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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.

Continue reading

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

The Last Hangover

12 Feb
image stolen from www.ep.tc

image stolen from http://www.ep.tc

I should have gone out with a five gram coke binge. Topped it off with some nasty skid row black tar. But this will have to do.

I’ve been sitting inside all day hung over. Reading stupid shit on the internet and listening to Opie and Anthony. Masturbating to small penis humiliation videos. I have work to do, important work. Big real estate project and a bunch of writing stuff. I need the money. I am too hung over. Continue reading

My Name is Delicious Tacos, and I’m an Alcoholic

9 Feb
image stolen from tv-reviewed.com

image stolen from tv-reviewed.com

Here’s the good news. In December I didn’t drink for five days in a row. I did not hallucinate bristly worms chewing out of my flesh. I did not start spasming and twitching. No one had to break my teeth with scissors and jam a wooden spoon handle down my throat to pin my squirming tongue. It takes more than five years of binge drinking every day for these things to happen, apparently. Physically I felt fine.

Here’s the bad news. I could not speak to other human beings at night. I did not write literature filled with deep human truths. I did not wake with a brighter view of the world. I filled the hours watching Mythbusters on Netflix. Jamie and Adam build a car that explodes for some reason. Kari Grant and Tori tackle whether bees are really infuriated by… something, I don’t know. I kept falling asleep. Continue reading

Weekend Journal: The Heart Touching Magic of Cocaine Hydrochloride

1 Feb
image stolen from quantumleap-alsplace.com

image stolen from quantumleap-alsplace.com

I woke up and I was taking her from behind like a savage. She was black, dark black. Tattoos. I popped into consciousness out of blackness and my dick was pushing into her tight pussy and she was moaning. Eat your heart out, Quantum Leap.

She had flaked on our date. I showed up at the bar on time. Ten minutes later got the text that she forgot. Before that another girl “had her car towed” 20 minutes before our date. Before that a Manic Pixie Dream Girl emailed me 15 minutes before our date: her friends were throwing her a surprise party. But she forgot to put the “o” in “.com” so I showed up and sat there forever like a jerkoff. Manic Pixie Dream Cunt. Continue reading

Tomorrow is Another Day

15 Nov
image stolen from vosizneias.com

image stolen from vosizneias.com

Yesterday was gonna be the day I stopped drinking. But I got stuck in traffic. Tanker truck caught on fire on the 60 freeway. It was carrying liquid hydrogen. Hindenburg. All lanes closed in both directions.

I don’t take the 60 freeway, but everyone who does jumped on my freeway of choice, the 10 East. It was my day to stop drinking. For the first hour I took it. Stuck with the plan. But I’d been driving all day. It got dark on the road. The radio just kept telling me about the horrible traffic conditions I was in, every channel. Defeatist messages. Folks, it’s gonna be bad out there for a while. As we’ve been reporting the 60 is closed. Of course you have your alternate routes, the 10 and the 210. But those are stacked up now too from downtown past Azusa. There’s a ripple effect going on here folks. The 605 and 710 are a sea of red. The 101 is stop and go through downtown past Hollywood. And the 5 is on fire, the commuters have begun torching their cars and eating passengers’ flesh. Trees blackened. No life left in the hills except one sinister looking cactus. Starved crows circling. If you’re an alcoholic, you’re gonna want to drink extra liquor tonight to power through the sensations you’re gonna be feeling for the next several hours. I am speaking directly to you, Delicious Tacos, the announcer said. You are an idiot for wanting to stop drinking. Why would you torture yourself further. Think of that first drink. The one that makes this all go away. Continue reading

Hangover Diary: Rocktober

30 Oct
image stolen from robertishere.com

image stolen from robertishere.com

Fuck. God damn man. Still hung over. 2 days later. I did cocaine and took valiums and drank a fifth of brandy. OK. It will be fine. Tomorrow you will feel better. Tomorrow. Go to work. Have a productive day. It’s cold, feels like winter, it’s sixty eight motherfucking degrees. Jesus Christ man, you have to stop getting drunk, doing hard drugs. You have to stop this shit. Eat a fucking salad and perform vigorous compound exercises. Read quality literature, watch birds in the forest. Clean your motherfucking act up and be a functioning human being. This is what happens. This is why people have to have kids. To have something to do all fucking day. Keep the thing from squirting roach spray in its gullet. Run around making sure he doesn’t jam his finger in the outlet. Or your wife does that, I guess. You go to work. Sit on a train in a suit and a stupid hat and read the financial papers. Martini at the end of the day, golf on weekends. Anyone under 40, your concept of normal life is from TV. A dead dream.

