Archive | August, 2013

Protected: Diary: Sunday in the Park

11 Aug

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Reader Mailbag: Career Advice

10 Aug
image stolen from

image stolen from

Bob Marley writes:

Since you know so much about careers, I wanted to ask for your personal opinion on which would be wise for a young lad in England to pursue.

I’ll take to heart whatever your decision may be.

Work is fundamentally evil. No matter what, it will make you unhappy. If you do what you love as work, you will come to hate it. Maybe this is not true of rock stars. But no future rock star ever asked for career advice.

So it doesn’t matter what you actually do for work. Live cheaply, and work at the place with the most pretty girls. Continue reading

This Motherfucking Guy

7 Aug


Six foot fucking four, a surfer, law degree, sometime male model. He has been in the army. They sent him to Iraq, Congo, what he cheekily calls “DMZ” with no further clarification. Every chick in the world then googled DMZ. His profile is perfect. Arrogant as shit but backing it up. Funny. No angst, no real self deprecation. Why would there be. There is nothing wrong with him.

Lives on the coast. Founded and sold a software company in his 20’s. Now he makes his money as a lawyer when he is not surfing with various dolphins and whales. He takes great pains to talk about the whales. But it’s tongue in cheek enough that it doesn’t come across as bragging. He is the sort of person who surfs with dolphins but knows that the sort of person who talks about surfing with dolphins comes off as a fucking dork. He manages to work it in perfectly. I would tell you the exact language, and you’d agree with me. But I don’t want you to google him. Continue reading

Protected: Sex Machine

4 Aug

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Consider Using Public Transportation

2 Aug

Driving to work today. Not taking the train. This means my future wife would have been on the train. A beautiful woman, in a good mood, primed for conversation. Ready to make the first move. What are you typing, she would ask. I would have been working on my book. Certainly not some bullshit blog post about some bullshit topic and every other word is “fuck” and “cunt.” No. I am writing a novel, I would have said. She would be impressed. Let’s get off in El Monte, she’d say. Take my hand and we’ll run up into the mountains. Forget about your job. We’ll find some place with flowers and just fuck forever.

Now she’s sitting next to an empty seat, or some hobo. We will both die alone.

Train Diary: Share the Load

2 Aug
image stolen from

image stolen from

Guy talked to me for the whole train ride this morning. Friendly. Possibly because of speed. I met him because I went to take a piss in the train toilet. I kept rattling the handle, thinking it was stuck. Turned out he was in there taking a shit. Who takes a shit on the train. He emerged carrying a huge wad of those brown paper towels and when I came back he had squashed them into a ball and was picking tiny bits off, flicking them at the window.

He had been in prison, was in for seven years. Not clear if it was all at once. I didn’t ask what for. I’m the type of white person who congratulates himself for knowing that’s against etiquette. Had his first kid when he was 19, before he went in. Then another when he got out. Then another, another, another. Three women. Youngest kid was 2. One of the girls was fucking him on child support, he said. A welfare queen, on the food stamps, state aid. Rest of them never asked for nothing. Child support fucks you, man. They will garnish your shit. Take sixty four per cent. That means, I make a hundred dollars, I get to keep forty four fucking dollars man. Continue reading

Protected: Train Diary: Those People

2 Aug

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