image stolen from careerealism.com
I’m writing to apply for the (TITLE GOES HERE) position you posted on Craigslist. Per your request, below you will find a detailed cover letter. My resume is also attached.
Or rather, a .pdf of a medium-resolution color portrait of my scrotum is attached, entitled “Delicious Tacos Resume.” Taken during the recent heat wave. Note the varicose veins. Like the back of your eyelids when you blink after lightning. The hairs, uniformly white. Wiry. I trim vigilantly but the brain coral contours of the human sac ensure that I’ll have missed a few. They grow to inordinate lengths. Form elaborate kinks and curls. Take on lint. Chunks of skin. Brown and pink wads stuck to them, hideously dangling. I have the balls of a one hundred twenty year old man, in other words. But rest assured I am of prime working age. Continue reading
I’m sorry I called the cops.
Actually I’m not sorry, you fucking jerkoff. I hope they kick your fucking teeth in while your fat cactus eating mother watches and cries. You thieving sack of shit. But I’m saying I’m sorry. Because I don’t want you and your vatos to find me and beat my ass with the wrench you adjusted my seat with. My handlebars. You made it more “low rider.” Your taste is appalling.
But look: I’d filed a police report that it was stolen. So if I found it I could scare you, or whoever you sold it to. Make you give it back. Turned out that wasn’t necessary. Just the serial number on an envelope was enough. The shop you sold it to is the one closest to my house. I pass it several times a week. The front tire tube was bought there. Since it’s a nice bike, they displayed it on the sidewalk. With their best merchandise. I passed by. Could that be it? Nahh…. but, I’m obsessive compulsive. Had to make sure. Dumb fuckin luck. Continue reading
Woke up on the toilet. Forehead against the edge of the bathtub. I was dreaming about the Red Worms of Maguey. We ate them out by the pyramids, they were a specialty of the restaurant. Some kind of Aztec staple. In the dream, of course, they came to life and squirmed around on the beans and the authentic® blue corn tortilla. Raised little blind heads at me, waved pincers. I had a bath drawn. It had gone cold. I got in it anyway. Had to wash out my ass. I couldn’t wipe it anymore. My asshole and the inside of my crack were swollen. Pulpy. Touching them felt like picking up a rotten beached jellyfish half baked in the sun. Toilet paper felt like Freddy Krueger fingerfucking my colon. I climbed into the bath. Shivered. I fell asleep again. Bad dreams. Woke up, my skin felt like a dead man’s. Little chunks of brick red shit in the water. Cat hair from when I was writhing around on the rug. I had to shit again, bad, and the water was already fucked up. Why not just let go. No. Have some dignity man. Continue reading
I got a letter. It said I owed 62 dollars plus late fee to the city of San Francisco. For a parking ticket in June. It was for a car I no longer own. A car that’s sitting in a wrecking yard in Van Nuys, according to the man I sold it to. Come see, he said. You can look for yourself, I swear. I believe him. The head gasket was blown. There was no way he was going to get it running again.
I could remit payment by calling, by going to the city’s web site, or by mailing the money to LDC Collection Systems. I looked online. The city web site was real. The ticket was real. On the letter it said it was a white Mercedes, with the correct license plate number. My car was silver. I figured the guy sold the license plate. No, no. Come see it, come take a picture, it’s here. The car hasn’t been in San Francisco for five years. Continue reading
I acknowledge that I am a jerkoff
Fuck man. I’m fucking tired. I don’t want to clean my house. I don’t want to pay my bills. I don’t want to fucking go to the grocery store and fucking buy dinner and fucking cook dinner, but, all those things have to be done. I was awake at 2:30 LA time this morning, trying to get a taxi to the Mexico City airport. If we missed our plane we were fucked. They were closing down the airport for the National Air Show. If the Mexican Air Force is on par with the rest of the country’s infrastructure it will be three Cessnas held together with duct tape. Rusted out fuel tanks will give way. The fiery wreckage will immolate large sections of the cheek-to-jowl crowd. Many will die but the celebration will continue. Continue reading
Quick one from the Zocalo in Mexico City. I am wearing a nationalistically-colored poncho provided by the Mexican government in honor of Independence Day. Wanted to do one from atop the Pyramid of the Sun but they kicked us out.
I will be off the internet for several days and there will be no new posts for a while. In the meantime, the “Best Of” is pretty good and these two are also amusing. If you know me in real life, I will not be answering my phone or responding to texts or emails. Rest assured, I will be within the state of California dutifully seeking full time employment each day. Excelsior.