Man, but what the fuck am I gonna do? What’s out there? It’s the worst economy of all time and hobos with Humphrey Bogart stubble are getting shooed away from picking up yard apples by an angry apron-wearing fat man with a shotgun and heading back hungry to hobo camp with their belongings in a bandana on a stick. They’re combing their hair with a fish skeleton before using a tissue to turn it into a harmonica on which they blow mournful tunes about being hopeless and broke. College graduates are having lethal shiv fights in a firelit railyard over a lone kidney bean in the bottom of a can being cooked over a burning tire. The bean came to life; it had a face; it said “kill for me.” Families are slaughtering their pets for shish kebabs, probably their kids too. Abortion clincis have become Hardee’s Buffets. The elderly are being burned for heat. Our cars are broken down and being pulled by donkeys, but we had to eat the donkeys; our daughters are sucking cock for nickels and our sons are wrestling pumas in a chickenwire cage in front of a warehouse of leering Mexicans for sport. You see the gleam of a glass bottle on the side of the road, and you see another guy seeing it too, looking at you askance; there’s a tense second of mutual eyefucking before it’s like two Tasmanian Devils wrestling over a bitch in heat. The bottle is crushed beneath you; you reach for a shard to slash the other guy’s throat and then weep and fumblingly try to mash the bottle back together, that precious five cents…
There are no jobs anywhere . So fucking what. I’ll collect unemployment. I’ll give guitar lessons. I’ll sell coke. I’ll suck dick. I’ll take pictures of myself from the neck down and sell my sweaty American Apparel manties to homosexuals. I’ll subsistence fish out of the L.A. river with a fireplace poker I shoplifted from Goodwill. I’ll steal. How hard can fucking stealing be if Mexican junkies do it.
I’ll buy shit and sell it. I don’t know. It’s funny that, especially in L.A., everyone has these preposterous dreams: they want to be a fashion photographer or a jet setting DJ or a fucking film director, and actor– my dream is to work eight hours a day and not one instant more, come home from work and not fucking think about it. Get up an hour before I have to go in in the morning and write. T.S. Eliot did that. Charles Bukowski did that. But that is a more absurd dream than being a film director. Having a job that sustains you comfortably but doesn’t eat every milisecond of your life. That’s the fucking joke– working a reasonable amount for reasonable pay. You hear a person say that these days it’s like a kid saying when he grows up he wants to be an astronaut, or a dinosaur.
delicioustacos 
People on the coasts have no idea how shitty life on the coast is. No idea how poor they and the people around them are as a result of housing costs. In Dallas or Austin you can work at Starbucks and easily make the rent. The quality of life in general is so much higher. The economy is the best in the country. And everybody here is from somewhere else, especially NY, Chicago, and LA. Worth considering.
DT would never, ever, eeeever work at Starbucks in Austin. Get real. What, a steady stream of yoga pants skinny girls with cash flow to buy $6 coffee, who would end up buying him stuff all the time? Getting paid to chat with girls all day?
There’s no suffering in that. DT likes suffering.
Besides, this blog would just become and endless stream of “so, chilled at Starbucks all day, picked up four new bitches, made enough money for rent and a bunch of drugs, the end.” No. He’s going to stay right there in L.A. and find the hardest possible way to do everything.
Amen.
Are you the world’s leading DT-ologist? Such a fanboi
Okay Nikol, you know him, you’re his best buddy, we all suck. Sorry we don’t know him as well as you do and that people have different perspectives and offer different opinions. It’s a comment on a blog and DT wants fanbois so…you know, let us all be wrong. DT doesn’t even defend himself anymore, it’s okay for you not to. Imagine all that as not being bitchy, which I don’t mean to be.
Whoa, Sarah. That was silly. I never said you suck. I don’t think that highly of Jake, however. Have you read any of his stuff? I was commenting on Jake’s continued comments in which he refers to what DT should do or what DT would never do. He’s a fanboi.
I think it just means DT writes well enough to have fanbois and if this blog were a soap opera it would be one of those really awesome ones where people watching area always shouting at the TV about how that girl needs to stay away from that guy and that guy needs to stay dead and all that. It’s just too well written not to get into it. I would say I want to be a fangirl but the top urban dictionary definition uses the word ‘obsession’ for females where as men are only ‘hopelessly devoted’. Wack.
Blog. Blog, comments. Nuts, huh. People like blogs, comment on blogs. It’s a weird, weird, novel concept. Maybe there should be some sort of simplified graphic, to explain it all, eh?
In terms of “fanboi”, all three of you are perfectly interchangeable.
Does anyone else want to read fanbois aloud as fanbwah?
It would be easier to write there, though.
Starbucks? What are you’s fucking kidding? I’d sell my organs on the black market before I had to wear that stupid-ass green smock and serve frappuccinos to college students and Texas socialites all day. And, dude, you’d have to be the fucking grand high wizard of game to convince a chick to give you her number while you’re serving her coffee at Starbucks.
No, DT, you go down to Texas and you get a fucking man’s job. You go be a roughneck on an oil rig. You don’t take no shit from them good ol’ boys, neither. First shitckicking redneck that even looks at you sideways, you crack his fucking head open with a pipe wrench – show
em you mean business. Or, if you wanna blend in, you go in to work your first day in one of those western shirts with the fringes down the sleeves and the embroidered arrows on the chest – get yourself one of them and a nice pair of snakeskin cowboy boots, a big ten gallon hat, and a bolo tie. They’ll never even know your from California.
One thing you do have to tolerate when you live in Texas the rest of the world’s concept of Texas.
Relax, buddy, I’m just kidding. The image of him walking on an oil rig dressed up like fucking Roy Rogers is funny to me. I understand not everyone in Texas is like that… the rest of you are Mexican.
Did I miss confirmation that you were, in fact, fired? Or is it still just speculation on your part? Unemployment will pay you $1800 a month (that’s the maximum, which I’m assuming you qualify for), so if you hustle up some under-the-table freelance or something, you can eke out an existence until you figure out how and where to move on.
Second that—lack of confirmation inquiry. You are paranoid and looking for new ways to waste your time. Or trying to manifest a change and simultaneously complain about it. You’re white for christs sake so fuck off with your financial victim shit man.
“You’re white for christs sake so fuck off with your financial victim shit man.”
LOL! 🙂
there are no jobs on the east and west coasts. Lots of jobs in places nobody wants to live.