The other guy stole the second gram. I was pissed at the time. Now I think: good. I hope it’s really gone. Never again with that shit. From now on, fruits and vegetables. A nice beef broth. Put me in one of those FDR wheelchairs with the plaid blanket and park me in front of an old timey radio. Jesus Christ. I am too old for this. I’m too old for drugs, liquor and pussy. But what else is there. Jesus. Gardening, I don’t know. Continue reading

Weekend Journal: Can’t Live With ‘Em, Can’t Live Without ‘Em

7 Jul

tarzana-sign

This is what I remember. I went back in to tell the crazy black chick with the fake blue eyes: come on, just give us a fucking ride two exits up the freeway. You promised you would drive us back, I said. I knew the whole time she would Welsh but I thought she could be reasoned with. She could not. She got angry, very angry, she was yelling at me to get the fuck out of the house and take that crazy ass bitch with you and I said all right, all right. And I’m pretty sure she popped me one. I have no marks on me but I remember laughing and telling her that if she was going to hit me she ought to put some body into it. When in fact it hurt, she had put plenty of body into it. She was African American and a “top” type Lesbian so even though she was a chick, you know, demographically she had the ability to punch. I went back out to the parking lot to find you and go. Figured we would split a cab, which would have taken up all the money I had left, but, we had to get out of there.

I went back to the parking lot to find you and you were gone. You had been lying on your face in an empty parking space against a cinder block wall one minute and then you just disappeared. The crazy black chick with the vampire-y blue contact lenses followed me out, yelling, motherfucker this, motherfucker that, nigga you better get the FUCK out of here RIGHT NOW and I was like, look, let me wait till Astrid comes back. We gotta get a cab. She kept yelling. So I thought: fuck it. I asked her to open the gate so I could go. She wouldn’t open the gate. She was calling the cops. She was telling them I was menacing her and wouldn’t leave when in fact I was prevented from leaving by the giant electric metal gate to the parking lot, which had no way of being opened without some remote of hers. Yeah, he has a plaid shirt on, she was saying into the phone. I was pleased I wasn’t wearing my distinctive blazer and pocket square or lavender cardigan. I imagined blending seamlessly into a sea of plaid shirts. Eventually I just jumped the wall. Continue reading

Hangover Diary

25 Jun
image stolen from thebenefitsofgivingupalcohol.wordpress.com

image stolen from thebenefitsofgivingupalcohol.wordpress.com

Well fuck shit ass penis Jew cunt. I have to clean the fucking house. I am hung over as fuck from drinking bad wine and smoking cigarettes. I want to crawl into a fucking hole and die. A filthy hole crawling with house centipedes. I will have to bleach the toilet. I fucking hate bleaching the toilet. I hate all responsibility. I do nothing all day every day and that is too god damn much. I have no obligations and a very small space to maintain and yet I need a fucking maid. Continue reading

Product Review: Safeway® “Nighttime Sleep” Mini Caplets

21 Jun

guy sleeping on pc

I’ve done a lot of heroin. Not just our schwag L.A. black tar, either; I’ve done white powder pinched off a brick from Philly before it got sent on to New York; great shit from little packets with brand names on them– Kisses, Lightning Bolts, whateverthefuck. Perfect cream-colored powder that leaves a subtle nutty, flowery taste in the back of your throat as you walk out in the rain and the drops caressing your collarbone feel like the hands of a beautiful young maiden and you could just sit down and soak in the water for hours, and it’s forty fucking degrees. I’ve eaten, sniffed and smoked potentially lethal quantities of vicodin, oxycodone, percoset, percodan, MS contin in those green pills where you have to chew off the time release coating; lorazepam, diazepam, quaaludes, klonopin, atavan, phenobarbitol, so many pills that sound like a racists’s concept of African American names; washed them all down with gut-searing quantities of cheap hard liquor and I stayed standing through every motherfucking one of them. But one half of one Safeway® Nighttime Sleep Mini Caplet will knock me out like a kick from a fucking horse and I will spend the next day feeling like the god of sleep is pushing my face down into the keyboard with big meaty hands. This shit is a god damn atomic weapon of drugs and should probably be banned.

It’s the same ingredient as Nytol®, Sominex®, Benadryl®, Tylenol® PM–  Diphenhydramine Hydrochloride– and each of them comes packaged in a pill that’s 25 milligrams. The recommended dose is two full pills. Two full pills would put a fucking family of blue whales into a six month coma. One whole pill will obliterate a the cumulative buzz of twelve hours worth of speedy cocaine, will swat aside 30 milligrams of Adderall XR like Tyson uppercutting Ruth Bader Ginsburg. This drug is incomprehensibly powerful and I don’t understand how thousands of people aren’t dying from it when one fourth of the recommended dosage will put a grade A heavyweight such as myself right on his ass.

How is this shit sold in Safeway, and how the fuck is the recommended dose enough to poison an entire city’s water supply? Just what the fuck is going on here? You can’t buy trucker speed anymore, you can’t even buy herbal ephedra. Armored men with M16’s will tackle an old lady to the ground and shoot her dog if she sprouts two pot plants in her living room window. But something that, taken as instructed, can send you into a twenty hour deathtrance, is readily advertised on TV.

Stay away from this shit. It’s insane. Stick with safer stuff, like China White blasted into your forearm with some gaunt skid row zombie’s filthy works.

In conclusion: one and a half stars

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