He lived alone. Every morning the same spider had fallen in the bathtub. An elegant silvery-looking affair. He’d pick her up carefully by three legs (one leg would have just snapped off). Place her by her web in the corner behind the shampoo bottle. Every morning she’d be back twitching by the drain.
One day he fired up the hot water, slipped on the soap and fell with a crack. And there she was. She was a woman now. Tall and elegant in a silvery dress with the mist shrouding her in rainbows. She held him. Stroked his chest with her soft palm while the hot water hissed on the tiles. I’ve traveled a long time, she said. Looking for one small act of kindness. Finally I’ve found you. She bit into his head and began sucking out the juice.
image stolen from macmcentire.com
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
Now I’m outside trying to write and there’s literally a god damn mariachi band playing. Loud power tools from the fucking construction on the neighbor’s house. What’s next. Someone needs to come blow a vuvuzela in my ear. The high school gong corps needs to bash 1600 gongs inside my asshole. A chorus of roosters needs to crow for the dawn while a herd of elephants is burned alive. Someone needs to make me wear a jet engine for a hat and blast 15,000 Mexican car alarms inside my skull. Continue reading
image stolen from deviantart user swept-wing-racer
Can’t stop looking at twitter. Reading about the UVA rape. Everyone is constantly being raped, no one is ever raped– weird twitter and the manosphere fighting over it… god, the sweet drama. There’s a picture of the girl now. Too late. No beating off to a rape scene you know is fake. Continue reading
Clearing out the vault. Here’s some shit you might have read this year, if I could have cracked it: Continue reading
Good morning. What do I not want to do today. Continue reading
I was in Boston for my father’s death and I fired up Tinder. Girls there actually match you. Message you. Can you imagine. Enough to make you think: could I live in the cold. Sidewalks packed with surly oafs in puffy Burlington Coat Factory jackets muttering about the fucking Patriots. Their fat Irish faces. I’m stuck in LA though. My mother moved here. Too much of a twist of the knife to move back to the frozen hell I talked her into leaving. Cold ground so hard you fall and hit it like a car door slamming. Can’t leave my mother. Instead she’ll get to watch her only child die alone. Her genes extinguished. Continue reading