Archive | May, 2013

Protected: Drug Liveblog: Adderall® XR, Part 3

8 May

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Protected: Drug Liveblog: Adderall® XR, Part 2: 30MG

8 May

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Protected: Drug Liveblog: Adderall® XR, 15MG

8 May

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The Filth

7 May

My house is clean now, and I am profoundly uncomfortable in it. The girl did it. She even poured bleach in the toilet. Now it’s white. If I take a shit, it will leave a brown streak in the perfect white toilet and I will have to reach in there with a brush and scrub it off immediately. Then I will have to clean the brush. I will have to handle shit and caustic chemicals in order to not have the scarlet letter of my shit streaking the bowl, vividly bringing to her mind the image of me squeezing out Brussels sprout logs. The stove is now clean. I will have to furiously wipe it down after every spatter of spaghetti sauce because of this. Because it’s clean, now you have to keep it clean. Constant work and vigilance. How do people live like this.

Video: Search Term Sunday

5 May

Recently it was revealed that Funny or Die optimizes its site to land searches for “gang rape,” then directs them to a gang rape themed page sponsored by Velveeta®.  Why would they do this?  How many people could possibly be out there looking for unbelievably weird and debased shit?

A fucking lot.  If you had the only legal child porn site in the world, or a hoard of real rape videos, it would be bigger than Google.  These are from this week only.  Hat tip to UTB.

Weekend Journal 5-5-13: House of Spirits

5 May

Image stolen from Flickr user avalon_music

I need to stop drinking and I can’t. I get drunk every night, usually alone. Most nights it’s pretty harmless; I just play Xbox. Last night I walked down to the Cinco de Mayo DUI checkpoint on Sunset and started loudly fucking with cops. Eventually they circled up around me like a wall of beatdown and told me they were gonna book me for public intoxication. At the time I had courage, I was screaming a bunch of slogans I heard in youtube videos about Constitutional rights and am I being detained. In reality I was a loud asshole fucking with people trying to do their jobs, and was in fact publicly intoxicated, and probably in danger of running into traffic. Still. I did get one guy to not say shit and not blow into the breathalyzer and I got his wife to call a lawyer instead. He got a ticket, not a DUI, and they let him go. I saved him ten grand. Probably half of what he makes in a year. He will probably kill a child driving drunk now. Continue reading

Coffee Shop Diary: The Smell of My Wang

3 May
The girl in this story looks somewhat like adult film performer Christine Young.

The girl in this story looks somewhat like adult film performer Christine Young.

I can’t stop fucking looking at this woman and I can’t stop being aware of what a fucking dork I must look like, resting my face awkwardly in my fingers. It is extremely uncomfortable but I can’t stop doing it. Because she’ll know I stopped doing it because I was afraid she would think I’m a dork. I can’t make eye contact but I can’t look away so instead I give her this squinty side-eye. And she knows, she knows, that I am supremely unworthy to ejaculate into her fertile young womb.

If I had a huge wang it wouldn’t be like this. I would just shoot her a glance that implied “hey, I have a huge wang.” I know I’m a jittery weirdo in a coffee shop at noon on a weekday but my member is unusually thick and lengthy. Therefore, nothing else matters. She could smell it on me. The smell of my wang. Her mind would try to resist but her loins would be inflamed by some pheromone and she would have to give me doe eyes. She would be forced to gesture that I follow her into the bathroom where she would “present” to me, bending over against the cardboard ass gasket dispenser upon which somebody has sharpied “Free Cowboy Hats.” Her cooch would pucker wetly in anticipation and I would slowly drive my impossibly thick fleshy snake into her hot meat tunnel and fill her with thick spurts of my manly seed. She would convulse, satisfied that I had given her a son who would also have a huge wang. We would shake hands, businesslike, and part company. Instead I look for something in my tea.

The Phone Bill

2 May

is due. Way past due, months. We’re at the two missed calls every hour stage; they come from different numbers. My phone number is 831, from Santa Cruz, and they mix it up lobbing calls at me from 408, San Jose. Their computer thinks I’m in Santa Cruz so therefore I would see a number from a neighboring county and think: that’s legit. I’ll answer, since it’s obviously a person and not a computer from the phone company looking for money. Maybe it’s a chick.

Of course, I’m in L.A. No one in San Jose would ever call me. And I know I owe the phone company money, and I want to pay them; I just don’t have it. Even if they hadn’t sent me emails and texts and paper bills with sternly worded warnings on the inside and IMPORTANT CONFIDENTIAL ACCOUNT INFORMATION on the outside to fool you into thinking there’s some contract change and it’s not just “give us money.” Even if I hadn’t had a previous round of missed calls from 800 numbers and weird area codes; I’m aware that the phone costs money you are supposed to pay every month. I paid them what I had. It wasn’t enough apparently. Continue reading


1 May

It’s not the end of the world

you’re not dead

you have plenty of time

and everything is gonna feel better

as soon as you have a drink.