10 Unexpected Benefits to Being a Psychopath


Psychopaths get a bit of a bad rap. In an increasingly sensitive world—one in which people are worried that using the word “crazy” might be offensive—people are strangely comfortable with using the term “psychopath” as a synonym for “worst person on Earth.”

Most people believe that psychopaths are dangerous people who should be separated from society. Despite this characterization, there are nonviolent psychopaths. In fact, people with this disorder may have some advantages over other people.

[Read the full article at Listverse.]


10 Horrible Ways People Tried to Recreate Movies in Real Life


Films can be life-changing. We see visions of awe and excitement on the silver screen and the spark of desire they often create can inspire us to copy them. However, for some it is all too easy to forget that these moving pictures are designed merely for entertainment and spectacle.

As you are about to see, in far too many cases the attempts to mimic what is seen at the movies can lead to some truly bizarre events, and even heartbreak and tragedy.

[Read the article at Listverse]

10 Things High Schools Don’t Teach About Shakespeare’s Life


There are only a few tidbits of evidence about Shakespeare’s life, but people certainly look through everything they can to find them. Scholars are so desperate for a glimpse into his life that they have even gone through his cesspit just to find out what he ate for dinner.

What we do have paints a portrait of a man who did a lot more than just write a few plays. We’ve been able to piece together some parts of Shakespeare’s life pretty clearly, and the real Shakespeare might not be the man you expect.

[Read the article at Listverse]

The Man Down the Hall

At my first apartment in Toronto, I had a neighbour I will never forget. His room was impossible to miss. It looked like the containment cell where they kept The Incredible Hulk. The door hung off a single hinge, the wood along the edges smashed into splinters, and had enough filled-in foot-shaped holes that it was now made as much of putty as it was of wood. There was a handle, as well, but it didn’t seem to get much use.

His was the room directly across from the elevator, and so the first thing a new resident would see when moving in. It didn’t make a great first impression.

We met him when my roommate moved in. His mother had come along to help and was already in a panic. This was her eldest son, leaving her protection for the first time. She made the mistake of checking the news to see what kind of neighbourhood we were moving into, and was now convinced that, the next time she saw her son, he would riddled with bullets and heroin needles.

The shattered door didn’t make her feel any better. “That’s a crack den,” she said, pointing at it knowingly. She had learned about them on W5. “They’re all over Toronto. People come over for a crack party, and then they never leave.”

She made us promise never to invite anyone over for crack. It was a bad sign. In the morning she had been worried that we might not stay focused on our studies. Within two hours, she had deteriorated to the point that she accepted it as inevitable that we would become addicted to crack, and just wanted to make sure we were clear on the appropriate etiquette.

Continue reading The Man Down the Hall

Regarding the Letter

Five days ago, I read a witty e-mail from a man named Andrew Gardner. To amuse myself, I typed up a silly answer. It’s something I’ve done a few times in the past, but this was the first time I ever decided to hit “send”.

I did not expect that, by Monday, it would be on Boing Boing. Or that, by Tuesday, it would be on Toronto LifeThe Huffington Post, and getting tweeted by over a thousand people. Or that, by Wednesday, I’d be sitting at work trying to hide that I’m reading articles in the Star and the Globe and Mail about how Shoppers Drug Mart is trying to find me and can’t prove that I exist.

The joke was a lot funnier coming from a company than from some guy who wants you to pay attention to him, but I started feeling like I was actively lying to my employers. So, if I have to be honest, I might as well get some self-promotion. This is, after all, the closest thing I’ll have to a celebrity sex tape.

I am a writer, or, at least, am a writer in the way your friend who works in Customer Service but tells people he’s a writer is a writer. This a site where you can read things I’ve written.

I have also set up a Twitter, because apparently people on Twitter like the story. Maybe I will post some tweets. Maybe there will be Instagram photos of things I eat.

I hope you enjoy it.

The Locked Door – Day 3

Start at Day 1

 Day 3

That night he laid in bed unsleeping for hours. He was watching a single cockroach crawling along the hardwood floor. It traced its way up the stale white walls and climbed up to the roof, directly above him. Then it clung there, a solitary black dot in an empty field of white, and didn’t move.

He                                                                                                                                                                                    all red
in the living room. The drapes were open, but the window was a thick, oily black, and it seemed to be dripping. The                                                                                  anything outside of the room was lost in a darkness the light couldn’t penetrate.

A train of black insects were crawling in from the dark, each one a featureless speck as black as the dar
kness they had come from. At first it was just a few trickling in, but then they came in hordes, specks of darkness converging toward him and devouring the light on the way. Brennan tried to run, tried to escape the blackness, but there was nowhere to go. Then it caved in on him and it was complete.

He could feel the movement of a thousand flies and worms crawling along his skin. The thin hairy legs of insects were scratching against every inch of his body. Trails of mucus scum slid across him. They just wandered at first, tracing the contours of his flesh and sliding through any open cavities they could find. Then every one of them inched its way down and climbed off his foot.

He was completely alone in total blackness, naked now, cold and shivering. Traces of residual grime still tainted his bare skin. He knelt down and clutched his body to fight off the chill running through his spine.

Then a                                                                                                                                                                                                                    dead, rancid flesh                                                                                       it was
l o
u d                                                                                                                                                                                     a boy coated in a thick layer of some black oozing liquid, as though he had been drowned in motor oil. He was no bigger than a toddler. He stared at him with his featureless face, blank and motionless. A thick drop of the black sludge slipped to the tip of his nose. It hung there for a moment, shaking and glistening, until it snapped. Then it came crashing down and splattered on the floor.

Continue reading The Locked Door – Day 3

Nick’s Place


Nick’s place was just a single windowless room in the basement of Portuguese family’s home. He brought Jen in through a torn screen door hanging off of its last screw around the back. They  headed through a laundry room lit by a dying fifteen-watt bulb. Jen choked on the dryer’s exhaust; the duct-tape patched pipe was gouged and torn, and the white powder of the exhaust lingered visibly in the air. Nick fumbled roughly with the wrong key for a minute, lobbing motivational curse words at the lock without success, before he stumbled on the right one by chance.

Nick slid his hand around the door, flicked the switched, and presented his home.

[Read the full story at Crack the Spine.]