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Tell Me You Love Me

23 Jan

Tell me you love me. Come see me, stop drinking and start going to bed at 9PM, get over your need to be with rich guys; stop fucking douchebags and doing cocaine but don’t ask me to stop fucking Tinder cretins. Live in my apartment like an appliance. Be a refrigerator for my dick. A dishwasher for my balls. A garbage disposal for my ideas. Tell me how great I am and that my chicken is delicious and then leave. Come see me and stroke my ass like the old Chinese lady who jerks you off at the shady massage place but do it for free and let me beat you at Scrabble. All you have to do is be pretty. And want nothing, or want so little that what I have is enough.

Sugar Baby

21 Jan
nativo411 mexican sunset pinterest

image stolen from pinterest user nativo411

She was in Mexico and she’d left him. He’d bought her a plane ticket to visit him. She said extracting money from men made her feel love. He acquiesced. Then he said a mean thing on the internet. She read it. I don’t think it’s a good idea to see you anymore. Take care, she said, on Whatsapp. Above it her picture smiling like the sweetheart of Sigma Chi.

What to say back. You don’t mean this. You’re crashing off ecstasy, off coke; you’re drunk and fucking some meathead but you’ll remember you love me when you’re back. Continue reading

That Pussy Will Cost You

16 Jan

bighorn sheep

The last thing I haven’t given over to God. Women. I’ve surrendered work money emotions friends family… everything. Go out in the park in the morning, hear the wind hiss in the leaves. Know that I’m a puny mote in the universe. All will be taken care of. Or it won’t. And I’ll die. And it won’t matter.

But women– there’s no let it happen. I’ve been waiting 40 years for fucking reverse Cinderella to come knocking. And– well shit, it happened once but, a) because of my web site and b) she fucking took off. Continue reading

Fruit of My Loins

10 Jan


Need to write something. But I fucking hate writing. I have nothing. Thoughts too scattered. Never write anything good again. So what. I’ve done more than most. I’ll never be satisfied with this shit. Spent last night pitching AA to crazy retarded people in a nuthouse. A fat psychotic meth smoking chola eyeballed me like she wanted the dick, and I thought about it. I sponsor an AA newcomer. I do it by mail because he’s in prison, for murder. Top that St. Francis. Still, when I wake up I just want to take a fucking drink. Continue reading

If It Flies Floats or Fucks

28 Dec

image stolen from

She has nowhere to go. Stop making your readers think I’m a hooker, she says. Will you please buy me a plane ticket.

And I do. It’s cheap, a hundred bucks. And I’m a trick for doing it. But who fucking cares. In six weeks I’ll turn forty. Nothing left to prove with pussy. I look like the fucking chamberlain from the Dark Crystal. Never had money. I’ve had the shittiest, most debased jobs; spinach pickers are cooler than me. Went to the shittiest schools for pussy. Lived in the shittiest towns for pussy. Walk around feeling my gangliness, ugliness, stupidity, weird voice weird face small penis like a cigarette burning the back of my neck since I turned six fucking years old and I’ve still got more pussy than anybody. I’ve fucked like god damn Caligula. The Floyd Mayweather of pussy. No fun to watch but I am un fuckin defeated. Continue reading

Reader Mailbag: Have You Had Your Prostate Milked During Orgasm

21 Nov

res detail

No. I’ve had my prostate milked by a urologist to diagnose infection. Don’t want girls in my ass. And you don’t see many girls with such low self esteem that they’ll put in the effort. Or any.

Did have a date last week who licked my armpits. Tongued down my taint like a giraffe reaching for a high branch. She mentioned ass eating. I wondered if I ought to present. You don’t get it often. Maybe you should catch a falling star. Continue reading

Dear Angela

11 Nov

coot ripple


I wrote another thing about you. The point of it was I wouldn’t be jealous anymore. Jealous of your stupid friend who comes in my comments, hooting about how much he tears up your ass. You fuck men for cash and prizes. Some of them are famous. Inventors. Spies. I don’t care about any of them. But this guy got to me. He has what I want with you. Come over a few nights a week and party. I can’t party anymore. Too old. Have to get up early. Write. Then I can’t write. I feel like less than a man. Fucking another girl didn’t take it away. Maybe liking another girl would. I want to like a girl like I like you. Continue reading


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