nickmiller4321 or on Instagram at @nickmiller5678.

Combat – Stay Golden | Album Review

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Counter Intuitive Records

Somewhere in the back of Ottobar, I was sipping a drink with Deep Eddy's grapefruit vodka as I turned to answer my friend's question. He had tagged along with me to see Prince Daddy & the Hyena's summer tour and was asking about the local opener. The star-studded lineup included saturdays at your place, Riley!, and Carpool, but my friend was most curious about the first band on the list – Combat. I think I yelled something along the lines of “best band in Baltimore right now,” or “you wouldn’t believe their new single,” or “they’re probably going to bring the building down,” but was cut off because, at that moment, Combat crashed onto the stage. The air in the room that hung with pre-show humidity suddenly buzzed with electricity as we braced for what was coming. Within seconds of the first chord, the whole crowd was moving. 

I was really bad at physics in school, so don't quiz me on anything else, but I remember that the law of conservation of energy says that energy cannot be created or destroyed, but it can change form. I’m pretty sure that Combat’s sophomore album, Stay Golden, is sonic proof of that. Throughout the concept record, Combat bounces between speed and resonating impact, often at the turn of a lyric. Ultimately, the live wire sound keeps the momentum of the album at a thrashing high energy while the lyrics delve into insecurities, secrets, memories, and an ever-evolving outlook on the very album you’re listening to. Through meta self-analysis and music so emotive it feels impossible to capture, Combat’s latest is a legend in the making. 

After a brief piano intro, a sample from Spider-Man: Homecoming sets the tone, playing off the band’s name as a robotic Jennifer Connelly asks, “Would you like me to engage Enhanced Combat Mode?” to which an emphatic Peter Parker responds, “Enhanced Combat Mode? Yeah!” Seconds later, the band rips into the jingly cacophony of the titular “Stay Golden." which tears out in a thrash of whirlwind pop-punk. Before we get any further, I feel the need to explain the physical impact of this song. When I saw Combat in July, this song, the album’s first single, had only been out for a couple of weeks. It was received with rave reviews, appearances in 5x5 Friday grids, and apt comparisons to the wild and raucous sound of Bomb the Music Industry! But then I saw it live, and as much as I’ve tried to rework this sentence, it is impossible to describe the ferocity the band threw into this song and how much the crowd threw right back. I mean, the whole pit knew the words within a handful of days and was scrambling over each other to scream “Hey Holden!” back to the lyric’s namesake, frontman Holden Wolf. That split second pretty much explained the frenzy that Ottobar had turned into. Luckily, it’s immortalized on video here (and yes! That is the album's producer, Origami Angel's Ryland Heagy filling in on guitar, and yes! That is a Riley! cameo).

The whole album is a sprint from there. After being drop-kicked by the title track, “Faith” feels like being punted through the air, continuing the more meta side of the album as Wolf describes writing the song you’re listening to. “Put Me In, Coach” feels like falling but never hitting the ground and keeps up the impossible breakneck speed of the album’s introductory tracks. While a brick is on the gas pedal, the jaded side of the album’s lyrical themes are put into overdrive as Wolf sardonically asks, “Do I make you lots of money?”

This stretch of songs feels like someone who doesn’t know they have telekinesis on the brink of discovering their powers by accidentally exploding their room. It’s building and building and building. This cartoon tornado of energy spirals into the aptly titled “Full Speed Ahead,” a song that climbs like you’re on a broken elevator with a cord pulling you up and then dropping you in a way that makes everything that came before it somehow feel slower by comparison. Wolf yells with such a strain in his voice that it feels like the band is using everything they have left, and it’s only the fifth song. 

After furious cymbal crashes and guitars that ricochet against each other, the front half of the album crescendos into the first 8-minute powerhouse, “Weird Ending Explained Pt. 1.” It’s chaotic. It’s a breather. It’s chilling. It’s miserable. It’s apologetic. It’s bitten. It bites back. The song is self-confident and self-referential, feeling like this album’s answer to 2022’s Text Me When You Get Back. “Weird Ending Pt. 1” gives the listener an abridged history of Combat thus far, closing a chapter mid-album while also showing the band’s cards and revealing the direction they’re taking now. The song weaves and winds, pulling together past musical motifs and forgotten chords from their catalog while the lyrics pile on top of each other, working into a building panic. The momentum picks back up when suddenly Wolf flips and describes the unending process of writing another album, jokes about using leitmotifs, and bemoans trying to stay golden despite it all. Honestly, it makes me feel silly to write that they used something like leitmotifs and recurring lyrics —  as if I walked directly into a trap. It’s yet another crack in the fourth wall of the album, a jab at what the song just did. As it slows and fades out, Combat is left standing in a kind of panopticon of their own making as they decide between expectations for the band, their future, and the audience.

