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.
I work but I haven’t been paid yet. I have seventeen bucks in the bank and the bills are past due. Health insurance. Car insurance. I’m owed money from unemployment but I work twelve hours a day and I can’t fill out the fucking form. The replacement form– there was a smudge on the original. That one I sent in six weeks ago. For money from December. If I had carved out ten minutes I could have done it but there is never even one second of time now. Work work work.
The blog is dying off. Haven’t posted in two weeks. Page views are in the toilet. I wrote half a million words and the only ones anyone gives a fuck about are what gets them internet pussy. Good luck fellas. But you’re fucked. Pussy is a full time job. It’s not some shit you can google and plug in. Go read books, fuck my stupid shit. Go read books and sit at a keyboard and make your fingers move for a few years and you can have 44 OKCupid spams of your own. Don’t share them. I can’t use my own material anymore.
I can’t drink. I can’t fuck. That’s what happens, if you were wondering. You’re able to have a woman in your house for four hours without weeping from boredom because you’re drunk. Booze woke up the Altered States caveman to overrule your brain. This no longer happens. I’d need a woman to engage me now. Tell me a fact about the California almond crop or Calvin Coolidge or the number of stars in the known universe or SOMETHING, SOMETHING, anything… you guys out there dating, I can hear you laughing from here.
But I’m still just as horny. I work in Venice now and it’s just hot young yoga pants ass everywhere like gnats. Rush to the office brushing past 19 year old yoginis with rippling panther buttocks in the street. Rolled mats in hand, earbuds in, walking slow– I see hot 19 year old pussy on the sidewalk and I’m like GOD DAMMIT GET OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY I’M LATE. But that flash of ass sticks with you. Your cruel stubborn balls still need to fuck when you can’t. Like pain from a phantom limb. You see those girls built like Michael Vick pit bulls, lean but with thighs and what Tennyson called a “weapons grade turdcutter”… you need that pussy. You can’t jerk it out of you. God is evil.
Horny as a chimp but I can’t talk to a girl. Thirsty like Bukowski on a hangover but I can’t drink. Work hard but I have no money… there is no mercy. Your creditors and your brain and your cruel dick don’t take a day off. Motherfucker I don’t care that you worked twelve hours, drove two. Sat for an hour listening to brainwashed chumps burble about the program this the twelve steps that I’m codependent my disease the power of alcohol is cunning and baffling blah blah blah– you gotta pay. Give us money, give us pussy. Pain is like the weather. Nothing you can do. But even when you know that the hailstones hurt.
On the plus side: my fish had a baby. Only noticed last night. It’s already an inch long. They must have had hundreds. If I’d known I’d have done something. Got an incubator tank, dropped in some baby brine shrimp. Hundreds died. But one lived. Jet Li ass motherfucker. And me, I spawned Julidochromis Regani from fuckin Zimbabwe in Los Angeles tap water. You hear that, fucksticks? Suck my dick.
What other good news. The cat’s alive. My family loves me. If I keep this job, the money problem vanishes. A year of working part time, a decade of shit pay and being stupid. Gone like it never happened. Congress may approve the federal unemployment extension. Make it retroactive. That’s two grand. The new job pays overtime and brother, do I work overtime. Eight months, I’m out of debt. Four more I’m making twice what I need to live. If I don’t get fired I’ll turn 39 with a true net worth of zero. The world runs on credit. Zero is the new millionaire.
What else, what else. I’m alive and not ugly and the sun is shining and the baby fish is a god damn miracle. I am doing my best with what I can. The rest, I’ve been told to put in God’s hands. What could possibly go wrong.
delicioustacos 
How did you get hurt?
Zero is the new millionaire. Hahaha!
love it………………good shit…………
tip: make time to work out, even if it’s for 1-2 hours a week.
second tip: stop masturbating. your testosterone levels will return and with it your sense of what it means to be a man. just feeling what it’s like to be a man feels good in and of itself. from there you’ll attract girls.
work stresses most people out so much they become dependent on alcohol to just relax and socialize. we drink too much caffeine during the day “to focus” and “be productive,” then need the alcohol to balance things out at night when trying to “relax” with women.
a third tip:
cut out caffeine, sugar, wheat, dairy and processed foods. try it for a week and you’ll see a difference.
i’ve been following your site for a few months and as funny as it is, i see the pattern: you continue to reassert the problems without looking for the solutions. maybe we all think the solutions are too hard and complex but what’s life without challenge, without self-discipline and self-direction? what’s life without change, without problem solving?
quitting alcohol seems like a big step so congrats on that. but being sober seems to make you very unhappy.
and at least in this post you look towards a brighter near-term future where you get to zero, so kudos on that development, and the new baby fish. a cigar is in order.
