Archive | Weekend Journal RSS feed for this section

Weekend Journal: Toxic Masculinity

7 Oct

shame face

She’s still in the shower. I just learned Hepatitis C is not transmitted sexually. Per the Hepatitis C Association, which I may now have to join:

  1. Couples with one HCV positive partner had a 2.5 per cent transmission rate over 20 years of unprotected sex
  2. HCV is not found in semen or vaginal fluid
  3. Sexual transmission may be a factor among MSM (Men who have Sex with Men)

So you get Hep C if you fuck men. Your dick gets cut by his dry ass. His ass gets cut by your dry dick. But I fuck women. Therefore: call me sushi, I’m goin in raw. Continue reading

Weekend Journal: One More for the Road

30 May

Ardea alba

She was a thick black chick and her cunt smelled like celery. Thicker than her pictures but I’m so thirsty I’d fuck a possum carcass. We met by the duck pond. She was leaving town that night. Whatever showed up, I was fucking it.

Now my bed smells like celery. There are pustules on my crotch. Not near my dick. Way off to the left by my inguinal crease. If I get some infection, fine. As long as it’s something condoms wouldn’t have prevented. Because then it’s like: what are you gonna do. I promised myself I’d never wear a condom again. After the Philippines. I put my bare dick in whores, in a country where the average net worth is a chicken. Came back, paid extra for the full bore VD panel. Nothing. Continue reading

Weekend Journal: Will You Still Love Me

14 Sep

stacie 3

On Saturday we handed out MISSING flyers for Nikol’s son who ran away. Hundred and six degrees in the valley; heat-angry people think you’re trying to sell them something when you walk up and say excuse me. I’m a bad person. An old woman stiffarmed me and said “sorry.” I yelled after her: you’ll die alone, you leathery old cunt. Not interested, said a fat bald man. Like no one will ever be interested in you, you fat disgusting bald sack of shit. I’m in the right here, I reasoned. I’m trying to find a lost child for Christ’s sake. No one will take a swing at me because I’m tall and I lift weights a lot. Continue reading

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


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 327 other followers