Strap In, We’re Dying Alone

12 May

I’m not good enough, my book isn’t good enough, it’s not as good as Mike Ma’s book, I’m not tall enough– 6 foot 3 or above– I’m too fat, the bottom of my six pack has fat on it, I’m not handsome enough, not rich enough, my future earning potential is not high enough to start a family– $300K plus per year– my nose hairs are too long bristly and white, my dick is not big enough, my nuts not small compact tight and symmetrical enough, the nuts themselves are fucked up and then too my scrotum is too long. My butthole not hairless enough. My books don’t sell well enough. When they do it’s not to enough women. I don’t have enough guns crossbows and C4 explosives to protect my putative children when shit hits the fan. I’m not liberal enough. I’m too associated with future mass murdering incel Nazis. I’m just not cool. I’m not famous enough. I could do something about it but you know, who gives a fuck.

Why Don’t You Get a New Cat

21 Apr

I’m not done missing Bud. And I might leave America forever. Any moment. Any morning. Take my book money, buy a two way ticket to the Philippines. Throw the return ticket in the trash. You need it for the visa. Then again since Duterte no one checks. Continue reading

Coffee Shop Diary: Quite an Ass

31 Mar

 

I’m posting old unpublished material to draw page views for my novel Finally, Some Good News. This story is fictional, it never happened, and the guy in it is not me. I don’t get horny. Continue reading

Cuckolded by a Savage Armenian

10 Mar
lance05

image: Wizards of the Coast

I have a new post at Autistic Mercury reviewing the “Cat Person” short story collection.

Also: Continue reading

On the Beach

10 Mar

I saw a rock that looked like a piece of liver. Went to pick it up. It pulsated. Some kind of sea slug. Weird, naked and vulnerable. Squirmy limbs like tree fungus uncurling from it. A foot away the waves. I should throw it back, I thought. But what if it wanted to beach itself. Maybe it has its reasons.

I let it go. The tide was rising. Maybe it died in agony wishing I’d thrown it back. Maybe it lived, wishing I’d killed it.

 

Birthday 2019

9 Mar

300px-Brad_Delp

This post is fiction.

IT’S MY FUCKING BIRTHDAY. 43 years old. A Tuesday. Work at 8AM. OK. Continue reading

More Women

3 Mar

old tapestry

This post is fictional.

**

Jeni

I like your profile, said Jeni. And I (he looked at it) like yours, he wrote.

It said, three times:

!!!NO FLAKES!!!

Would you like to meet at Sunset Beer, he said. She said see you there

He put on his best clothes. Walked to the bar. Opened a tab.

She never came. Continue reading