Ben
Ben,
Jeezus fuck. If he wanted to be a fag this whole blog would be about buttfucking other men. Also, thank you for the other brilliant observations.
Poor Ben…
what does that even mean? all i said was that he should not jacking off & not eating shitty food, getting more exercise, which will help him feel better.
drinking is fine in my opinion but DT has clearly said he’s an addict and that he can’t even have 1 drink because it’ll lead to having 10 and doing black tar or shouting at cops.
he needs this break. to try something different (not drinking, going to AA).
fuck off with your ineptitude at basic reading comprehension. hiding behind “anonymous”. checking back to live vicariously through another’s self-destructive behavior.
get off the comp. go outside. live.
all i’m saying is, try the tips for a week. seven fucking days. see how you feel. what are the tips? read em again. #1 to #3.
masturbating is the worst. it makes you feel weak afterwards. at least it does for me. but i’m not the only one. there’s extensive research into it. about how you fuck your brain up from watching too much porn, or just by stroking off. you condition your brain to get aroused by (1) extreme sexual situations seen on a screen and (2) the sensation of your hand jacking your cock off.
cut out masturbation, and you feel more like a man, a master of your world. the pussy gravitates towards that easily. i know because i’ve experienced it.
so clearly, anonymous, you’ve misinterpreted my comment.
if DT stops jacking it and continues working out and living better, he’ll have even better experiences with women, which translates to even better writing/lessons that we can read.
Otherwise, if he continues the same shit that he’s been doing for the past 1-2 years, we’re in for the same material. get drunk, get girls or don’t. if he doesn’t he writes about jacking off to niche porn. yawn.
who the fuck wants to read the same repetitive pathetic shit over and over again.
i don’t.
so fuck off with your failure to read and understand basic english. that’s it i’m done. fuck all of you and your negative comments. go continue touching your own dick and see where that gets you. best bet is: nowhere.
i trust DT is wise enough to change things up, get to zero, and try some new shit. worth a shot.
If DT got all healthy and wasn’t depressed.. then wtf would he write about….
No fap is a internet pua lame myth.
It has nothing to do with anything, fap all you want
Yeah wtf Ben shut your cock holster
how is not-masturbating, quitting drinking, quitting caffeine/sugar/wheat/dairy suddenly make me a cock holster?
fuck off stephen.
misery loves company. as much as i enjoy DT’s writing, it’s kind of fucked up for his readers to encourage his self-destructive behavior.
the dude needs contrasts, needs to take a break and get to zero.
Stop hiding behind “Ben” you faggot. Real men don’t get weak when they masturbate, we only get stronger. Sometimes when I need a boost of energy I take a powerfap.
Got a big presentation in the office? Powerfap for 15 minutes in the 3rd story bathrooms.
Gotta see my brother, his wife, and their shitty happy family? Powerfap in the car and shake with the same hand upon arrival.
Trying to return a belt-sander to home depot after using it all weekend to repair a fence before your landlord finds out what you did friday night? Powerfap in the lumber section, and then intimidate the return counter guy (they should just call it the rental counter), until he lets this one slide and gives me my money back.
All of life’s sticky situations have one simple solution. It’s called a powerfap and it’s for real men. Harness your male energy, tap into your masculine aura, and let your inner caveman loose with a powerfap. Ben… why don’t you give it a whirl… or whatever your preferred technique is and then come back with a reply that has some sort of basis in testosterone. Instead of waving your pavlovian, beta, nouveau gauche, in touch with my feminine side, breast cancer awareness, self help garbage.
Ben, just ignore these losers. They are only trying to get a rise out of you and from the looks of things, they are succeeding.
Of course you are not wrong in what you’re saying. Over time I’ve adopted (not consistently, but still) everything you’ve recommended here and I know for a fact it all makes a positive difference. If other people don’t want to try making changes in their life and would rather stay mired right where they are, let them.
I respectfully disagree with you, Ben.
What I mean is, even if DT were to quit doing all of the above, he’d still be living a humdrum, slave-to-routine life in soulless SoCal. That in and of itself constitutes a source of anxiety and dysphoria, never mind the addictions.
