Jay Robbins
Bio
Jay Robbins grew up in rural Wyoming and acquired much of his education on the family ranch. After 9/11 he joined and served two deployments during Operation Iraqi Freedom. His proudest achievement is living for those who didn't come home.
Stories (15)
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Something's Gotta Burn
Dr. Bill Perry drives a truck not his, pulling a trailer with no working lights, hauling a spooked green-broke mare with only seventeen rides to her name. His companions-- the night and the white noise of KCGY. Flip phone dead. Checkbook might support a couple more bounces, but the cash is gone. A smattering of yellow legal pads and prescription pill bottles covers the dash, fogging the windows. September can be a cruel siren. Outside, the banshee howl of a Wyoming hurricane beats against the truck. Encapsulated against this frozen gale, Dr. Perry ventures forth as if a pilgrim or astronaut plunging deeper into a hostile world that actively rejects invasive species.
By Jay Robbins5 months ago in Fiction
I Miss The Forever War. Content Warning.
I miss our forever war. I miss my brothers. Even the assholes. Even the dipshits... Even the asshole dipshits. I miss Iraq. God damn I miss Iraq. And it is not in vain that I use His name. Because what could be more damned, and so consistently that the origins of damnation is cosmic. I didn't reach this conclusion in the Bible but from reading the dark dank cells of Kirkuk and the girl's flesh that put grease spots on our HMMWVs that wouldn't ever come out; The cycle of us killing Takfiri, the Taqfiri killing the Iraqi Police, and the Iraqi Police killing us; the fucking miserable fucking heat like the whole fucking place is getting swallowed up by Hell; The kid on the floor flexicuffed looking up at me with no fear in his eyes; The fucking IPs who never leave the station, the ones who kill other IPs, The ones who are so fucking dirty that a crew of Green Peace goofballs with a shipping container full of Dawn dish soap couldn't clean 'em off if they were working around the clock in fucking shifts. Dirty cops. Fuck! Threw a grenade under our truck in their own station probly buried the 2000 lb bomb in the middle of the highway that disintegrated 5 American sons probly assassinated Farras. FUCK. It is indeed damned. I have carried the stink of burning brimstone with me and it won't ever, ever come off. And I don't want it to because
By Jay Robbins5 months ago in Serve
The Work Gets Done
“I…CAN’T…BREATHE!” She tells me, frantic, frail, and wheezing. I assume it’s because I don’t know how in the hell the oxygen regulator works. But I take her nasal tube out and test the flow on my fingers. AC on blast. And that’s when I knew Grandma Jo was real short on time. We called for an ambulance, maybe it should have been a flight-for-life direct to Loveland. But severity is always discovered in stages and generally too late. A volunteer ambulance out of the small burg of Rock River came on. It only had forty-five miles of dirt road to get to us.
By Jay Robbins3 years ago in Families
The Cottonwoods
The Cottonwoods The evil little girl helped the camp gather fallen branches for the fire. She was excited to see them all burn in the conflagration planned by those running the retreat. In her arms were a half dozen or so sticks. She tromped through the forest wearing war paint on her little cheeks and spoke loudly for all creatures in the woods to hear that she was there and she was the apex predator. She had two missing teeth equidistant from her front teeth which made her canines look even more ferocious. After a few trips she amassed her very own pile of broken branches next to her seat as the other camp attendants sparked flame to the chopped logs prepared in the ring.
By Jay Robbins3 years ago in Fiction
The King is Dead...
The timeless theme of the old lion fighting the young lion is understood across cultural boundaries. Vegas odds are usually on the young lion. But it is by no means a surety that the younger belligerent wins. The 30-year Peloponnesian War is a good example. The Athenians were asserting their power after taking a leading role in repulsing the Persian Empire. This naturally led them into conflict with the Spartans who originally claimed martial supremacy of the Greek world. The war was devastating on an apocalyptic scale for both city-states. But it ended with the old lion sacking Athens. A counter example would be the Americans knocking the holy hell out of the Mesopotamians in the Persian Gulf War. Time is always against the old fighter. He gets winded fucking, his joints are calcified, his teeth get dull.
