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Weekend Journal: The Heart Touching Magic of Cocaine Hydrochloride

1 Feb
image stolen from

image stolen from

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

Weekend Journal: Blackout

25 Jan
image stolen from

image stolen from

As the sun came up there was a clipped muttering somewhere. Like a tut tut tut. Woke me up. It had been a demon’s voice in my dreams, tut tut tutting me. Tut tut tut you’re going to hell. I was on the couch in my clothes, still blind drunk. Tut tut tut– what the fuck was it.

It was a chicken. One of my neighbors got a chicken. Fucking thing was up at dawn screaming at the sun. Have to kill the chicken, I thought. No one living in the first world should be awakened by a chicken. I imagined climbing his cinder block wall. Dropping over the other side into his cement courtyard with the potted herbs. Snapping the beast’s neck. Vivid. I could feel the rough concrete on my palms. The bird kicking. I slipped back into dreams.

My face hurt. I had to be told what happened in the morning. I tried to fuck my friend’s girl and he almost beat me up. He was on top of me on the couch with his thumbs pressed in my eyes. Saying I’m going to kill you. Don’t say another word, if you say another word I’m going to hurt you. The girl, begging him to calm down. Continue reading

Weekend Journal: Mexico City Part 1

16 Sep
with soldiers

I acknowledge that I am a jerkoff

Fuck man. I’m fucking tired. I don’t want to clean my house. I don’t want to pay my bills. I don’t want to fucking go to the grocery store and fucking buy dinner and fucking cook dinner, but, all those things have to be done. I was awake at 2:30 LA time this morning, trying to get a taxi to the Mexico City airport. If we missed our plane we were fucked. They were closing down the airport for the National Air Show. If the Mexican Air Force is on par with the rest of the country’s infrastructure it will be three Cessnas held together with duct tape. Rusted out fuel tanks will give way. The fiery wreckage will immolate large sections of the cheek-to-jowl crowd. Many will die but the celebration will continue. Continue reading

Weekend Journal: Crimes and Misdemeanors

8 Sep

bicycle thief

There are ants in the bathroom sink. I keep jerking off into it. Trying to hold on to the images from porn. Trying not to get distracted by the nightmare Dali tableau of the ants, swarms and swarms of them picking at the crust of my toothpaste. When I nut the first drop makes them scatter, furiously. Then I wash my jizz down the drain and with it their colony. They quickly repopulate.

It’s too fucking hot and I’m hung over as shit and my bike got stolen. I need to call my parents. Tell my mom I’m going to Mexico City. I’ve been holding it back because I don’t want her to freak out. She’ll think I’m gonna get my head cut off, shipped back to her in a cooler. No, it’s fine, I’ll say. I was just in Tijuana, it’s not like you read about. What were you doing there? Uh… Continue reading

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

7 Jul


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

Weekend Journal 5-26-13: This Is All Your Fault Megan

26 May
image stolen from

image stolen from

I’m trying to masturbate to the redhead with the big titties from the Standard but the problem is, Julianne Moore has a movie coming out. So they interviewed her on NPR and I heard it and got her face stuck in my head. I get about three seconds of the redhead from the party before it becomes Julianne Moore’s pointy fucking Count Chocula face. Now you are cursed too. Go try to jerk off to a redhead and try not to think of Julianne Moore.

The redhead with the big titties wasn’t opening the door in room 413 and the party was winding down, so I admitted defeat and walked over to skid row to buy black tar heroin. The first guy I talked to just took my money and disappeared. He had handed me a garbage bag full of L.A. Kings T shirts as collateral, which I now own. Email me if you are extra large. Continue reading

Weekend Journal 5-5-13: House of Spirits

5 May

Image stolen from Flickr user avalon_music

I need to stop drinking and I can’t. I get drunk every night, usually alone. Most nights it’s pretty harmless; I just play Xbox. Last night I walked down to the Cinco de Mayo DUI checkpoint on Sunset and started loudly fucking with cops. Eventually they circled up around me like a wall of beatdown and told me they were gonna book me for public intoxication. At the time I had courage, I was screaming a bunch of slogans I heard in youtube videos about Constitutional rights and am I being detained. In reality I was a loud asshole fucking with people trying to do their jobs, and was in fact publicly intoxicated, and probably in danger of running into traffic. Still. I did get one guy to not say shit and not blow into the breathalyzer and I got his wife to call a lawyer instead. He got a ticket, not a DUI, and they let him go. I saved him ten grand. Probably half of what he makes in a year. He will probably kill a child driving drunk now. Continue reading

Weekend Journal 4-13-13: Pay for Play

17 Apr

days inn

She opened the door; it was one of those courtyard Days Inn type hotels where they have a walkway outside and all the rooms face the parking lot. She was naked. Muttering to herself. My buddy, Greg, asked me if I wanted to go first or second. I said second. I like to watch people fuck. Plus I was drunk as shit and had beat off three times that afternoon; I would need the extra steam to get a boner.

She was a tiny girl, looked Italian or something. Really young face, that was her thing. Must get a lot of guys who want to fuck little girls. Except her tits were pancaked out from giving suck. She kept talking, chattering, murmuring uh huh uh huh uh huh over and over back in her palate, like she was trying to cough a hair out of her throat. Continue reading

Weekend Journal: Curse of the Monkey’s Paw

8 Apr

I’d been jerking it to big asses. Specifically, white women, pale skinned white women, with large round asses, bent over in panties shaking them into the camera. Because of one video I saw months ago and could never find again. A white girl in blue underwear bent over doing a cute dance. For some reason it gave me that urgent reflex boner you get right before you die. That praying mantis boner that makes a hanged man ejaculate.

I’d been searching and searching for the clip but it was something I’d jerked it to at work; I couldn’t remember the search terms that brought me to it by accident or even the site. So I’d spent hours on various porn sites entering every word that seemed slightly germane in every combination, like a guy trying to crack a safe by spinning the dial to random numbers. Big butt chubby butt big ass tease panties blue panties ginger white girl bent over… onion booty chubby booty PAWG panties tease… there was similar stuff, but not the one. That perfect shard of the Jerk Crystal. The porn so hot you can jerk off to the memory of jerking off to it. That ass. Continue reading

Weekend Journal 1-13-13: Piss All Over

13 Jan

I punched Astrid in the back of the head, and she pissed on me.  Her skull made a sound like a coconut.  I forget what we were fighting about.  We were drunk, obviously.  She had had a party.  I drank two bottles of Andre® Extra Dry Sparkling California Wine from the sale rack at CVS and probably a bunch of other shit.  God only knows what she put down; she drinks like an Irish coal miner.  I was wrestling with her and kind of getting on top of her and squashing her; she likes that kind of shit because she was molested.  Then I popped her one.  You need to understand that this isn’t some shit where she cries and calls the police; she likes to get hit.  I like hitting her.  Thanks, child sex predators.

Original artwork by yours truly, in Nikol's room

Original artwork by yours truly, in Astrid’s room.

Continue reading


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