One morning he looked in his neighbor’s window and saw a picture of his own cat.
The guy had his blinds closed like always. But today a computer monitor was pressed up by the window and the slats were pushed aside. There was a narrow triangle of open glass, enough to see in the apartment. It was stacked high with crap. Old books and magazines. Old art on the walls. Prints of Hudson River Valley school paintings cut out of a coffee table book, taped to the drywall. Certificates and degrees, too far away to read, yellowed, askew in cheap frames. And a picture of his cat. It too was framed. A foot high. iPhone picture, pixellated a little. Fluffykins regarded the camera with a dead mockingbird in his mouth. Continue reading
image stolen from askmenanswers.com
They were at El Prado. He had mineral water. She had dry Riesling. So I have to ask you something, she said.
He knew what was coming but pretended not to. Go ahead.
Are you really as much of an asshole as you say on your blog?
It’s factually true. Things I say happened, happened. But I leave out the parts where I’m a functioning human being most days. It’s boring to say I woke up and took a healthy shit and earned money and paid taxes. Emotional reactions are heightened. Particularly with regard to sex. For instance, I don’t literally want my mouth and nose to be skin grafted onto a 40 year old alcoholic Cambodian woman’s asshole. Continue reading
They were at Brite Spot. His first date since he knew for sure the thing with the girl was over. Everything was fine and then the speakers played John Waite’s “Missing You.” 80’s night. After that, Elton John’s “I Guess That’s Why They Call it the Blues.” He’d been told to pray when it hurt. Dear Lord, why not just have the clouds spell my name and form a middle finger. His date had the kale salad. Yeah, I went to a couple Sex Addicts meetings once, she said. Dear Lord, forget I complained.
He fingerfucked her against a tree by Echo Park Lake. They went to her house. Her pussy felt the same as the girl’s and he thought he was cured. Continue reading
image stolen from kobebundle.blogspot.com
He was lit and he went to the back patio for a cigarette. It was Monday and the crowd wasn’t bad. Two to one ratio but one cute girl smoking alone. Mexican in Converse. 1981 Love and Rockets.
You look like the girl who blew Eric Stoltz in Rules of Attraction, he said. He knew she would know it.
Haha– that’s not the only thing she did in that movie.
The less said about the rest the better.
I actually love that movie.
Me too. It was the first time I learned that people wipe their ass while they’re still sitting down. That split screen scene with fuckin cinder block head James Van Der Beek. Continue reading
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.
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.
… Continue reading
There was thumping coming from the bathroom. Slow at first, then gradually faster, and then a big sound like a bundle of logs being dropped.
Where’s the soap? She called through the door.
I don’t know. Where is it usually?
The door creaked open and her head appeared, face slightly red. If it were where it is usually, she said, would I have asked you where it is?
Well it’s in there somewhere.
Are you sure sweetie?
Yeah, it has to be.
He stood up from the couch, walked over and stuck his head in the bathroom door. She was back looking in the cabinet under the sink now. Moving items around: toilet paper, baby powder, tampons. There was no available physical space large enough to be occupied by the 8-Pak of Lever 2000® Pure Rain™ bath bars she had instructed him to buy. But she kept looking anyway. Continue reading
The fucksleeve came in the mail on a Tuesday. Just like a real woman it took forever to come, he thought. There’s a joke you’ll never be able to tell in public.
As promised it was in discreet packaging. A surprisingly small box. Within this was a plastic egg that contained the fucksleeve. While small, it could be stretched, per the pamphlet, “to accommodate any size penis.” There were also hints on how to maximize sensation on the glans and frenulum; some artist had been paid to draw a hand in various positions stretching this piece of silicon over a healthy-sized member. It’s a living. Inside the thing’s orifice was a single use packet of lube, but he opted for Curel Intensive Care instead. Save the special stuff for a rainy day.