Poisoning your body is one thing. The poisons which can afflict the soul are quite another.
Alright, my bad for leaving positive comments.
I accept that this blog isn’t about self-improvement or “clean living”.
So, no more encouraging remarks from me. That’s gay.
Everyone: get on with your bad self.
And yes, I know how hellish it could be to live/work in L.A.. did that for a year and a half. Slept in my car. It is rough.
That’s why I left. Moved to SD. My life is much better now.
But that’s just me. To each his own.
Cheers.
Ben, just ignore these people and keep being obsessed with DT’s jerking off habits, it makes for very interesting reading. When you reboot your site it should be all about not jerking off, it’s not like that’s the most tired overused message in the manosphere right now, not at all. I quit jerking off and now i’m a millionaire. It works.
LOL. Guess that was the best he could come up with.
aw, you guys caught me. your gaydar is precise. on point. high tech gaydar. i am a fag obsessed with commenting on DT’s mastubatory habits.
i am using reverse psychology. by telling him not to jerk off i am actually encouraging him to jack off. so that he can write more about jacking off.
because god knows, DT never writes about jerking off. never has. never will. it’s a rarity on this site. he gets so much hot L.A. pussy the only time he needs to touch his peen is to make sure he’s pissing into the toilet and not on the floor.
ya’ll are perceptive and intelligent human beings.
congratulations.
i have been outed. as a homo. a fag. a queen. a cock holster. a cock smoker. cum guzzler. a gayboy.
You’re a better writer when you’re honest.
Early days in AA. Jeez.
I went to AA because I was scared I would get drunk and disgrace myself in front of my friends. I don’t go to be a saint or a Buddha. I was there to quit drinking, not to quit screwing women, lifting weights and all that other good self-improvement shit.
I was there to get the chaos out of my head – that’s what the Steps are really about. I was not there to take the Blue Pill and find True Love. That’s total BS: always was, always will be. I did not turn into some Good Samaritan or drink the Kool-Aid and Twelve-Step every drunk on Main Street. I did service at meetings and telephone service. Sure. It was good for me. I don’t know why or how, but it was.
I did not change who I am. I have better manners, a calmer disposition, am able to take life’s bullshit with equanimity, and I say and do far fewer jerk-y things than I used to. But I’m still a mathematician-philosopher with a day job crunching numbers for a big corporation who would no more get married than I would jump from a ten-floor window, who finds the company of most people, male and female, best kept in small, short doses.
I realised eventually that I would never be an “ordinary person” and that I didn’t want to be. I did want to get rid of that hurt and emptiness that booze never got rid of. Not feeling that emptiness is as ordinary as I will ever get.
If you’ve heard that “Acceptance” reading from the Big Book? I wanted to dump that guy in some war zone wearing the wrong uniform and see how he accepted that… but he’s probably dead now.
Oh, and if no-one has told you yet – step away from the pussy in the rooms. Everyone told me that and I still fooled around with one of them. Fifteen years younger than me. She was the same as all the others: slightly crazy and spiritually broken. The women don’t mend. Some guys can, but most women don’t.
And if anyone takes exception to me not drinking with them, that would make them an asshole. I just say “I don’t drink” and if anyone asks why, I say something like “I used to, but there just came a time I couldn’t take the hangovers anymore.” As much binge-drinking as goes on now, most people will nod in understanding. I don’t need to trouble people with the deeper story, and they don’t want me to.
That power fap bs sounds a lot like the excuse war culture men use to turn gay. #historyrepeats
12 step is bullshit, there is only one step stop drinking. I am glad you found peace, I am going to get drunk.
Staying sober is no fucking joke but I have never regretted it. Keep up the good work, brother.
From the comments above, I suspect most (if not all) of you have never lived and worked in Southern California. If you had, then you might be able to understand what this man is going through. You need to understand that what Delicious Tacos is experiencing is SoCal’s VERY wide disparity between the haves and have-nots, between the affluent areas, where the “beautiful people” live with their manicured lawns, their spruce, colourful architecture and trendy shopping plazas, and the rest of the region, where everybody else dies. I mean, lives.
It’s the frustration that builds in a man as he is forced to work in areas like Venice Beach or South Bay, and must return home every night to someplace like Azusa, Santa Fe Springs, or somewhere way out in Riverside County. Or, worse, La Mirada.