From there, the album pumps the brakes, but only slightly. The blistering momentum cools down into longer songs and slower deliveries, but that doesn’t mean the raging is over. Guitars duke it out on the Prince Daddy-ish “Happy Again” and “Compound Sentences” feels like the fast-food-obsessed spiritual successor to Origami Angel’s "24 Hr Drive-Thru," but with a bit of twang thrown into the mix. Between those two songs, “Merrow Lanes” builds traction back up, using Magic the Gathering as a flexible metaphor for poking and prodding at something until it reaches perfection. To exemplify this, Wolf declares he’s “on the way to idealized far destinations” but “stuck on a freight train to Loserville.” The whole song ultimately turns against the notion of vapidly improving yourself as it repeats the cloying phrasing “you’re gonna have to do better,” mocking those who deal such flat advice while the music turns into a stampede that is sure to take the floor out of any venue they play this in. 

The energy of the final tracks oscillates between kinetic and potential. “Epic Season Finale” is a sort of pseudo-closer, pulling the self-depreciation, want, and meta sides of the album's lyrics to more forgiving heights. It soars up and sits in the same blue sky as the cover. It’s a buddy comedy of a song. Amongst the concept album framework, it has almost a final scene quality, an epic season finale if you will, one with forgotten conflict, accepted confessions, big smiles, and forever friendships.

The promised second part of “Weird Ending Explained Pt. 1” arrives to close out the album. Of the nine minutes that make up “Weird Ending Explained Pt. 2,” the first two are purely instrumental, a sturdy bass line holding it all together until the crash. If “Epic Season Finale” was the final scene, this would be the montage that plays over the credits. Much like its mid-album twin, “Weird Ending Explained Pt. 2” revisits prior melodies and themes but focuses on Stay Golden instead of prior Combat projects, all while staring directly through the hole in the 4th wall. With these meta devices in place, this song also continues to offer new perspectives on the album you're listening to as you're listening to it. One of the most jarring comes when Wolf amends "Faith," circling back to the complications of writing this particular album:

It's just getting harder
To try to get it through your skull
Sounding out your vowels and consonants
Barely make out compound sentences
George never played the upright bass
Was just a line to fill out space
With impersonal, infactual, and total witty quips.

These lyrics turn the entire album on its head, a simple glimpse at how many details and references are packed into its 40-minute runtime. The album begs to be replayed immediately, and it’s not even over yet. The quick admittance leads into the final few minutes of the song as it jumps from a fast-stepping melody into a wrenching wail, into a trumpet-laced dirge, into a last-ditch bouncy refrain, and into slowing violins that loop into the first track. 

Energy cannot be created or destroyed, but on Stay Golden, it’s entirely infinite, and this is clearly only the beginning. Back at Ottobar in July, Combat’s set ended in the same frenzy it started, with constant collisions spiraling around the room and out into the crowd. But all kinetic energy eventually has to shift back into potential; the next band must go on, we need to find the owner of whoever lost a shoe in the pit, and I need to grab a beer before the next set. 

Caro Alt’s (she/her) favorite thing in the world is probably collecting CDs. Caro is from New Orleans, Louisiana and spends her time not sorting her CD collection even though she really, really needs to.

Ben Seretan – Allora | Album Review

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Tiny Engines

I’ve gotten really into meditation this year. It’s become one of those habits that has gone beyond performative. Instead, meditation has become a practice that makes me feel better and supports my neverending human endeavor to grow in warmth, beauty, and happiness.

Ben Seretan’s Allora has also been instrumental in my spiritual development. Through its lens of a ripping, anthemic indie rock album, I find myself selfishly excited to meditate on its drone. Every song basks in the overdriven tube warmth of a guitar amp. Plucked strings and shredding leads guide listeners to Seretan’s gospel about resilience and love. A congregation of bassist Nico Hedley and drummer Dan Knishkowy backs Seretan to form a kind of garage band trinity. 

