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Rumpus Articles
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Rumpus Sports—The Lead-Footed Cowboy
This past week, I should have been haunting Brooklyn’s British ex-pat soccer bars, nestling myself into a corner with an afternoon pint or two, watching as the Champions League semi-finals began. I should have devoted myself to top-flight, high-stakes international…
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I Want You to Want Me
What stopped me was the fact that Nomadagascar was not just another attractive stranger on a dating website. I had seen this photograph before. His real name is Jonathan Harris, and I was familiar with the artwork to which his…
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The Rumpus Original (Supersized) Combo with D.A. Powell
How do you supersize a Rumpus Original Combo? That’s easy—just take a book review and an interview with the author, and add a Rumpus Original Poem to it!
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Murs Drops Fresh Science
Off the album “Murs for President.” (On a sidenote: Murs touches on the sentencing disparities between crack convictions and cocaine convictions in this damn good video. President Obama is pretty overhyped so we try not to talk about him too…
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Little Book: Of Molehills and Mountains
On occasion, into this marketing-shaped reality comes a work whose writing is matched by the originality of its form.
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American Poet Missing
This one’s not a joke. Poet Craig Arnold has been missing in Japan for three days. The latest news we’ve heard is that the U.S. has sent helicopters and personnel to assist local authorities in searching a small volcanic island…
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The Plans to Rebuild Civilization are Set in Stone and Waiting in Georgia
Econopocalypse. Swine flu. Arlen Specter becoming a Democrat. Ladies and gentlemen, it is only a matter of time before every 12 out of 13 of us are dead … and those who are left will be cold, hungry, and alone.…
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STORIES WE RECOMMEND: “The Mourning Door”
Nearly a decade after Ploughshares published it, Elizabeth Graver’s short story “The Mourning Door” remains shrouded in a slippery surrealism that’s at once impenetrable and, simultaneously, the source of the piece’s staying power. In it, Graver’s pregnant narrator discovers a…
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What You Think is Sad: Gabriele Basilico and San Francisco Noir
She always knew it would come to this. A screaming horde of bucknaked smutcrazed rapists banging on her glass ticket kiosk. She crossed herself and with a single prayer commended her soul to the Lord’s Everafter and consigned her flesh…