Nah OK, I’ll admit I used to live and work in La Mirada, CA. In fact, I lived within easy walking distance of the campus of BIOLA University (acronym for “Bible Institute of Los Angeles”), where I wore Deicide and other death metal band t-shirts as often as possible in public.
Getting back on track, the frustration I’m referring to, that which DT zeroes in on in this post as he becomes your tour-guide through the vicissitudes of life as it’s lived in SoCal, is the lament to the above-mentioned wide disparity, the lament of the normal, red-blooded, beauty-worshipping USAmerican hetero male. It’s the complaint of the not-affluent man in SoCal, who every day observes a plenitude of young, hardbodied Caligirls strolling about in spandex shorts and low-cut tops, in neighbourhoods far, far away from where he lives… and who, at the end of the workday, goes home to a crappy 1-bedroom apartment in a neighbourhood replete with fat, sullen Juanas, obese, fugly Keishas, fat, frumpy Kathys, and maybe a pear-shaped, moon-faced Seo-yun or two.
Like unto the hell (or Hades) wherein the ancient Greek King Tantalus was tormented, it is like a chamber of succulent pleasures dangling forever out of reach.
That’s the message I got from this post. And as for the fish being born, what I got from that is: Everybody’s going to die. Like all of us, that cute little fry was born solely to perish from this earth. Probably horribly ripped to shreds by other cichlids. The world’s Death Rate has been holding steady at 100% for millions of years, where everybody and everything that is born dies, and nothing is ever going to change that state of affairs.
Why, some of you reading this comment might die in a horrifying, mutilating accident less than 24 hours from now, trapped in a mangled, twisted hulk of wrecked automobile while you bleed out slowly…
Anyhow, I try to keep a positive outlook about these things.
So go live someplace normal. What, you don’t want to? Because you like it in socal? You prefer being where you are? Then what the fuck are you bitching about?
Whiny entitled asshole…
That’s why I moved away.
Take everything you’ve learned from the manosphere about women’s hypergamy, their seeking after wealth and status, and their inflated self-worth from all the attention they receive, increase all of it by a factor of 5,000 and there you have your standard SoCal hottie.
They’re not exclusive to the L.A. County/Orange County conurbation, mind you. You’re going to encounter exactly the same young, hardbodied “Caligirl” with the same entitled attitude in almost any large metro area. But I’ve found it’s generally better elsewhere.
That’s my L.A. slogan for the ad campaign: “Los Angeles… It’s just better elsewhere.”
But I fancy there are a lot of people (maybe the author of this blog is one) who prefer to live in L.A. because they’re weirdos, and they know they’re fucking weirdos, and encountering other fucking weirdos on a daily basis who plainly occupy a much lower rung on the social weirdo status ladder than your weird fucking arse does can be a source of comfort.
“Jesus H. Christ on a popsicle stick, my life has been fucked up and stupid and dangerous, it’s just pendulum-swinging back and forth between annoying shit, unbelievable shit, and sheer outrageous bullshit. Sometimes, I just want t – wha? Christ, will you look at that fuckin’ guy? What the fuck is this fucking scouser wearing on his fucking HEAD, for the ever-loving sake of FUCK? Sweet, merciful whore-fucking Jesus with a hard-on!”
And the corollary to that is, if you’re a pretty unusual person with a strange personality and a generally fucked up outlook on life, some people feel you stand a better chance of meeting like-minded weirdos in places where weirdos congregate.
My “weirdo theory” is how I explain San Francisco to myself. Whilst living in L.A., I went to S.F. three times for business, every moment of it was sheer torture, and I spent the entire time ardently wishing either to go, or to receive in my hands a magically summoned flamethrower with a full tank of fuel.
Then you’ll have an excuse to be :flaming: you fucks. 1906 – best year EVER!!
That you eat that bs excuse up is some sad shit. Having hand not having is stupid. Wanting and not wanting. You lazy bastards are all about that It’s not fair bullshit. What kind of education does this Latin speaking, medical vernacular spitting asshat have? And he can’t find a job in all of fucking LA? But little brown people are all over the place making a living. You all are so fucking important. That is why you suck at life. You need everyone to see how great and important you are so you can believe it too. Get your thumb out of your mouth and earn some shit.
What the fuck is the matter with you. You’re like 40 years old or something. And you’re still bopping around Los Angeles all like,”Hoity toity, no big deal, derp!” (Read in retard voice). You’ve been on the face of the planet for fucking FOUR DECADES. Why. Why is your life not better. What have you been doing all this time?