At over eight minutes, album opener “New Air” introduces his thesis as Seretan repeats, “We breathe new air for the first time.” The single is grounded by a driving bassline and groove that ascends into an explosive solo, awash in crashing cymbals and tremolo picking. Given the track’s length and droning structure, the song begs listeners to give in, let go, and enjoy the moment. In that trance, though, there is respite and rebirth, as Seretan and co. offer dynamics that allow for breathing room, processing, and gratitude. Long songs are always a risk, especially as first tracks, but despite that inherent challenge, Seretan sets the bar high right out of the gate.

If “New Air” is a meditation on rebirth, “Bend” is a sobering reflection on the compounding nature of one’s past. The lyrics-cum-poetry are memories:

flowers on the road
bending toward the sun
I will follow slowly
you were almost free
I could hear you singing
for the last time.

These flashes of imagery push Seretan to the edge with an emotional weight that is exhumed through his climatically delivered refrain: “Bending with the weight of it / what I want could fill the world up / I will bend, not break.” Similarly to how Dan “Soupy” Campbell of The Wonder Years encouraged a younger me to push through depression and apathy with the war cry “I’m not sad anymore,” Seretan encourages me now to be flexible in the face of adversity, tragedy, and grief. 

“Free” is the eight-minute tails to the head of “New Air.” Mostly instrumental and darker in tone, the track is plain and clear in a desire for liberation: “Were it that I was free / ah, free.” Although Allora is not without conflict, “Free” is the most obvious and direct. There is love and resilience and joy, but some shackles still remain. Even then, though, Seretan remains grateful on the closer, “Every Morning Is A,” where he sings, “Every morning is a / glory hallelujah.” The final song is simply those lyrics and Seretan’s now familiar guitar noodling over an organ pad. Reverbed up to heaven, you’d swear you were in a church yourself.

A skeptic myself, I had some unwelcome flashbacks to being in church in elementary and high school. In spite of the emotions that accompanied those memories, Ben Seretan’s Allora left me peaceful, hopeful, and surprisingly grateful to carry my weight because it is mine, and I will not break under it.

Brooklyn native Joe Wasserman moonlights as an English teacher when he’s not playing bass in the LVP. Find more of his writing on Substack.

Otis Shanty – Nobody’s Party | Single Review

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Relief Map Records

“We’re here!”

I felt the old Land Cruiser lurch to a stop as my friend yanked the parking brake, which was more of a gesture of faith than a safety measure. The slow, heavy car slipped out of gear at least once a month, parking brake or not. I sighed and carefully opened the door, easing myself into the cool summer evening. I could hear laughter and loud music pouring through the golden windows of the house we’d trundled through miles of scrubby pines to reach. “There’s a party on Friday,” my friend had told me. “You should come. We’ll take the tank.” 

The driveway seemed a hundred feet long, though my friend was already nearly to the house, battered Docs kicking gravel ahead of them. I scurried to catch up, breathlessly fumbling for my earbuds in my jacket pocket. Shoving one into my ear, I pressed play on the latest single from a band I had recently discovered. Warmth flowed through the earbud like honey melting into hot tea. We were almost to the door.

My mind flashed back to the drive over. “What do I talk about?” I had asked my friend as we rumbled and bumped down narrow country roads. Their eyes darted over to me, then back to the road. 

“Music, probably.” They slowed to avoid a pothole but hit it anyway, adding, “Maybe that new band you’ve been into? Otis Shanty?” 

My head hit the roof as we plowed through another pothole. I hesitated. “Okay.” 

~

Boston indie rockers Otis Shanty make music that is sweet and hazy, laced with melodies that cling to your mind like smoke to your clothes. The group has two EPs and an album already under their belt, and with the forthcoming release of their sophomore album, Up On The Hill, through Relief Map Records, the future is bright for the four-piece. According to the band, while their new album has “a connection to the Early Birds EP, there is also an expansion both sonically and lyrically.” Today, we’re treated to a fresh taste of the album with “Nobody’s Party,” following up the group’s previous single “Why Do I Care?” which dropped on July 16th. 

