It’s come to this. No women and no beating off for seven days. Fuck my sponsor, I kept thinking. His awful advice about women. Got me in this hole in the first place. Too attached to this broad and now she’s fucking some guy. I ought to have been shredding internet girls this whole time. Don’t you understand, the ten years younger version of this same chick keeps sending me videos with a hairbrush in her ass. I’m internet famous, god dammit. Enough that a couple people want to fuck me. If junior high could see me now.
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.
I called 911 because I was in the bath and my legs started spasming. You could see muscle pulsing like a snake moving under the skin. First calves. Then thighs. Then my legs locked up and my belly started to go. My foot stuck twisted like the end of a chicken wing. It hurt. What if it went all the way up. Would my face just go in the water. Would I die naked with my hot bath ball sac spread over my thighs like a steamed tortilla.
While my arms still worked I hoisted myself up by the soap holder. My fucking thumb was twitching and the phone was wet. Many tries to get the passcode. When there’s an emergency, you forget you can just hit “emergency.” Then– no, you dumb fucker, I am not calling 921. Jesus Christ. That voice never goes away. The one that tells you of course it would be like this. Your ass goes out and it spreads and you die naked because your retarded thumb can’t work the phone. You went to the doctor and everything. They told you it was hemorrhoids. You knew it was an anorectal abscess. Septic cyst that infects and kills you. That other voice doesn’t go away either: ha! I was right!
At the Mexican Doctor to get my surgeon referral. For the ass surgery I will need. Telemundo is on and the Copa Mundial is playing. Nigeria versus somebody. There’s a pressboard portrait of Christ on the wall, mounted on an oval piece of burlap, with the Oracion por la Paz. It feels like there’s a swiss army knife in my shitcave and all the blades keep flying open. The corkscrew.
Will he too have to finger my asshole. What will this accomplish. Someone needs to look. Feel is not enough. Especially with those gloves– maybe he could tell what it is if he went in raw. Yesterday the ER told me it’s a hemorrhoid, which it isn’t. It’s an anorectal abscess. I know from the internet. Sudden onset anal pain that escalates quickly. Coupled with fever and chills. Lethal if left untreated, but lancing provides instant relief.
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I’ve been unemployed for two weeks. It feels like a god damn lifetime. Most of it I’ve wasted looking at stupid shit on the internet. I’m not gonna say I should have been traveling the globe slaying exotic ass, nursing orphans back to health. But– I could have written a short story. I could have paid my bills. I could have done some consulting work to make the money to pay my bills. I didn’t because I was reading Gawker. Gawker comments. Manosphere sites. Feminist sites. The news, which is an extension of those things. Somebody shot some people today. Some college made a rule about rape. This proves men have it harder, women have it harder, etc. The news now only exists to kill empathy. Excite people about hating each other. Here is the real news: you will die a slow horrible death and everyone you love will abandon you. Before this happens, fighting in this giant fake war of shrieking self-pity is the worst use of your time.
At the beach. A woman with big titties walks into the cold water. Other things are happening too– the thunder of the rolling waves. A flock of shorebirds at the waterline. Ibises I think. Skittering at the edge of the sand, digging for clams. Scattering back. They keep a tight formation. Ancient instincts going back to the dinosaurs. Huge brown pelicans glide overhead like pterodactyls; their brightly colored beaks. The majesty of nature and all that other jerkoff shit. She has big titties. Big titties.
I need to have sex soon or I will die. Specifically, I need to have unprotected sex with a woman between fifteen and twenty seven years of age. A new one. No one I have fucked before. The phone is an elephant’s graveyard of girl numbers. Many of them are cute. Some are even funny. But, you fuck a chick three times, she’s expired. I could write more thoughts on the matter but this woman has big titties. Big titties. Continue reading
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. Continue reading
At the doctor’s office. The primary care physician Healthnet assigned me. Cesar Vialpando MD, of the Mi Familia Medical Group. Off Alameda south of 62d. The way here was all Chinese frozen squid warehouses, giant chemical silos.
Waiting room is packed to the gills. Artificial pine paneling. The guy’s desk at reception is just a mass of random papers. They don’t have a computer. It’s Mexico in here. I’m stunned no one has a goat or chicken. Except in Mexico I could have just gone to the Farmacia and bought the cheap pills I need. I have strep throat. All I need Cesar Vialpando MD to do is write a script for penicillin. All I need Healthnet to do is cover this simple trip to to the guy they assigned me. I will leave here with neither of these things. Continue reading
I don’t drink, I just jerk off all day. My dick looks like the chick’s back in 12 Years a Slave. Porn upon porn upon porn. The only lotion I have left has rosemary in it. It’s from a spa. They mix in fresh herbs. Rosemary just aggravates the scabs. I ride my bike and it’s like I dropped a live belt sander in my underwear.
Porn upon porn upon porn. A girl comes home to her apartment. Her older female roommate is angry. The young one locked herself out. Forgot her keys. Forgot her bills. The older roommate forces her to wear an adult diaper and be spanked. The dialogue is improv. Like all porns the acting is Punch and Judy. Until you get to the spanking. The girl’s squeals and cries are perfect. She really sounds like a small child. Jerk off dry in the sink. Ten hot ropes. Look up, you want the face in the mirror to be ashamed. But the eyes just say “yeah, what of it.” Back to the desk. You are about to close 8 tabs. Are you sure. Continue reading
It’s my birthday today. I am thirty eight years old.
I had dreams of being pulled out to sea by storm waves. Woke up early and went out to the park. Neighbor was walking his dog. Told me there was a big car wreck down on Stadium Way. Went to the top of the hill to look. Cold fog hung around the trees. The evergreens were dead and brown. Marked with an X in spray paint; the city’s gonna come cut them down. Scotch pines. The tree my dad planted in the yard to commemorate my birth. That one was cut down too. Across the valley a murder of crows roosted on a dead eucalyptus. They were 500 yards away but as soon as I looked they flew off. Down on the road, fifteen fire trucks. A station wagon had hit a palm tree. It was spun around backward, crushed. All four doors laying on the grass, cut off by the jaws of life.
If I’d been looking for a portent for the coming year, well… fuck. Only thing that could have been more on the nose would have been the clouds forming my name and a big middle finger. Good thing I don’t believe in that shit. I rubbernecked long enough for my coffee to finish brewing. Then headed inside to drop a deuce. I’d eaten bleu cheese and arugula. The shit was historic. This was my portent. This year I will move mountains.