Maybe you think you’re some kind of new Bukowski. At times I see your writing reaching for that essence, yearning for it even. But you are not, and never will be, John Fante or Charles Bukowski. Leave Los Angeles, leave it now. Your writing, at its best moments, is good. But probably 300,000 of your half million is doo doo.
Will it ever get better? I don’t know. You’re already pretty fucking old. Your formulative years are gone now. It’s like… if you could just drop all the pretense and just think for a minute, just fucking think straight for two minutes, you might be able to write something that means something to somebody else. Instead you just pump toxic bullshit and image back into the hungry mouths of Gen Y fetuses like it’s going out of style. And then you write posts like this and wonder why, oh why, do I feel like less than I should be.
Your midlife crisis will be an inverted parabola, kinda like Freud’s uncanny valley: it looks like what it seems to look like, but there are people that know its invisible secret, and that secret is that it is wrong, that everything is all wrong.
Penis
How’s the new work?
glad to see you’re writing again. the blog will live if you make it live. if you breath life into it. and obviously, it would die without your continued writing.
i’ve noticed your sober writing has less “bite” than your drunk writing. and that’s because writing is a reflection on real life experiences.
clean living, as appealing as it sounds, is the most boring thing known to man.
yoga. coconut water. lifting weights for vanity driven reasons. sleeping by 11pm. no great writer became great by doing those things.
you know who does clean living? gweneth pawthrow. and look at the half-assed shit she makes. she’s no artist.
but don’t take this comment as an encouragement to start drinking again.
maybe you need a break. all good writers, before they became great, took a break. experienced contrast. tried something different.
chin up, bro. tomorrow’s a new day. hit the keyboard. put pen to paper. the world, and your readers, are waiting to read your work.
all else—the job, the bulllshit chores, the commute—that shit is meaningless.
now this, THIS was fucking absolute poetry:
You are a bigger fag than this Ben guy.
can we just not have more ben? rape whistles though, good background. didn’t really get what all the clawing at life was about, with dt. makes more sense now.
what’s your problem? what exactly am i saying that you dislike? specify.
you sound like a little bitch feminist who seeks to silence any dissenting opinion.
last time i checked there was something called the first amendment you little weak-minded cunt.
what sucks about you is everything, ben.
you are posterchild, ‘douche’
DT is a dandy–but he is, at least, latin fluent and makes a mean chicken.
feminists are legitimate people too. if you paid attention, you’d notice they are DT’s bestfriends.
You sound like a whiny little faggot.
I always thought Jake was a fuckin feminist cunt name.
I look at “Ben” and a few other commenters as Characters in this narrative.
Who knows, maybe one or more of em are written by Mr Tacos.
Trying different voices, angles, whatever. Writing exercises maybe.
Or maybe not.
“Ben” is actually a female trying to write as a male, I think…
(Hey dude, put your own blog stuff back up. It wasn’t half bad).
Either way, it’s still entertaining to watch the troll battle. Thanks, guys.
Richard, what exactly is it about my writing that makes you think I’m a female?
I can care less what anonymous people on the internet think about me, but what’s the deal with all the ad hominem attacks. Wave after wave of hate.
Are encouraging comments just not allowed here?
P.S. yes this is actually DT trying out a new “voice” and stimulating the comment section.
Enough with the sarcasm, B. I really did enjoy your stuff.
Whoever / Whatever you are. Not hatin just statin.
I was just curious to know what makes my writing sound like it was by a girl.
That’s more concerning than any remarks made directly against me.
I’m always drunk, lonely and sad when I come here to read DT’s writing, so maybe that’s why I sound like a little bitch.
I thought that delicioustacos.com is a place for lost souls to congregate and trade war stories and tips on how to get out of a rut. But I was wrong.
Anyway. Since you asked, there’s some updated writing on my site.
“what exactly is it about my writing that makes you think I’m a female?”
Just asking that question makes you sound like a female, you fucking faggot.
Be a man, grow some balls, and suck it up. Oh, I forgot. You can’t because you’re a faggot.
God Hates Fags:
you’re right. i’m writing like a fag, a woman.
the fact that your comments bother me so much shows how weak i’ve become. that i’m letting some random person on the internet get to me.
i won’t leave comments around here anymore. moving forward, probably won’t even check this site.
good lesson. thanks.
@God hates fags
Screw you.
DT figured out a new way to get pageviews, just bait manosphere self-improvement people into telling you how to live your life and arguing about it. Good one
Unfortunately there is no god , and even if there was everything can go wrong. I hope that everything keeps on the up and up for you, and that someone attractive sleeps with you soon.
Just What the Fuck is Going On with these Comments, Anyway?
“Ben” is really a female Creative Writing major from San Diego State doing a class project. S/he is like a mid-season replacement while Cornelius J Tacos Esq. cleans his wounds.
But yeah, it’s getting kinda Emo. I like how “Ben” makes all these declarative statements like s/he won’t let the internet randoms get to s/him but that’s what happens Every. Single. Time.
Picture that pit fighter scene from CONAN THE BARBARIAN (1982), except with Internet Neckbeards swinging a mouse at a gothy Asian(?) kid with s/his heart on s/his sleeve.
But I tell ya, “Ben.” Keep fuckin writing. Keep at it. You seem new at it but keep fuckin going. You’re on to something but that shit takes time.
I appreciate the blurb. Can Conan be thrown into that pit? I’d like to see how creative he could be.
How about fixing your blog so we can read it, HuntGatherWrite?
that gray-on-gray shit feels like an eye test.
I wondered why I had this fuckin headache.
my chinky eyes spy a tight spot between her chubby thighs, so i set aside the philosophy, stop asking why and just go in for the “hi” before she says good-bye and i’m back at my apartment, drinking alone, a whiskey rye.
come on you fags, let’s get 100+ comments on this post and show deltaco his blog ain’t “dying off”.
…Ben-Ben pussed out again-gen.
WTF, dude? You take down your own blog work
because of a couple jerkoff critical comments on a computer screen?
This is the sort of shit you need to get over if you’re gonna be a Writer.
Yeah there is some evidence of talent in your stuff, but whatever else
you have going on as far as lack of confidence is holding you back.
No shit Ben, you gotta be tougher than that if you want to make it as a writer.
The fucked up thing about being a Jewish lizard must be the way your foreskin keeps growing back after every circumcision.
Anyhow, here are some things you never hear anyone say:
“If you don’t stop sucking my dick right now, I’m calling the police!”
“I can’t seem to find an old, ugly hooker; they’re all lovely and young.”
“Well, it looks like fistfucking’s back in the news again…”
Yo, were you at some fucking pheromone dating match thing a couple months ago at a place called Los Lobos?
Yeah. It was stupid and fake and everyone but me was there to get on TV. Did it air somewhere?
Well, fucking write about it. It’s high time there’s a new post.
I knew it was you. You were on this show called The Moaning of Life with the guy from An Idiot Abroad. They only showed you for a split second from a distance, but you can spot that fucking elephantine head from a mile away. You looked like a gay bobblehead doll. You were sipping a cocktail with a satin sash tied around your neck.
You’re so fucking hot.
Hey Tim. I think you’re a self-obsessed twat and an asshole who takes pride in the easiest of things like fucking damaged women and acting like it’s some great feat, but you are a very good writer. Don’t let this die on the vine. You’re going through something real right now so find a way to write it.
Thank you. And fucking damaged women is a great feat.
Fucking ANY women is a great feat,
no matter who you are.
Still no new shit…
At this point, the most obnoxious (and appropriate) thing Delicious Tacos could do is to never post anything else after “Just What the Fuck is Going On with You, Anyway,” and hereinafter the actual “blog” just becomes one interminably long, downward-reaching comments section.
Someone from here should go start a blog with only one actual post, but which has a comments section comprised of hundreds or thousands of new blog “posts,” spanning years, which then forces everyone to start up at the top every time the page loads, and to scroll down, down, down forever – into the depths of a Comments Abyss – in order to find the “blog’s” new material.
And the kicker would be that after 10 solid minutes of scrolling down, you finally arrive at DT’s newest post:
“Penis”
it’s the sobriety.
DT isn’t writing as often because he’s not drinking or doing drugs.
if he’s not drinking or doing drugs he’s not getting himself into situations worth writing about.
clean living has that major downside—of living a very boring, safe life.
the kind of life no one really wants to read about, unless you’re a woman in your 30’s and your favorite actress is gwenyth pawtrow.
but things happen in cycles and soon he’ll see that health/longevity is a fool’s errand.
better to rage and enjoy the buttery marrow of life, than to age and be worried about your wage.