Tackling the uncomfortable subject of social dynamics, “Nobody’s Party” perfectly conveys the confusing and overwhelming feelings that so often accompany going out. Parties and gatherings become a balancing act - am I talking too much? Was that cringe? Am I being friendly enough? The band thoughtfully commented on the concept of connection at parties:

“I don’t think that the notion of a party in the U.S. makes room for authentic connection around core values, which is what I often crave. Parties are so often a physical manifestation of the desire for social capital: we dress up, drink, and shmooze to feel a part of something. But sometimes, the anticipation, awkwardness, hangover, and embarrassment aren’t worth it. I don’t want to trade authenticity for social capital, but at the same time, I don’t always pursue my genuine thoughts and desires out of fear of being misunderstood. Ultimately, it’s a struggle with confidence that is hard to break out of.”

For myself, I generally feel drowned out in social settings, often taking the backseat as a listener rather than vying for the spotlight. I tend to worry about how I am perceived in these settings, not from a desire for others’ approval but rather from the fear that I will present myself inauthentically. Small talk is painful, sure, but who among us is willing to open up about their hopes, dreams, and fears to a stranger in their living room? (Especially when you’re struggling to be heard over whoever is blasting Pop Goes Punk through a tinny Bluetooth speaker.)

“Nobody’s Party” earnestly captures this paradox of feeling - sweet guitars wrap the listener in a warm embrace, an oddly comforting contrast against the raw lyricism. The mix on this song is beautifully done - the bass drives the nostalgic chords while the guitars and vocals float above it like mist. The drums are delicately balanced above the entire thing like a copper mobile, dancing with light. The song hits heavy from the very beginning - in the opening lyrics, vocalist Sadye Bobbette describes the inner turmoil of going through the motions at yet another party: 

Same old crowd here
Spinning the same old conversation
Sometimes I choke on a sentence
Oh, seconds away from losing my tongue on the floor
Seconds away from losing my mind 

Putting on a smiling facade while forcing down the lump in your throat is an act of emotional bravado that seems impossible to maintain. But is the comfort offered with honesty worth the pain of vulnerability? At the peak of the song, Sadye repeats my favorite line over and over as she is echoed by her own voice. “Anything will fly with the roof detached, anything will fly with the roof detached.” Distant shimmering gang vocals press the chorus to a cathartic high, and tears sting my eyes as the band crashes around me like a wave. “I don’t do what is best / When it’s hidden in plain sight / So I stay one more minute / For the last time of tonight.”

~

I slipped through the kitchen door to the back porch. “Man, it was loud in there,” I mumbled to myself, hands once again searching for the security of my single earbud. I leaned against the rough wooden siding of the house and watched as the stars emerged above me, pin-pricks against the velvet of the infinite void beyond. My friend’s laugh erupted from the kitchen like a firework, bigger than all the rest, though it did not demand attention. I often wished I were more like them: more confident, more easy-going, more ready to laugh.

I had the same Otis Shanty song on a loop - “Nobody’s Party.” I figured it made sense for the evening, and I was fixated on it anyway. I closed my eyes as the song swirled around me, purple and orange phosphenes dancing briefly against my eyelids as I hummed along. “I don’t do what is best / When it’s hidden in plain sight / So I stay one more minute / For the last time, for the last time.” My throat was thick with tears as I heard the door open, but I didn’t open my eyes to look over. There was no need.

My friend settled against the house beside me, lighting a wilted cigarette. We stood under the heavy swath of night for a few moments before I heard them clear their throat. I braced myself for the question I thought was coming.

“What are you afraid of?”

My eyes blinked open as I looked at my friend in surprise. They were staring at me intently, the cigarette glowing like a lighthouse as I covertly wiped my eyes. Taking a shaky breath, I put my earbuds in my pocket and answered.

Across the yard, the Land Cruiser slipped out of gear.

Britta Joseph is a musician and artist who, when she isn’t listening to records or deep-diving emo archives on the internet, enjoys writing poetry, reading existential literature, and a good iced matcha. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter @brittajoes.

