Beach Diary: Nature’s Miracles

18 Apr
image stolen from

image stolen from

At the beach. A woman with big titties walks into the cold water. Other things are happening too– the thunder of the rolling waves. A flock of shorebirds at the waterline. Ibises I think. Skittering at the edge of the sand, digging for clams. Scattering back. They keep a tight formation. Ancient instincts going back to the dinosaurs. Huge brown pelicans glide overhead like pterodactyls; their brightly colored beaks. The majesty of nature and all that other jerkoff shit. She has big titties. Big titties.

I need to have sex soon or I will die. Specifically, I need to have unprotected sex with a woman between fifteen and twenty seven years of age. A new one. No one I have fucked before. The phone is an elephant’s graveyard of girl numbers. Many of them are cute. Some are even funny. But, you fuck a chick three times, she’s expired. I could write more thoughts on the matter but this woman has big titties. Big titties. Continue reading

Just What the Fuck is Going On with You, Anyway

16 Mar
image stolen from flickriver user "stofmania"

image stolen from flickriver user “stofmania”

Oh Lord, oh Lord, why do you send me these calamities. The car died. I broke my hand. I rolled my ankle. Grasping objects and walking upright are out. The two things that define a human being. Might as well be an invertebrate. I work twelve hours a day and it’s an hour there hour back and I can’t even get home and have a god damn drink. Gotta go to an AA meeting. Or my sponsor will yell at me. Gotta have a long phone call with my sponsor, tell him yeah: look at all the AA shit I did. I went to this meeting, I read this chapter of Bill Motherfucking W, I took a commitment. It’s a good one at least. I hand out the chips at Cafe Tropical. Someone doesn’t drink for sixty days, I give them a keychain. People clap. The person says “Name, Alcoholic” and I hug them. Some day it will be a hot chick. I will feel big warm titties on my chest. The other commitments are shit like picking up trash. Oh Lord, thank you for that one. Continue reading

Waiting Room Diary: Affordable Care

2 Mar
image stolen from

image stolen from

At the doctor’s office. The primary care physician Healthnet assigned me. Cesar Vialpando MD, of the Mi Familia Medical Group. Off Alameda south of 62d. The way here was all Chinese frozen squid warehouses, giant chemical silos.

Waiting room is packed to the gills. Artificial pine paneling. The guy’s desk at reception is just a mass of random papers. They don’t have a computer. It’s Mexico in here. I’m stunned no one has a goat or chicken. Except in Mexico I could have just gone to the Farmacia and bought the cheap pills I need. I have strep throat. All I need Cesar Vialpando MD to do is write a script for penicillin. All I need Healthnet to do is cover this simple trip to to the guy they assigned me. I will leave here with neither of these things. Continue reading

Coffee Shop Diary: Power Outage

1 Mar
image stolen from

image stolen from

Fucking shit. Storm knocked out the power at home. Had to go to the coffee shop. Bought my fucking chai and the wireless doesn’t work. Everything is a hassle. At least the girl next to me is pretty. Model face, like Chelsea. Broad nose, blue eyes. Fat pink top lip stuck out like Jimi Hendrix ripping a solo. Black yoga pants with a little zipper on the top of her ass crack. Chelsea’s eyes. Smart enough that you want to talk to her, dumb enough that you have a shot.

I have fucking shit to do and the power will never come back on. We will revolt and starve and die. I should have bought a gun. If society collapses, at least I can rape this broad in the tight black pants.

And of course, she walks behind me; sees my screen. Sorry. Continue reading

Sobriety Journal 2-21-14: Fetish Porn

22 Feb

fetish porn 3

I don’t drink, I just jerk off all day. My dick looks like the chick’s back in 12 Years a Slave. Porn upon porn upon porn. The only lotion I have left has rosemary in it. It’s from a spa. They mix in fresh herbs. Rosemary just aggravates the scabs. I ride my bike and it’s like I dropped a live belt sander in my underwear.

Porn upon porn upon porn. A girl comes home to her apartment. Her older female roommate is angry. The young one locked herself out. Forgot her keys. Forgot her bills. The older roommate forces her to wear an adult diaper and be spanked. The dialogue is improv. Like all porns the acting is Punch and Judy. Until you get to the spanking. The girl’s squeals and cries are perfect. She really sounds like a small child. Jerk off dry in the sink. Ten hot ropes. Look up, you want the face in the mirror to be ashamed. But the eyes just say “yeah, what of it.” Back to the desk. You are about to close 8 tabs. Are you sure. Continue reading

Birthday 2014

19 Feb
image stolen from

image stolen from

Previously: 2012, 2013

It’s my birthday today. I am thirty eight years old.

I had dreams of being pulled out to sea by storm waves. Woke up early and went out to the park. Neighbor was walking his dog. Told me there was a big car wreck down on Stadium Way. Went to the top of the hill to look. Cold fog hung around the trees. The evergreens were dead and brown. Marked with an X in spray paint; the city’s gonna come cut them down. Scotch pines. The tree my dad planted in the yard to commemorate my birth. That one was cut down too. Across the valley a murder of crows roosted on a dead eucalyptus. They were 500 yards away but as soon as I looked they flew off. Down on the road, fifteen fire trucks. A station wagon had hit a palm tree. It was spun around backward, crushed. All four doors laying on the grass, cut off by the jaws of life.

If I’d been looking for a portent for the coming year, well… fuck. Only thing that could have been more on the nose would have been the clouds forming my name and a big middle finger. Good thing I don’t believe in that shit. I rubbernecked long enough for my coffee to finish brewing. Then headed inside to drop a deuce. I’d eaten bleu cheese and arugula. The shit was historic. This was my portent. This year I will move mountains.

We Admitted We Were Powerless

16 Feb

Here’s what an AA meeting is like.

First to get your question out of the way: yes there is pussy. Top shelf pussy. The pretty girl is there. The perfect girl. Distant and cold seeming in the way perfect girls are. But she’s not important. Because the girl one notch below her is there, too. That’s who catches your eye. She has to sit in a room once a week with that pretty girl. She is second best and she knows. Fucking happens when a girl is second best and she knows.

But there’s no way you’re getting anywhere near that girl. You’re all raw nerve and there’s a weasel gnawing at your heart. She can go fuck herself. Unless she has a superpower where she turns into a pint of Christian Brothers brandy, at the low cost per fucked up ratio of six ninety nine at Royale Junior Liquor Mart. Passed from behind three inches of Lucite by a smiling man from Calcutta like a fireman handing a mother a baby from a burning house. Fuck her. She won’t make you feel better. Only the sweet precious booze will make you feel better… sweet precious booze… get a hold of yourself man. Continue reading


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