I tried to call Jessica several times but she never answered her phone or returned my calls. She was really starting to piss me off. I mean, who the hell did she think she was, wanting to move to Dallas and take our kids? It was all a goddamn mess. It's true. And I'm sure Sammie and little Jessica didn't appreciate it either. All of their little friends were here in Austin. Their school was here. Their life was here. Their father was here. I imagined that they would have no interest in moving to Dallas away from everything they knew. But, then again, kids have no choice in the matter. They will do what they're fucking told to do and my kids were no different. They were good kids. It's true.

After getting the go ahead from my supervisor Rod, I realized I had one thing to do before leaving town. I had to go see my doctor. Weird, huh? Well, not really. I'm getting old, you know? It's true. This slightly pudgy, slightly balding "Adonis" isn't going to stay beautiful forever. Ha! Besides, everyone needs to go see their doctor every once and a while. It is a goddamn moral imperative. I made the appointment a couple of months ago after realizing I hadn't seen my doctor in quite some time, maybe before all my divorce bullshit. I had been compiling a list of ailments and weird goings-on with my body and health in general and I felt I really needed to discuss them with Dr. Todd, especially before leaving town. I call him Dr. Todd because his last name is so unruly and filled with dozens of unnecessary consonants that I'm not even going to waste precious keyboard strokes trying to spell it out for you. Just trust me, his last name is a goddamn Polish disaster. It's true. But Dr. Todd is a kind man with a caring way about him and I rather enjoy talking to him, even though I'm sure he will be examining my nutsack or prodding his finger in my poop shoot at some point today. Great. Just great.

Here, in no particular order, was the list of things that were bothering me over the last few years: constipation, left eye twitch, hemorrhoids, upset stomach, random headaches, weight gain, hair loss, weird dreams (duh!), knee pain, seasonal allergies, lower back pain, etcetera, so on and so forth. It was a pretty goddamn long list of ailments and nuisances but they were things that were really bothering me. I mean, especially for a writer, having distractions of the bodily nature can really put a damper on your creative spirit and literary output. Nothing is worse than a raging case of hemorrhoids to ruin a marathon writing session. You can't sit down for more than 15 goddamn minutes at a time when you have burning blisters poking out your asshole. It's true.

Anyway, I drove over to Dr. Todd's office. I pulled my car into the office building parking lot and parked in the back. The building was a pretty nondescript place tucked away behind a group of these massive oak trees in a decent part of town. Dr. Todd had his office here for years before I became his patient and I'm sure it would be here for years to come. On the outside, the building looked like one huge metal and glass box but on the inside, it was an elaborate maze of offices connected by a serpentine hallway that zigged and zagged in no justifiable way. If I didn't already know where his office was then it would be damn near impossible to find. I wondered if that was on purpose. Doctors do some sneaky shit like that sometimes. It's true.

I found his office after walking through the maze of hallways and entered quietly, standing next to the front desk. A nurse was sitting there, busy with something. She wore pink scrubs that had Winnie the Pooh and Tigger on them and her hair was long and blonde and styled in a way that reminded me of the TV sitcom moms from the 1980s. She didn't seem to notice me and I stood there for what seemed like a goddamn eternity while she scribbled on some forms on a clipboard. They must have been pretty goddamn important forms because she was carefully and intently filling in the boxes and checking other boxes and crossing her t's and dotting her i's and examining the hell out of that paperwork. Time really seems to stand still when you're waiting unnoticed for something. It's true. I decided to stop the madness and tap on the desk so she would notice me. I think I startled her. She about jumped out of her goddamn seat.

"Oh! I didn't see you there," she said, straightening herself, fixing her 1980s hairdo.

The pine trees surrounding the old neighborhood were taller and more majestic than I even remembered them to be. I rolled the window down and let the fresh Alabama air rush in the car. The air smelled noticeably different than the Texas air, mainly because of the pine trees. But also, for some reason, my allergies didn't exist here like they did in Austin. My clear nasal passages took in the air freely and deeply. My nostrils were so clear that I felt like a different person. It's true. I hated having allergies. They made me fucking miserable, what, with my nose running all over the place and the headaches and the coughing and sneezing. The headaches were the worst part. But I didn't have them here. And the sun was getting ready to set soon. It made for a mesmerizing ride in Jason's crap mobile.

