* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where we pride ourselves on being kid friendly. Maybe a little too kid friendly, according to today's nonsense from Eric Feurer.

One Ticket To The Children’s Movie, As I Am A Human Child And NOT Two Trench Coats In A Kid

By: Eric Feurer

Hello! One ticket to the children’s movie please. I am allowed to watch a children’s movie as I am a small human child, and not two trench coats inside a kid.

Two trench coats in a kid, how silly! How would that even work? This makes me laugh, a most human emotion. HAH. HAHAH. HAH. I am laughing.

I suppose it could work with one clever trench coat moving the mouth and limbs, while the other fills and compresses the child’s lungs…but I digress, as I am a silly whimsy boy with several imaginations! One ticket to Paddington Bear 2. I hear the raincoat is VERY talented.

Ah, nice day to be young and made of skin, don’t you think? My name? Burlington. Burlington C. Factory. My parents do money and make taxes, and I enjoy base bowling and having thumbs. Here’s proof! Watch as I whip. NOW watch as I nae nae. I have whipped and I have nae nae’d. And you have watched.

I love dancing with my friends Macys and Lord Taylor. After all, we’re scrappy tweens with hobbies and bones, and NOT two trench coats inside of a kid.

You’re right, Keeper of the Tickets, that IS insane! What an idea! Where would two sexy genius trench coats even find a child’s body!? A closed casket funeral yesterday morning? And how would they deal with the smell? They would have to be smart enough to replace most of the boy’s organs with dryer sheets! Anyway, one ticket to Paddington Bear 2, a film doing wonders for jacket representation.

Also quick question: are the seats assigned or do I drape my body over whichever one I prefer?


* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where shattering dreams is our specialty. For those who wish to believe in superheroes, Eric Feurer is here to disillusion you. We like Eric so much that this is his second piece in a row for us. Enjoy!

Sorry Kids, I’m Not The Batman, I’m Just A Bat Man

By: Eric Feurer

Ah, jeez, I could hear you kids jibber-jabbering since you got in this cave — you’re looking for Batman. Well, bad news buckos, you found a bat man. Not the Batman. That’s right, you found ol’ dirty Ralph. I am half man, half bat, all disgusting. This is not the Bat Cave, it is a bat cave (and my home), so please leave.

The Batman is an imaginary hero with a cool suit and gadgets to help him fight crime. I am a real mistake of god, with no sweat glands. I am a freak — good day to you, children! Let me echolocate you the way out.




It’s that way. Check yourself for ticks — I’m absolutely covered in ’em. Kids come in here all the time because someone told them Batman lives here. It is a cruel joke of which I am the butt.

Listen, the only [sneezes]…Excuse me, I’m allergic to myself. Listen, the only similarity between his story and mine is that we are both orphans. His parents were murdered, and one of mine definitely fucked a bat. And that doesn’t make me a vampire — vampires eat blood and need to be invited into your home. I eat cicadas and have never been invited anywhere ever.

In fact, let me take you through my day, and let me know if this sounds like hero material: 7:00 pm — wake up. 7:05 — scream “Why?” at my reflection in a pool of stagnant mosquito water. 8:00 pm — produce nutrient-rich guano, which sounds nice, but is just fancy talk for taking a big shit. Then I eat bugs, hate myself, work on my novel, wash-rinse-repeat. [Sneezes] I cannot believe I’m allergic to bat dander — why do I exist!?

If I can be honest with you kids for a second, Batman has many enemies. The Joker, Riddler, Two-Face. I also fight a two-face: the two faces of manic depression. The silent killer…

Did someone just take a goddamn picture of me?!


You sonuvabitch…


Get over here — where are you…


I’m gonna echolocate my foot right up your ass!

Christ, what’s the point? What if I was the Batman? What if my penis wasn’t corkscrew shaped? What if I had friends, and a butler, and my penis wasn’t corkscrew shaped? Sometimes I imagine my very own Bat Signal high in the sky. A beacon of…


Fuck me — never mind, I’m a living nightmare. GO AWAY!

And tell the other kids to stop leaving fan mail for the Batman at the mouth of my cave! “Dear Batman, you are the coolest.” “Dear Batman, thank you for keeping us safe.” “Dear Batman, gross!” Actually this last one is probably for me. Go on, get out of here!


That’s not echolocation — I’m crying.


* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where we often have reason to wonder about the sanity of our contributors, Eric Feurer being just the latest case in point.

I Am No Longer Your Husband, I Am The Cocoon And I Will Never Leave This Bed

By: Eric Feurer

Foolish human, trying to remove me from my bed! Your puny attempts to rouse me from my slumber are worthless! Monday through Friday Roger Smith gets up and goes to work, Saturday is for chores and errands, but Sunday? Sunday there is no Roger Smith. There is only The Cocoon.

Look at you pulling at my blankie. You are so stupid and weak. My body is like an iceberg: there is so much more of me under this blanket, you cannot possibly get me to move! You will never find where the sheets end and the man begins, and in time even I will forget.

Even now your incessant tugging is lulling me into a dream…I’m on a cruise ship made of pillows. The captain is a particularly fluffy sheep. He lets me drive the boat. I sink it. Whoopsie. As we descend into the goose feather ocean, he asks me why? Why? I just laugh, and it turns into a cute yawn —

Ah, stop it, Honey, PLEASE! Five more minutes! No, no, no, no —

Yes, yes, YES! Hahaha! Look at you yanking off my top blanket husk, like that will do anything. You ignorant moron! I have many, many layers, like a very tired onion.

