Archive | July, 2013

Protected: Why Bicyclists Are Such Assholes

29 Jul

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Look upon Two Hours of a Woman’s Inbox, and Despair

23 Jul

womans inbox

I’ve covered this before, but in case you need further discouragement.  

Protected: Search Terms: Boner Machine Abraham Lincoln

22 Jul

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Relax, You Are Doomed

21 Jul
image stolen from

image stolen from

You’re not gonna get throat cancer from eating pussy and you’re not gonna get dick cancer from HPV. You’re not gonna get AIDS or syphilis or herpes. That thing on your dick is an inflamed hair follicle. Trust me; I know. I have made my body an experiment, fucking the entire internet unprotected on a first OKCupid date and then living through the paranoid terrors of a slightly itchy penis the next morning. It’s all bullshit and your doctor knows it as soon as you walk in the door. Heterosexual men are basically immune to STD’s. You couldn’t get one if you tried. Continue reading

There Is No God, But

21 Jul

we still have the mountains and the hummingbirds. Or a good drink and a good fuck. Even a good shit and a good jerk. Try as you might, you cannot escape small pleasures. The flowers please you in spite of yourself, as you walk down the street muttering. Despairing over no text message from some girl you’d get tired of if she texted you back. Worrying about work. The clouds look painterly at sunset every god damn day and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it. Even if you shut the blinds the magic hour light leaks through. A baby smiles at you in the checkout line. Sees something in your eyes. It was not lost.

An Open Letter to My Neighbor with the Dogs

19 Jul
image stolen from

image stolen from


I am a nice person. You’ve seen me in the street. I have nodded warmly. If you then said “how are you,” I responded “great,” or some other polite lie. I am a nice person. I take care not to back up too close to your car on street cleaning day, even though spaces are tight. I once thanked you for planting rosemary and sage in your sidewalk median where I can easily access them in a pinch. They have flavored many chickens.

But here’s the thing with you: every morning I want to crucify you. And your son, the one with the stupid haircut, his oafish teenage smile and his stupid god damn baseball hat– I want to crucify the two of you. I want to do it in front of your dogs while they’re duct taped to a bench or something. Restrained in some way that they’re immobile but not so distracted by the pain of their bondage that they can’t pay attention to the tableau. Which is you, in agony, radius bones splintered with galvanized nails pounded through some scrap two by fours as I take one of those little torches they use for crème brulee to the most sensitive parts of your body. Continue reading

The Future Burns with Promise

15 Jul
image stolen from

image stolen from

It’s almost 7:30. I had a long commute. I worked hard. I did well at work. Found people looking for buildings. This is my job now. I drive out to the desert and sit in an office at a veneered desk and talk into a phone. In front of me is a giant monitor filled with a grid of warehouses located in a desert county, along with names and phone numbers. I call the place, try to find out if the person is interested in moving. If they are, I get money.

Maybe a lot of money. A piece of the deal. Warehouses are typically leased for periods of ten years so a lot of money changes hands if one of these things come through. But before that happens I have to punch in a lot of phone numbers off this white grid. I am in an ill fitting suit; behind me men walk around and chatter in other ill fitting suits. Their shoes are newer than mine but we pretty much look the same. Talk into the phone and try to make money come out. Outside my window are mountains. An apartment complex. Trees tossing in the desert wind, occasionally a bird. No one gets naked in the apartment windows, ever. Still, I keep a vigilant watch. Continue reading

Site News: World Domination

12 Jul

world domination

In case you give a shit, this web site crossed half a million views today.  Per the above map, it has been viewed in basically every country that a) has a computer and b) doesn’t tie you up and hook a car battery to your nuts for looking at the internet.

This brings me happiness.  Thank you all for reading.  Especially you, Swaziland.  New Guinea– take a break from customizing your penis gourd and please take a look.

Now on to a sobering economic reality.  If I had been running ads on this site, assuming a CPM of 1– the most generous estimate possible for a site whose number one search term is “horse fucking–” I would have netted $500 before taxes. About 50 cents an hour.  I know this seems like a king’s ransom to some of you folks on the map, but to the rest of you: it is virtually impossible to make money with a “creative” blog and it’s only gonna get worse.  So if it’s your dream to make a living doing this, let me piss all over that for you.  Also, your mom did not actually send your dog to a farm where there are lots of other dogs and endless room to run around.  She killed him.  Probably shot him right in the face.  Then she stood over his twitching, tortured carcass and laughed thinking of your bitter tears.  Maybe she even shat in his wound, I don’t know.  Seems like the kind of thing your mom would do.

It won’t make you money, but it can get you laid.  Shocking amounts of laid with shockingly little effort, as long as you don’t count hundreds of hours coming up with hundreds of thousands of words as “effort.”  And as long as like five girls counts as “shocking amounts of laid.”  But it does for me– I mean, I write about stealing girl’s sweaty panties and sniffing them while I jerk it at the end of a coke binge.  Strange women email me saying “let’s fuck,” and I send them my address, and they show up nice and musky and they leave their salty chonies behind knowing I will be wearing them as a Bane mask that weekend.  I hadn’t expected that to happen once, much less several times.  The world is a darker, weirder place than you’ve been led to believe.

Anyway.  Onward and downward.  

Reader Mailbag: How to Propose

10 Jul
man proposing

image stolen from

“Andres” writes:

: hello um im going to propose to my gf soon and am looking for any creative ideas on how to do it if you have any suggestions. 

Don’t get married. Every married person I know completely hates their relationship and is miserable. Single people are miserable too but married people have this thing that focuses all their hatred. They all feel completely trapped, like their lives are over. Every single one of them cheats. Your wife will cheat on you. You will cheat on your wife, but not nearly as much, because you’ll have to work for it. Continue reading

Protected: Weekend Journal: Can’t Live With ‘Em, Can’t Live Without ‘Em

7 Jul

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below: