Did you know that John Wayne Gacy got married, by the way?* He married a fan who wrote him nonstop in jail and sent him sexy pictures. Did you know that this not-good-looking multiple child rapist/ murderer managed to find someone to settle down with, while your faithful correspondent Cornelius J. Tacos— a reasonably tall, not violently bad-looking young man who is capable of holding court about Narwhals or the Electoral College or WHATEVERTHEFUCK YOU WANT, people, I will have an intelligent conversation with ANYONE about ANY FUCKING TOPIC and charm the goddamn pants off you, and I have an IQ three and a half standard deviations above the mean and 11% body fat and many fine, interesting hobbies, and am generally a well-rounded and not unpleasant human being— this distinctly non-child-raping-and-murdering young man has been making A REAL MOTHERFUCKING EFFORT for several years and still can’t find a decent goddamn girl to give him the time of day? Were you aware of this? Probably. Continue reading
Are you scared of crushing hordes of nubile young pussies as easy as breathing? Are you scared of bending dewey-eyed coeds to your sexual whims like you were General Fucking Zod as portrayed by Terence Stamp in Superman II? Except General Zod was trying to have sex instead of throwing cars and shit? And therefore Superman didn’t give a shit what General Zod was doing and instead of having to thwart his plan just left him alone, and General Zod just went around the Earth peacefully fucking everything that moved until the end of his days? Are you scared of being like a Kryptonian except instead of flying and X Ray vision our Earth’s yellow sun just gave you extraordinary powers of fucking? And Superman was watching from on high where he was using his majestic power of flight and looking down on you and thinking “fuck, man, I really got stiffed on these powers. That looks way better.” Continue reading
Some of you may remember from it being two inches below these words that we had a dog named Kenny Rogers, and were wrestling with whether to return him to a possibly neglectful home.
It’s now a bit out of our hands. Kenny jumped the fence at Nikol’s house and wandered up to some woman who turned him in to the animal shelter.
In a way, this kicks ass, because both the phone numbers off his avid chip were disconnected (we did end up trying them). The shelter can’t get a hold of his owner. So for him to get the dog back, he would have to take action, meaning, he wants the dog and therefore gives a shit. If he doesn’t give a shit, which seems more likely, the dog will go up for adoption on June 5th.
We found a dog in the park. Me and Nikol, and this other girl. Walking in the middle of Elysian Park on this long dirt road, we saw in the distance what looked like a gigantic coyote or a small bear stumbling drunkenly around, digging up shit, and eating sticks. Getting closer it was just a huge German shepherd. Little beat up but a handsome beast, and with a collar on, so we figured some jerkoff would come jogging up the road behind his Gestapo enforcement dog that he’d let roam free in a public space frequented by small children.
But no. No one came. And getting a closer look at the dog he’d been fucked up by something. Patches of fur falling off, walking funny, and the top half of both ears were missing. Like he’d tangled with something that had bitten them off; they were just lumpy black skin scabbed over. Continue reading
Fucking morning, fucking mockingbirds, my stupid neighbors with their jug-band bass lines playing all thumpy and loud. What are they listening to, these white people in their late 20’s or early 30’s who appear to have a college education. Why does their music sound exactly like what would come out of as late model Dodge Ram pickup truck with spinners on the wheels and a cartoon of Calvin pissing on the logo of some Mexican soccer team on the tinted windows.
Why is their fucking dog barking his head off at something in the three spare minutes I have per day to sit at my desk and write. These – this is what is going to get me thrown in jail. Some animal making some noise at 7:30 in the morning. I sit at my desk and eat shit all day, suffer indignity after indignity; I go out to parties and bars and people are pricks to me; I just suck it up. People cut me off in traffic and I don’t flip them off in case they’re some kind of crazy gun-wielding Armenian whose roots in what I can only assume is a goat herding culture run very deep and thus he has to take action on this perceived slight to honor by cutting me off again after I flip him off and waving a gun in my face. Or God forbid he’s black. So I just sit there and eat shit. Continue reading
My best friend, whom I met off OKCupid, has a kid. And I have discovered that I enjoy the fuck out of going over to her house, cooking a 1950’s housewife dinner for her and her kid, and then we all sit around the table talking quietly and politely about how his day was at school and making sure he eats his vegetables. He’s like fourteen, so, he is close to being a fully formed human being and is at the cusp of a cool time in his life when he will drink his first beer, make out with his first girl, get his heart broken, and etc. I enjoy spending time with this young man and his mother. It has awakened some deep yearning for domestic life that I never would have suspected. Now I want to come home every day to a family, have a woman hand me a martini and talk to my son about baseball practice or some other Leave it to Beaver shit.
So I would gladly date a girl with a kid, because at forty grand a year for eleven hours per motherfucking day someone else’s kid is the closest I am ever going to get to this. But here’s the problem with kids: who is the father. A girl of dating age who has a child who is fully formed enough to enjoy had them young, which means they were impregnated by someone whose last words will be “hold my beer, watch this.” Someone with tons of tattoos who had to quit his band because he broke his fingers on some guy’s face and now has to send three hundred dollars per month of his landscaping income to some actress/ waitress. Or a Nicaraguan barback who drives Denzel’s car from Training Day and carries a switchblade and wants to kick your ass. Continue reading
Stop telling me that, you women and gays. You have no concept of what it’s like to “just go talk to her.” Just listen to me complain about how I can’t get laid and shut the fuck up. Don’t tell me about how you would like to be approached and etc. Don’t even tell me that I’m hot and that if you were single you would be delighted to be approached by me. You are either lying, or you feel that way because you know me, you feel comfortable with me. It is inconceivable to you, the experience of being approached by me for the first time out of the blue. I don’t come off well. If I even have to consider “just going and talking to her” I’ve already lost. How can you not know this? Oh, you’re a woman, you understand nothing. Continue reading