This is not the man you married! Monday through Friday I am Roger Smith, 34, businessman. Saturday I love golfing and embarrassing my children when we go out to eat. But Sunday, when I am in this bed, I am The Cocoon, and I do not recognize the face of my wife. I have no child. Think of me like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Tired.

I have many defense mechanisms. My breath smells like a horse gave birth in my mouth, and I can make it attack you like a mean dog. My feet are so cold, you will think for just a second, “What if he’s dead?” And that’s when I will lash out with the speed of 1,000 exhausted sloths!

Ah, clever girl. You moved my alarm clock to the other side of the room so I would have to get up and turn it off. Well guess what? That unrelenting high-pitched beeping? It’s now my favorite song. Sometimes I play it to help me fall asleep. In fact I’m beginning to feel drowsy…

I’m the conductor of the Philadelphia Philharmonic Orchestra, but every instrument is a fat man snoring. The audience is throwing bouquets of ZzzQuill onto the stage. I take a bow, and lie down, and —

Ah, stop! Honey, I’m up, I’m up, I’M UP —

Haha, I’m not even close to being up! It would take an act of god himself to pull The Cocoon out of this bed. Give up! I will make you promises and immediately break them. Roger doesn’t want to hurt you, but The Cocoon doesn’t give a shit. I will say some of the meanest, nastiest, most unforgivable things in order to stay in my downy lair, and I won’t remember them when I wake up, so you can’t even be mad at me! Think of me as the little Exorcist girl but an adult and totally zonked out.

They say a restful night of sleep is eight hours. I say quadruple it! I want Rip Van Winkle’s nap to look like a goddamn blink. I’m 165 pounds but my sleep weight is seven tons! To rouse me would be to wake a mountain! A mountain that is tuckered-out, yes!

Oh, I’m dreaming again! I am California King. I am wearing a crown made of the gunk in the corners of your eyes. I have just declared war on the sun… we will attack it at night… it will never expect it…


* Welcome to The Big Jewel, your number one source for finding a great apartment in the big city! Eric Feurer has your back.

Big City Apartment Hunting

By: Eric Feurer


Hi! Looking for a 7th roommate in our 2 bedroom, half bath war-torn industrial goblin workshop. Exposed brick!

ME — A 19-year-old who knits beer koozies part-time and suffers from “night wailing.”

YOU — a dumb bag of cash with a nine-to-nine job and a dust buster for a mouth.

Room comes fully furnished with three quarters of a bed and the hand monster from Pan’s Labyrinth.

Looking for first month, last month, security, and all between months up front. Plenty of light though a window that shows you what your life would have looked like if you hadn’t moved to New York.

Pets okay! We have a 30 ft. ball python named “Chub” and he mostly sleeps with his eyes open.

* * * * *



Looking for someone to take over the last 33 months of my lease, as I met a girl last night and we are getting married.

Location, location, location! This apartment is in a location. It’s just off the M80 exploding bus line, and a quick ten-minute walk to anything that’s about ten minutes away. There’s a laundromat on the corner, if the sinkhole hasn’t taken it yet.

Your room is the crevice under the refrigerator. It’s cozy, but trust me it fits a full-sized bed if you first burn it to ash.

My current roommates are two young professional Australian Goliath Bird-eating Tarantulas disguised as people. They love a quiet night in just as much as heading to the club and snatching up a pigeon on the way home.

Serious inquiries only! Looking for someone who’s clean, respectful, and preferably not a spider-eating snake or a New Zealander.

Credit check and fight to the death required, guarantors and vassal champions accepted.

* * * * *



Prorating the southwest corner of my living room for the remainder of the month. Comes furnished with a tapestry that smells like a dead tapestry and two walls that meet at a 90-degree angle — perfect for escaping the city and resting your forehead!

Again, this is just for the corner of my living room. Be respectful! You MUST face the wall no matter what noises you hear behind you.

Landlord lives on the second floor. She is a cocktail of unstable chemicals poured into a shook-up bottle of cooking sherry, so don’t bring the party home.

You’ll be sharing your bathroom with me and an unexploded WW2 naval mine. The bathtub is big! A horse gave birth in it last week no problem.

$500 security deposit, as the last renter left a stain on the wall from his skin oil.

* * * * *



Hello! Looking for a 3rd roommate in our three-room, three-bath presidential penthouse suite!

We are both hardworking but fun-loving 20-somethings made of David Bowie’s laughter and miscellaneous starstuff! We’re gone most of the day, as my current roommate is a keg of delicious beer that never runs dry and I work full-time absorbing the sun’s light and turning it into chill vibes.

The room is spacious, bright, and gives you huge orgasms whenever you clap your hands. The windows face all of the cute parts of Paddington Bear 2.

Comes with:

*Central air

*Marble countertops

*A washing machine

*A wishing machine

*A doorman

*All-you-can-eat pancakes

*The COOL members of The Black Eyed Peas

*A successful kickstarter campaign

*A magic closet that’s bigger on the inside than the outside

*Back yard access

*Too many bitcoins

*Reclaimed wood floors

Sound good? If you’re 420-friendly, can provide proof of income, and are a fellow hardcore Nazi sympathizer, msg me for details!