This Is An Attempt To Collect A Debt
5 MarI got something in the mail, some debt collector out of Oklahoma offering me some settlement on a credit card I never had. Someone stole my identity. Good for them. I hope they bought TV’s and Xboxes and got huge cash advances for massage parlors where they could prematurely ejaculate into some Korean sex slave. I only wish I didn’t have the ethical hangups that keep me from doing that kind of shit.
But now I have to call… not the debt collector, because if you’ve ever dealt with any kind of debt collector, you know they will give you no information. They’re like one of those grass seeds that gets up a dog’s nose; little thorns and barbs that make it only slide further up when you grab at it. Get some kind of admission from you of who you are and take this as an agreement that it’s your debt and bug you and bug you and bug you. They are masterful about this. Well, it is under your name sir, and you are liable. No, I have to call Citibank; I have to pay for a credit report, I have to identify in whatever jargon is used thereupon what item matches up with a Citibank credit card. The amount won’t be the same. The debt collector just makes up some huge amount and knocks off most of it to make it look like a deal. Then one in one thousand checks roll in. Free money. From a person so stupid and unsophisticated they think any official looking letter is gospel. Free money from the only sort of person who really needs it. Continue reading
I Beat The End Boss
4 Mar
I’ve crossed the cock rubicon and I can’t jerk off to porn anymore. For the first few weeks of my unemployment it was six to eight times per day. When I discovered that Bing enabled perfect porn searches I was in a kind of heaven. There was no hour unjerked. My penis was beat up and scabby but it responded nonetheless. Looking back now this was the penis Beatles. Studio 54 in the 70’s. Now nothing excites me. Continue reading
You Should Message Me If Part 2
2 Mar
I’m bored with OKCupid. Thinking about nuking my profile by putting this as the new “You Should Message Me If” section:
Look, just fuck me, for Christ’s sake. Why do I have to write this god damn essay like I’m applying for college. Why don’t we just admit that’s what this web site is for. You’re not gonna meet your husband on here. You’re gonna meet your husband at work where you’re forced to be around him without an agenda. You two will slowly grow on one another. That’s how relationships happen. Me, you’re gonna let me buy you a couple cheap wines and wake up groggy in the morning with my boner grinding your butt crack. We will make a half hearted plan to meet up at some art show; whichever one of us is better looking will flake, and we will never speak again. Why do this fucking kabuki dance. When you meet your true love in ordinary life I will congratulate you.
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New Book
delicioustacos 