Oso Oso – life till bones | Album Review

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Yunahon Entertainment LLC

Oso Oso maestro Jade Liliti has spent the better part of a decade establishing himself as the purveyor of emo’s sunniest, most indelible hooks. The Hotelier’s Christian Holden–a longtime friend and tourmate–once compared him to Winnie the Pooh, so it’s a little jarring when his fifth record under the Oso Oso moniker begins with the bleak admission, “I love you but life is a gun.” That first song, “many ways,” is the kind of intro that Lilitri has never quite attempted before; it’s plaintive and embryonic, crackling with auxiliary piano and swells of feedback, segueing neatly into the jaunty “the country club.” A quick spoiler: the gun never goes off, but by the time lead single “all of my love” rolls around, it’s in possession of a woman named Annie, and she’s pointing it directly at him. I wouldn’t blame you if you were too busy grinning ear to ear at the Rembrandts-style handclaps to notice that the lyrics are actually about falling OUT of love; the ebullient chorus soothed Lilitri’s dog, too.

life till bones was never going to be a particularly cheery affair. Looming over the album’s ten tracks is the death of Tavish Maloney, Lilitri’s blood cousin, musical collaborator, and closest friend. He passed shortly after working with Lilitri on the tracking of sore thumb, which was subsequently released largely untouched, a monument to their lifelong friendship, frozen in amber. The songs on that record were freewheeling and often silly, soaked through with LSD and lined with weird experimental flourishes; brilliant but scattershot. With a few more years in the rearview, life till bones hones in on the aftermath.

The cavernous absence is most starkly addressed on the bloodletting “seesaw,” where Lilitri ruminates on the reality of losing a loved one. It’s a difficult listen, almost like a confessional we should not be privy to. The final refrain, wherein Lilitri cleverly splices the title in two, lays bare the aimlessness of moving forward: “The seesaw I saw balance in me / Now that balance is gone, I don’t know what I see.” A couple songs earlier, the more upbeat “stoke” takes a slightly more resolute path, striving to “try to find a way / to keep all that at bay.” Lilitri may be coughing up smoke but the flame is “stoked” and, given his predilection for stoner-patois, I’m inclined to read it as a double entendre; the fire isn’t merely alive, it’s excited. Our memories of the deceased can be painful but also inspiring, even invigorating; reminders of how to live as they lived and keep their best qualities alive with us.

So, where do we go from here? What do we do when forced to carry on after losing everything we hold dear? Lilitri would seem to argue that we pour love out into the universe, unyieldingly. To return to that radiant “all of my love” chorus, the relationship in that song dissolves because he “can’t give you all of [his] love,” the implication being that anything less than that would be a waste. In the Oso Oso vernacular, love has always been the ultimate force, the “one sick plan” to save Lilitri from his own demise. But life till bones is the most clearly he’s articulated the corollary: there is no half measure. Anything short of total, life-altering, starry-eyed devotion simply won’t do. On the shout-along “other people’s stories,” he mourns failed romance and refuses to settle until he can find something comparable: “I can’t fall in love if it’s not with you / Cause other people’s stories got me feeling bored.” When that true, transcendent love is attained, it’s almost a benevolent funhouse mirror that lets Lilitri see his best self in the eyes of another. Or, said another way on the buoyant “skippy,” “I like when I’m with you I make the good choice instead.”  

While life till bones might not be the most sonically ambitious Oso Oso album, it is certainly the most focused, almost iterative in its Frankenstein-style synthesis of Lilitri’s work to date. He nicks the snare-driven stomping groove from “dig” and speeds it up for “stoke”; he tactfully deploys sore thumb’s piano flourishes; he’s back singing of Annies and disasters around the bend; he upcycles an old demo into a beachy reverie. Often, when a songwriter’s repeated tics are visible enough to be articulated, it means they are spinning their wheels, but this is moreso the work of a master craftsman, a generational tunesmith confident enough to mine his own back catalog for inspiration. It certainly doesn’t hurt that this laser-focus is in service of some of the sharpest pop he’s ever penned, 29 straight minutes of minivan window-primed radio rock. Two of the songs were released in advance as singles, but for my money, there are easily five more that would have fit the bill.

The album takes its title from a line in the closer: “Look at all the people, looking at their phones / With how much time left? Life till bones.” It’s a pretty head-on confrontation of mortality, hidden at the end of a B-Side largely devoted to fawning love songs, and it’s indicative of what Lilitri does best. His phrases breeze by perfectly clipped, and the fleeting melancholy registers like an in-joke, a passing thought to be acknowledged but not dwelled on. Then—much like life, one might say–the album is over almost too soon. One day, we will all be reduced to bones. But it’s a funny thing about skeletons; when all the living flesh decays, they always look a bit like they’re smiling.

Jason Sloan is a guy from Brooklyn by way of Long Island. He posts mediocre jokes on Twitter and can be found occasionally rambling on his blog Tributary.