After over a decade of tormenting this regular American suburb, police finally caught up with the Tin Can Killer.

Memorandum and Tandem is at the scene of his arrest.

Police say that Mr. X is a middle aged white man living alone. We have done some serious sleuthing and discovered that no one in the neighborhood was surprised to learn that Mr. X was actually the famous serial killer.

Old Gramma Jones, 103, reports exclusively to Memorandum in Tandem, “I used to see him sneaking around my garden at twilight. He would hide behind the bushes when I went onto the porch. And I was always pretty certain Mr. X was the one who decapitated my cat, Big Joe.”

Says Sally Simpson, 42, down the block, “Once he chased me down the street with a sledgehammer. He screamed that he was going to kill me. I don’t know why I never called the cops.”

“Every couple of weeks he would dig a rectangular hole in the backyard, usually about six by three feet,” notes Allen Davis, 33, a door to door salesman in the area. “Once he actually came to the door when I rang and I heard a struggle before he opened it. I am not even remotely surprised that he has been killing people for years.”

One lonely evening I found myself watching “Hercules” starring Kellan Lutz. The incredibly poor writing and acting prevented me from completing the entire movie but I did manage to live haiku the first 50 minutes. The following is the result.

Can a spray-on tan

Ever seem remotely like

A real complexion?

Why do they still make

CGI action movies

So unbelievable?

Kellan Lutz has

lips paler than the rest of

his skin and blonde hair

A killer pout is

is a decent asset but

it’s never enough

Different accents

make it unlikely any

one is ancient greek

Did the Egyptians

At Heliopolis wear

rodent shaped armour

Movies should only

Get a specific amount

Of slow-motion time

If you’re a starving

Slave, how do you retain such

Defined arms and pecs?

Do lovers see the

same moon at the same time in

different time zones?

In Sicily there

was a fight. Half-face and his

ugly friend will lose.

I called it. Half-face

is down, eaten by lions.

Humbaba is next.

Back to Greece I guess.

This plot could not be worse if

I wrote it myself.

Did you have to wear

white to attend the games? Was

dye not invented?

Did Hercules just

kill a man in a loincloth,

with a turkey leg?

Something strange happened to me today when I got home from work. 

I came into the house and took my shoes off. I lugged myself upstairs. Before I had a chance to throw myself on the bed and pass out I noticed a grey sludge pooling out from under the boxspring.

My immediate thought was that one of my cats had a terrible bowel movement. I inched closer to get a better look. “O my God!,” I shouted. “That’s not cat diarrhea! That’s GEMMA’S BRAIN!”

Gemma’s brain, in its adventurous escape from her skull, somehow made it’s way across the country and into my bedroom. I quickly scraped the brain into a dustpan and then a glass jar before any of the kitties could get to it. 

I set the jar up on a bookshelf and got into bed to sleep a dreamless sleep.

Like all women– frivolous creatures that we are– Diamond and Gem cannot help but obsess over one thing at the start of every new season: the “It” bag. What will it be? Who will be seen with it? Everyone knows that a gal’s carrier shapes her identity for any given period (pun intended) of time. Portable storage for mysterious feminine products and ubiquitous hysteria suppressants is a must for any hip lady.

Fair sex, release your breath. Look no further. The official Memorandum in Tandem selection for Bag of Spring 2014 is…

The RETICULE

Long a reliable staple for any self-respecting medieval woman, the reticule is “rety” for the twenty-first century. Part purse, part winter hat, part cod-piece, this embroidery bomb is perfect for carrying spin class sweatbands, Starbucks rewards cards, designer cuticle cream, and even a small glass-bottled chia pudding for an afternoon snack.

If you need your bag to scream “I know what’s in and Eleanor of Aquitaine bought one too!” then this is the bag for you.

Browse our full selection in the Memo in Tando Spring Catolog. Email memointando@gmail.com for more info.

Perusing the aisles of Trader Joe’s today, Gem was struck by a terrifying thought. A question suddenly loomed in her mind.

What happened to the days of plentiful guilt, of free shame and self-hatred imbued in our food? What is this guilt-free world and how do we navigate it.

Introducing Diamond and Gem’s brand new, life-altering, guilt supplements for the guilt-deficient body!

Feeling carefree? Think you look good?Something happened and you aren’t to blame? Not feeling bad about something you’ve done or the shape of your body?

Never fear! Memorandum in Tandem Pharmaceuticals has your fat, ugly back!

Get your daily dose of self-loathing and mea culpa in one easy-to-swallow-with-fat-free-water pill.

$199.99 for one bottle. Payable in gelt or bitcoins.

Order now and receive your free shipment of unremitting despair.

Email memointando@gmail.com

Pete Flotz wakes up.

Goddam. Last night was nuts. Earl sure threw us for a loop with all that drinking. I don’t want to get out of my fucking bed.

He rolls over.

Fuck. My head hurts.

Pete sleeps on a futon. He keeps meaning to buy a bed but every time he’s about to make the leap it seems like a lot of money and a futon isn’t too bad after all. His sheets are for a bed though so the loose folds got caught around his body while he slept and now the corners are unhooked. Pete’s legs rest on the rough canvas of the bare futon cushion.

The moment of wakefulness has sent an incontrovertible signal to Pete’s bladder. He must pee.

Barely able to stand straight, head pounding, Pete sits on the cold toilet bowl. As the boiling urine leaves his body a rumble sounds from deep within and he lets out an ominous, long, trumpeting fart. That wakes him up.

Wow. That felt good.

Pete clenches his sphincter in preparation for another emission.

Ptheeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwoooo  pthough pth, his butt says.

Outside, a man screams and falls over. The gun he held seconds before clatters on the sidewalk and he clutches his burned face as his would-be victim flees the scene.

Pete glances out the window but cannot see the man writhing below the sill. He lights a match and leaves to dress for work. It’s just another day that starts with a headache.

This was Pete’s first instance of unconscious heroism. How was he to know that the powerful gas of the Golden Burrito would continue to shape the course of his life for many years to come? How was he to know that this special gas had traveled through the crack in his bathroom window? That a criminal outside was at that moment lighting his cigarette in the midst of his crime; that the reaction of methane and fire would temporarily blind this man and cause him pain, allowing the young woman he held at gunpoint to run away? Pete could not and would not know.

So begins the tale of Pete Flotz, wielder of God’s Golden Fart.

We were recently introduced to the Red Button Series, the part of Never Mind the Buzzcocks when Phil Jupitus and Noel Fielding verbally spar over pressing issues like U2 vs R2D2, Cat Steven vs Cats, and Coldsores vs Coldplay.

In 1970, a new group of feminists calling themselves the Radicalesbians answered a question many had been, and still are, asking:

Today as I wandered around the 14th ward of Philadelphia, trying to register voters, I came across a rare but exciting sight: adult team kick ball. Dressed in neon uniforms were not neighborhood children but grown men and women enjoying an involved and exciting game.