"It smells so good outside," I said.

"Wait till we pass that old, swampy lake behind the neighborhood. You'll change your tune then. Still smells like a toilet back there."

Jason downshifted the car into third and pulled into the turning lane for the entrance to our old neighborhood. Another black cloud rose from the back of the Chevette and the cars that were behind us honked and swerved. It was fucking hilarious. It really was. I thought Jason's car was about to kill itself, hari-kari style. It knocked and screamed as much as it possibly could. As the Chevette slowly approached the entrance, the neighborhood sign came into view, a small wood and brick job that appeared to have stood the test of time and the pranks from my childhood buddies. It was an unfortunate target of rotten eggs, stink bombs, spray paint, and toilet paper. There wasn't one weekend that that sign didn't have some kind of shit on it. The kids loved to muck it all up, don't ask me why. They just did. I was guilty too, of course. It's true.

"And here we are... Country Down Estates," Jason said, cranking the steering wheel to the right and pulling into the neighborhood. The street stretched a ways up an incline, just like I remembered, before actually entering the community. It seemed to me that I remembered the street to be a lot longer than it actually was. As a kid, it seemed like it took forever to go up that street. But in reality, it really wasn't long at all. Jason's Chevette screamed up the hill, chugging and clunking as he downshifted to second gear. That car was really on its last leg. I thought the transmission was going to fall out, the way it grinded and clunked and all.

Mr. Grieves started as a poke at human nature through the use of talking, narcissistic animals. It has evolved into a full-on assault to your funny bone. Where else will you find rats fighting over cubicles, camels worrying about aging, a parrot talking to aliens, and a lonely water snail longing for a friend? Welcome to the world of Mr. Grieves!

This collection of short stories, musings, and cartoons by writer / cartoonist Scott Semegran explores such themes as suicide, parenting, religion, masculinity, the apocalypse, and, most importantly, erections. It’s guaranteed to make you laugh, cry, and pee your pants (hopefully, not at the same time).

Praise for Modicum:

"Funny, sweet, dark, and sad, Scott Semegran's comics and short stories create a wholly convincing world of love, loss, and fear. His light touch with heavy subjects is a gift, and his forays into silliness are a delight. I can't tell if his kids should read it as soon as possible, or never." - Emily Flake, cartoonist and author of LuLu Eightball

"Hilarious, poignant, twisted... and those are just the stories. Scott Semegran's cartoons bring an added one-two visceral punch to a powerful collection of work." - Davy Rothbart, author of The Lone Surfer of Montana, Kansas and publisher of FOUND Magazine

Recently divorced and his writing career in shambles, Simon Burchwood's life is a complete disaster. He reluctantly finds work as a computer support technician and resigns that his career as the next great American novelist will never come to fruition. When he learns that his ex-wife abruptly moves to Dallas with his children, he embarks on a crazy road trip with a nerdy coworker and a hitchhiking punk rock girl and discovers the inspiration he desperately needs for his new literary masterpiece. Take another trip with the one and only Simon Burchwood.

On his way to New York to celebrate his impending literary success, Simon Burchwood is the prototypical American careerist. But a quick detour to Montgomery, Alabama to visit a childhood friend sends Simon on a bizarre journey, challenging his hopes and dreams of becoming a famous writer. This is a character study that delves into the psyche of a man who desperately tries to redefine himself.

Is Simon pompous? Yes. A jerk? Yes. Will you like him? Absolutely! "The book is told entirely from Simon’s viewpoint. Simon is not a very likable guy; as a matter of fact, he is a self-centered, pompous jerk. But for some reason, it’s pretty fun to be inside his head, mainly because he is an inadvertent, oblivious jerk... you will learn Simon’s views on smoking, cleanliness and going to the bathroom, just to name a few. There were times that I laughed out loud... A very good novel that was humorous throughout." 4 and 1/2 Stars - Red Adept Reviews