Diary on a Cranky Morning

23 Jul
image stolen from attentionmax.com

image stolen from attentionmax.com

It’s come to this. No women and no beating off for seven days. Fuck my sponsor, I kept thinking. His awful advice about women. Got me in this hole in the first place. Too attached to this broad and now she’s fucking some guy. I ought to have been shredding internet girls this whole time. Don’t you understand, the ten years younger version of this same chick keeps sending me videos with a hairbrush in her ass. I’m internet famous, god dammit. Enough that a couple people want to fuck me. If junior high could see me now.

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How to Pick Up Girls

19 Jul

xpress

The phone rings in your pocket and you think it’s her. “I went on that date and realized it was a mistake. Let’s move in together and never stop fucking” she’ll say. It’s Time Warner Cable. An urgent change to the status of your account.

You wonder how it went but you know. She took his huge meaty unprotected cock and came around it a million times until she breathed fire and was full of his offspring. She made that face you like when she’s on top. Weird look of concentration, like a sorceress. Better with him than with you. They have a mortgage now probably. In a year you’ll see her on the street gravid with yuppie eggs, pushing their firstborn in the number one safety rated sport stroller.

Call my sponsor. I gotta get this out of my head, I tell him. I know emotions are healthy but this is sickness.

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The Wolf Witch

3 Jul
image stolen from conanevolved.wordpress.com

image stolen from conanevolved.wordpress.com

They were laying in bed. He had her ipad on his lap to watch Conan the Barbarian. Golden Age Schwarzenegger had fled across frozen wastes. He came upon a hut. A woman with 1982 plastic surgery stood in the door. Do you not wish to warm yourself by my fire?

I’ve been unfair to you, she said. He paused the movie.

What?

I shouldn’t even tell you this but I forgot my texts come to that fucking thing.

Well I didn’t look. But now you better tell me.

It might hurt you.

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Job Search Diary: Partners in Career Excellence

26 Jun
image stolen from jkentstaffing.com

image stolen from jkentstaffing.com

I can’t fucking do it anymore. Used to sit with craigslist in one tab, OKCupid in another. Apply for jobs, apply for pussy. It worked ’cause it was half fun. Now it’s just the jobs. Secretarial shit. Every good one is fake; they’re recruiting agencies. They call and you go in in your bad suit and take a test. How fast can you type. How good are you at Powerpoint. Anyone who uses Powerpoint should be killed. Meet a gray woman who tells you tone down your resume. Take off the executive stuff. Places don’t hire if they think you want a future.

Get to the fucking robots already. There is no job in the world now that is useful. Every place is selling fake shit that people don’t need. Or they’re a fake middleman who leeches off some other company that also does nothing. Finance. Law. Insurance. There is one real industry: protect and expand rich people’s inherited money. The rest, parasites on parasites.

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Diary: Throw out the Script

21 Jun
this is a picture of my cat

this is a picture of my cat

Throw out the Norco script, he tells me. Call me tomorrow. Fuck. I don’t want to. I don’t want to fucking cash it in, either– I’m in no pain really. But I don’t want to not have it if the gaping wound on my asshole flares up. What if it hurts again. It was a mistake to turn down the Vicodin the first time. I was in agony. I’m afraid.

Get off OKCupid, he said. You met a girl you like and these skanks will just fuck you up. The girl, who needs a fake name now– the girl was here. Told me she went on her date with her other stupid guy. She is using me for dick while she chases husband material. She’s a Chinese yuppie with a real job and what did you expect. He’s a prosperous Jewish chef whose parents have a nice house. He uses it as a test kitchen. That was their date, at his parents’ nice house with them gone. Him testing out a recipe. Breakfast for dinner.

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Ass Part 4

20 Jun
image stolen from ballparkguys.com

image stolen from ballparkguys.com

I called 911 because I was in the bath and my legs started spasming. You could see muscle pulsing like a snake moving under the skin. First calves. Then thighs. Then my legs locked up and my belly started to go. My foot stuck twisted like the end of a chicken wing. It hurt. What if it went all the way up. Would my face just go in the water. Would I die naked with my hot bath ball sac spread over my thighs like a steamed tortilla.

While my arms still worked I hoisted myself up by the soap holder. My fucking thumb was twitching and the phone was wet. Many tries to get the passcode. When there’s an emergency, you forget you can just hit “emergency.” Then– no, you dumb fucker, I am not calling 921. Jesus Christ. That voice never goes away. The one that tells you of course it would be like this. Your ass goes out and it spreads and you die naked because your retarded thumb can’t work the phone. You went to the doctor and everything. They told you it was hemorrhoids. You knew it was an anorectal abscess. Septic cyst that infects and kills you. That other voice doesn’t go away either: ha! I was right!

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But Enough about My Ass

17 Jun
image stolen from dailycuteness.com

image stolen from dailycuteness.com

No! Never enough about my ass. Typing this standing up. The pain spread to my balls. They’re a pair of brass doorknobs clattering on each other. I can stand so my balls don’t touch my thighs. I can avoid sitting. But I cannot prevent my balls from having contact with each other. Pissing is OK, until I get to the last “drain it all the way” squirt. You want to flex your taint, muscle out the last few drops. This requires your asshole. Everything requires your asshole. And now every nerve command stops on its way there. A bite of pain flares up. My body says are you sure. I learned how to cough without clenching my ass. How to clear my throat. Do you know if your toothbrush hits your gums too far back, you clench your ass? No? Shatter a beer bottle and stick in in your ass and then brush your teeth if you don’t believe me.

A fart is like a knife. A shit is not so bad, interestingly. Except my ass– it’s like an old movie where a cop is trying to talk to a hysterical woman and has to smack her. It’s so traumatized it just shuts down. And I can’t push. That will make the hemorrhoid pop out. You have to be patient. Just let it drop. The prescription strength stool softener does nothing. My stools were already pillow soft.

I can either sit in the bath or lay face first on the couch. Fine. What would I have done anyway. I have no job. But it hurts, it hurts. I should have taken the Vicodin script. Trying to be Dudley fucking Do-right over here with my sobriety. Nobody’s giving me a prize for this shit. I have a couple jobs lined up. I’m not following up on them, because of my ass. I will lose this woman over my ass. My life maybe.

Oh well. They made more.

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