It Will Be Very Unpleasant

17 Jun
image stolen from

image stolen from

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.

********** Continue reading

Coffee Shop Diary: Ass

14 Jun
image stolen from

image stolen from

She’ll break my heart but I don’t care because my asshole hurts. She’s going on a date with another dude. I don’t want her to. There’s other complicated shit. Who cares. My ass.

I’m afraid it’s cancer. A polyp. Started hurting after four days of diarrhea from bad spinach. Figured it was the acid. My asshole was just overworked and surly. But it got worse. It hurts a little when I sit and a lot when I cough. When I adjust. Until your asshole hurts you don’t know how much you pucker it in life. Suck it in. It’s like a second mouth and all day you’re nibbling your lower lip. When I do that it’s like a rat’s chewing through it. Abrasive pain. You understand why Richard Gere pulled the gerbil’s teeth. It hurts when I shit, obviously. But also when I jerk off. Your asshole pulsates when you nut. Who knew.

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Diary: Morning Self-Assessment

9 Jun

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.

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Fourth Step

4 Jun
image stolen from

image stolen from

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

Plus One

2 Jun
image of renowned thespian james "the cuntcrusher" cromwell stolen from

image of renowned thespian james “the cuntcrusher” cromwell stolen from

I wasn’t supposed to fuck her but I did. And it was amazing, frankly. Five foot one 22 year old Japanese girl. Art student. Those details have no place in the story but fuck you, I’m bragging. Just typing about her gives me an erection.

I told my sponsor I wouldn’t be a pig about it. This would be a healthy get to know you. I would be open about my feelings and focus on giving the person a good night, rather than piggishly chewing up meaningless ass. Why are you even going, he said. I thought you really liked this other girl. You’re right, I said. You’re absolutely right. I totally hear you. This is about learning to relate to other human beings in sobriety. I will stay in touch with my higher power and keep an open heart, man. I promise. The thought bubble over my head said “pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy.” Continue reading

Instrument of Thy Will

2 Jun
pic unrelated

pic unrelated

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

OKCupid Opener of the Day: Rush

29 May
image stolen from

image stolen from

Let me pitch you an idea.
We’ve set a date.  Your doorbell rings. It’s me.  I am dressed nicely. Perhaps holding a bouquet.  Peonies– nothing too suggestive.  You approve of my shoes.  You’re like “Hi!”  And I’m like:
And you’re like “wow, that’s pretty impressive! Would you like to come i–” and I’m like:
And you’re like “holy shit, you’re really good at that, should we get goin–” and I’m like
(DUH NUH NUH NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH AND I JUST KEEP GOING THROUGH AN EXTENDED SYNTH SOLO AND ETC.  You get the idea.  Meanwhile the neighbors have come out and you’re maybe a little apprehensive but also, you can’t resist feeling the music in your bones.  Beginning to move.  Shake your head.  Dance in the only awkward way it is possible to dance to Rush.  When it finally ends you are exhausted.  Dripping with sweat.  Spent.  But changed. From this moment you will live each day as though it were you last.)
The song finishes.  I hand you the peonies.  Turn around and leave silently.

How about it.

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