By Jay Robbins4 years ago in Families
Through Fresh Eyes
The moment when a parent becomes unmistakably fallible marks the end of childhood. For the girl I taught with scars on her face it ended quite young. She would break into the school gym for a safe place to sleep. She was tired, always tired. Always worried about getting poked by the used needles. A two-liter bottle held most of them. But she found strays. The strays kept her up at night. I would guess her childhood ended about the time she got those scars.
By Jay Robbins4 years ago in Families
MULLET
On the back wall of the NU2U thrift store in Laramie, Wyoming, below a bull elk mount, was the most majestic effing thing I have ever seen. It was a black leather jacket with white sleeves and red stripes with a blue "USA" on each arm. On the back- an American flag. It was so high up on the wall that I was convinced it was not for sale. Not that I would blame the thrift store for not parting with such a work of art. Like a moth to flame, like drunks to Taco Bell, like democrats to free shit, I was hypnotized by the jacket. I floated to the wall. When I reached it my heart was pounding. There was a tag on it. So it was for sale, but at what cost? I assumed they would keep the price so high that buying it would be entirely unattainable without a bank loan. I conjured the courage to look at the price. It said "36-". I was shocked, confused, happy, then infuriated. Was that the jacket size? Was it the price tag but missing a zero or two? But no, it really was only 36 dollars. It didn't matter that it was two sizes too small. I had to have it. But I had to be worthy of it as well. That's when I knew I had to grow a mullet.
By Jay Robbins5 years ago in Styled
A Letter to Myself From Craig City Jail
The Derby Man, fruit stickers on the inside of the bars, The comraderie of the regulars, “kidnapped for a month in Seattle,” Walking around in public with an orange jumpsuit, texting and driving chief of police, Hungry Man, Comfy shitters but don’t flush well, Being given a copy of my “rights” as a mentally ill, The shaking hands of my counselor telling me I will be in jail another night, begging to help me in some way but receiving only my cold indifference and my back as I return to my cell. The telephone stretched taut to barely reach the edge of my cell. Holding the receiver between the bars to tell my wife what to bring to jail. “How long will you be there? Are you scared?” “Naw babe they are real nice, another inmate sent the books he liked to my cell.” AM and PM are useless constructs, what is more important is to figure out how to sleep on a 30" wide mat and not develop sores. Rotate like a properly heated Hot Pocket. Read an entire book in 18 hours. The language of my jail mates makes me rethink foul language except for special occasions. I thought the jailhouse grey paint replaced a previous red but that’s just the rust from the incessant rubbing of a jailbirds leg in his sleep and the scraping of TV Dinner trays through the slot. Where’s my fucking ball and glove like solitary in The Great Escape!? The next celly is a female but she isn’t supposed to ask where her mate is. She asks another “Dispatch” about her girlfriend and gets an earful from the other lady that told her to keep quiet about it. She comes soon enough. They are both young, cute, don’t really look like great dangers to society, but from their conversations the are veterans of misdemeanor though I doubt either are yet 21. “…tampering w/ evidence…” “We’ll leave your UA in the freezer for your parole officer.” My first day the first man gets out. It’s interesting to know the voice before the man. He is a grey-haired black man and small. He croaks when he talks and I want to name him Frog but they call him Frank and he is well-
By Jay Robbins5 years ago in Confessions
Epimetheus Drowned
Dotted throughout the rising foothills along the coast are fires stoked by man. The cherished gift and sacrifice Prometheus gave our species. Something that would one day allow us to rival the gods. The cost was dear, but honored and revered by all. But the world is entirely ignorant of the efforts of the unsung protector of our race, Epimetheus, in preserving the rights of mankind.
By Jay Robbins5 years ago in Psyche