Ben,
Good to see you’re back
Everyone else,
Penis.
… just so Mr Tacos gets his RDA of plagiarism. Hang in there, tex
Fudge that sugar. Life is messed up for everyone. He could still write and he wrote before but he didn’t have a life before and now he does. Fuck a blog. Pandering to all you idiots who actually take this shit seriously. No one remembers that guy who was always fucking up until he’s dead and then everyone is surprised it didn’t happen sooner. Fuck chicks and go home to your sad little closet homes, big or little. You will die denying yourselves the best love and closest sex anyone could give because you’re all too chicken shit to let someone get to know you. Or maybe you just know you aren’t worth knowing so you have to make up some bullshit life and like idiots, you start to believe it all. Dt is still that pale chubby guy who may or may not have knocked up a drug addict and then started dating a pro who convinced him to write more. That shit happened with out him trying. Get lives you tools. Get some gd lives.
At least you haven’t had to move back in with your parents.
And jesus christ I need an update, man.
Rant about anything. I don’t care!
for what it’s worth, i still check every day, waiting faithfully for the return of el taco grande.
thanks for answering my hairy cunt question.
Come back DT, come back! I need you to write my fucking OKC profile.
What the fuck, where is the next post? Seriously DT, you don’t need to be wasted or on drugs to write your usual golden stuff. I can’t believe you’re going to let this blog die, I don’t know anyone else who can see the truth behind all the bullshit like you can.
Classics like “Unemployment Diary: Want Ads” were brilliant and so were the “shit jobs” series. It seems like you are going through something right now that warrants similar posts. Or maybe a review about something retarded that is popular right now. Fuck me if I know, but there are so many ideas available so please continue. How else will I be able to function?
DT man what the fuck, it has been a month and you are posting less frequently than The Last Psychiatrist. Get back on drugs, fuck some hookers, do blow or kill someone and write about it. Seriously I have no life and I need entertainment goddamnit, I am not entertained!
A month since the last post? Come on, don’t let this blog die. You don’t even need to come back with a bang, just write something for god’s sake.
Tits
I spit on your spit. I piss on your spit. I shit on your piss. I fart on your shit. I laugh at your fart. We are friends again – HEY!
yea, dt, come on.
she had a butt so tight it could crack a chestnut.
n she’ll laugh all naughty if you call her a slut
Unsanctioned Guest Post
Tom awoke with one eye, the other felt glued shut.
He was dizzy. His first thought was, “what time is it.”
His second was “where are my pants”.
It had been a wild night. Things happened, events he couldn’t remember. Getting up from the cold bathroom floor he could hear groaning from behind the closed door.
In the next room he discovered his best friend, covered in blood from the waist down.
Panicking, he rushes over to him, slapping his buddy on the face to see if he was still breathing. He was. The blood wasn’t his. It was light, pungent, and wet.
His friend woke up and explained that he had fucked a prostitute while she was on her period. She had promised him half-off on the deal if he could “excuse the mess”.
They both laughed, sitting there on the floor of their crumby motel. The sun had just arose and light cracked through the drawn blinds.
Tom and Frank figured they were safe, back at homebase in their rented suited.
The two had taken a road trip to Seattle. Mainly for the seafood, and just to get away.
Work wears you down. It becomes a routine. Tom had gotten a Groupon Getaways deal in his email and he saw it as an open invitation to get away from the grind. From the predictable monotony. The job, the apartment, the schedule, the chore after meaningless chore of shit to do. You work hard to make a living for yourself only to struggle in the after hours to figure out what it all means and why you’re not getting as much pussy in your 30’s as you thought you would.
Tom and Frank lived on opposite ends of LA but they both hated it there. You can’t get decent pussy in LA if you’re not rich and/or famous. Well, you can, but you’ll have to work for it. You’ll have to learn “game” and pretend like you’re rich and/or famous. Like in says in his favorite blog (delicioustacos.com), it becomes a second job. One you get tired of, just like the 9-5.
So the two of them thought they could use a change of scene. See what’s shaking in Seattle. Wander uncommon streets. Explore new experiences. Enough wondering, they told each other, let’s see if it’s better in the Pacific Northwest.
They found out first hand that it wasn’t. Just colder and more green. The freezing, wet weather meant less girls were walking around in skirts and black tights. The mood was gloomy, and dark. You had to really find the fun, or bring it.
hoe train