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
The phone rings in your pocket and you think it’s her. “I went on that date and realized it was a mistake. Let’s move in together and never stop fucking” she’ll say. It’s Time Warner Cable. An urgent change to the status of your account.
You wonder how it went but you know. She took his huge meaty unprotected cock and came around it a million times until she breathed fire and was full of his offspring. She made that face you like when she’s on top. Weird look of concentration, like a sorceress. Better with him than with you. They have a mortgage now probably. In a year you’ll see her on the street gravid with yuppie eggs, pushing their firstborn in the number one safety rated sport stroller.
Call my sponsor. I gotta get this out of my head, I tell him. I know emotions are healthy but this is sickness.
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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.
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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.
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image stolen from bubblews.com
I’m on the fourth step of Alcoholics Anonymous. You make a list of everyone you resent, and why.
1) Lauren, My First Girlfriend
After we broke up she told me a parking attendant raped her. In one of those big concrete structures, the little office they have. On one of those wheely office chairs with the one broken caster. He hit her and held a knife to her neck and raped her, she said. Then she passed out. When she woke up he had left a note. It said “you get what you deserve bitch.”
The parking attendant raped her. So she needed someone to be with her whenever she drove past the scene. So: could I please come. She was on her way to see her new boyfriend, at the college across town. Continue reading
You know that feeling. Where you drank every day for 20 years. By the end you were blacking out a couple times a week, alone. You were yelling at cops, getting in fights with women– Lesbians duke it out; the straight chicks just bite you. That feeling where you had a solid 20 years of that going on. You accomplished nothing in your career. Your net worth is negative ten thousand dollars, despite your fancy schools. Your car is 35 years old. It cost $1200 on craigslist. The master brake cylinder’s about to go; the thing barely stops. Breather hose is disconnected and just spits blue smoke. The engine doesn’t turn off when you kill the ignition. You have to rev it up, floor it for about ten seconds to push all the diesel out of the fuel line. You have to do this getting home at 10:30 PM in your parking lot that is just under the window of the building next door, where a nice woman has a new baby. Floor your loud as fuck poison fume spewing 1970’s diesel engine late under her window, gas creeps up into the vent and fries the little fucker’s brain. He’ll look at his schoolwork ten years from now and the letters won’t form words, they’ll just dance. No money no job no wife no kids no art no nothing. You have done nothing with your life. Maybe you kept the cat alive but come on, a monkey could raise a cat. Even the cat would be better off without you. Continue reading
You meet a girl. She makes you horny. So you like her. But you know she’ll bug the fuck out of you. Sooner or later.
How do you not push that moment. When you are “good with women” you force yourself to make it happen too fast. You look for flaws in her to gird yourself. Make it so she can’t get to you. Love is a fight and you stay on top by loving the other person less. You get to where it’s like this right away. From the first date. First minute. You get girls so you can feel something. But you can only get girls if you feel nothing.
This girl, though. It felt like nature meant for us to breed. Her armpits smelled like our kids would be immune to some ancient parasite. I want to rut with her and fill her soft belly full of babies. I like her accent. Her eyes. But she will bug the fuck out of me sooner or later. The “game” part of you pushes for that moment. Too fast.
Don’t push it. And don’t pull it back. Just feel what you feel. But you tell yourself: snap out of it. This is fleeting bullshit, your mind says. You know it will end so end it now. There’s no free lunch and you can’t break even. Love is a made up story. If you like them they don’t like you.
What can you do. God is evil. She will bug the fuck out of me.
Sooner rather than later.
image stolen from nytimes.com
Right before the plane took off she sent me an email. Said she was going to kill herself. Cut-and-pasted the research she was doing on method. Pills, carbon monoxide, helium. I knew all of these. Used to hear about them in texts from Astrid. Before that, other women.
They’re great communicators. They know to show not tell that they’re serious. A mere ”I am going to kill myself” means nothing from a woman. Even Anne Sexton and Sylvia fucking Plath wrote volumes of warnings first. Dragged it out over years. If you hear it from me once, I’m already dead. Went out with a bullet hoping WordPress’ “schedule future post” feature worked. Continue reading
image stolen from tvtropes.org
Went down the block to get a Patra Burger. The Echo Park Christmas parade was going on. Teen cheerleaders shimmying down Sunset. Mexican Christmas carols play out of Mustangs. Short skirts. Yoga pants. Fifteen years old, tops. Like all straight men, I am powerfully sexually attracted to underage girls. Far more than to women of legal age. If you aren’t, say so in the comments. I’ll know everything else you say is also a lie.
It’s natural, but I feel like a miscreant. Three blocks to Patra Burger. Looking, trying not to look like I’m looking. Young girls shaking their asses in tiny skirts and little black underwear. Lifting one another up to give us all a panty shot. I strain to get an image I can remember. High school freshman’s sweaty taint up in the air with another girl’s hot palm jammed in it. Heaven. Clear skin, long shiny hair. Little budding tits. Firm little apple asses. The nineteen year olds taking veiny cock in porn look like crones in comparison. Any woman of legal age is already past her peak. Continue reading