image stolen from endoftheworld-2012-12.blogspot.com
Two years of nothing. Then three little earthquakes. A big one is coming, said everybody in Los Angeles. The big one.
I prayed. Dear Lord, if you make an earthquake, make it kill. None of this middle of the road shit. Swallow my workplace whole. Otherwise, if you just do damage– I’ll still have to go in. In fact I’ll have more to do. Picking up, salvaging shit… toiling to rebuild from your half assed wrath. Haggling with electricians. Nitpicking over permits. Repairmen will be in demand; everyone will be after the same four guys who can fix earthquake shit. On me to get them fast and cheap. Cajole them on the phone and suck up and if that doesn’t work yell at them. Sit on hold. I’m sorry, 0 is not a valid entry. Goodbye. Hold again. Please Lord destroy the phone company. Destroy the computer with the hard drive with the recording of the lady who talks to you on hold, who curtly jumps on every 30 seconds into Gabor Szabo or whateverthefuck to say “PLEASE WAIT.” What a cunt, that woman. Swallow her into a crack in the Earth. Swallow it all. Make a quake so big the whole ocean pours in and eats LA; every gas main blows, we all sizzle and scream and then sweet quiet blackness.
But whatever you do, DO NOT make a 7.5, an 8.3– do NOT hit the ants’ nest with a stick so that it destroys the food chamber but they can still rebuild with long agonizing work. Do not put just the tip in, Lord– fuck the planet hard so that it’s fucked forever, or don’t fuck it at all.
Long time of nothing and then three little ones. It’s been a month now. The apocalypse didn’t come. A 9.2 hit Chile again. Our little shit was a prelude to big shit elsewhere. The end is near, we are told, and then the fucker never comes. Just middle of the road shit. Just enough damage to fuck up your routine. You can rebuild if you just work harder. Give more. If you just work for the six minutes you’re wasting taking a shit and brushing your teeth.
We’re due for the Yellowstone Caldera to blow. Civilization crusher. Well fucking get on with it then. No more car repair, gas bill, electric bill, cell phone bill, internet bill… the amount of shit you need to buy just to do work you hate is more than your paycheck. Everything is bought on credit. You will owe and owe and owe. There will be no jubilee. We’re more pitiless than the ancient Hebrews; we will never let you out of debt. We are more fucked than the Amalekites. At least for them the little girls got to live, to get gang raped.
Lord let the asteroid hit today. Send us back to cave man times. Eat twice a week, fuck quick doggystyle and die. Lord let me come back as a flagellate. A jellyfish. Life is eat fuck shit die for them and me both, and only the last one is guaranteed. But at least those fuckers don’t have to know that. Let me come back as an amoeba, as plankton– anything without a cell phone. Slow death in the horrible rough jaws of a baleen whale– better than refreshing your inbox. Awaiting instructions. No one else did anything, you must do everything; fight and fight and fight to get it faster and cheaper and make your boss richer. This iPhone® 5c™ is a miracle. There is nothing it can’t do. The ad shows a new grandmother. She sheds a lone tear as her daughter’s baby is held up to the sunlight in Facetime™. Really all it does is make you work more.
You are never off the grid. It’s like they put your job directly into your body. Cronenberg style alien flesh rape; 24 hours a day it’s did you yell at this guy yet, did you pay this bill. If you don’t have this thing that gives your whole life to them every second, you can’t work at all. If you can’t work, you can’t have money. If you can’t have money, you can’t live. You have to be a slave CONSTANTLY just to be alive. Some day they will make robots, they said. The working man will drink beer all day. Read the Saturday Evening Post by the pool. The robots just made the meat slaves cheap. They are your competition. You better outwork them and you better be cheaper. The robot ate your piece of the pie and go fuck yourself, slave.
God please bring the rain. Not the kind that makes the flowers grow. Not to quench the parched pitiful crops, but to drown this motherfucking shit.
On the plus side, thanks for those girls with the pussy pics. Tremendously helpful.
Amen.
delicioustacos 
As a casual observer, it seems to me your writing has matured without losing the adolescent offensiveness. Well done, sir.
Can’t help but think that “Cronenberg style alien flesh rape”
was one of those gnarly search terms…
Either way, good show, good sir.
Glad that you seem to still have the edge.
Whiners Be Damned.
This post resonated with me.
Everything about this life is shitty and I fully understand why Nero sat around on his porch playing whatever stringed instrument while his city, his corrupt government muddled in quagmire, and his indulgent citizens whose attention span choked any sort of problem solving out of their society. I wouldn’t jump to help either. I wouldn’t rush downstairs to rouse the… firechariots (?) and spurn myself to work to douse the cleansing flames in hopes of maintaining the status quo. I’d relax, let out a long sigh and breathe easy for the first time in my life knowing the nightmare is over and no part of this breast cancer awareness society remained. Nero probably never even got to play his Lute in years. You mentioned once about dancing in the hellfire as this world crumbled… I completely understand, and I think Nero did too.
Being a tax cow on this american money farm is draining and un-rewarding, and there’s no part of it I’d think twice about saving… although the new Coca-Cola Freestyle machines are pretty nifty.
To quote Marco Corbelli of the death industrial band Mörder Machine:
‘If one morning I opened my front door and saw nothing outside except bonfires, rats and ruins, I would be the happiest man alive.’
Nero. Corbelli. Yup, them Eye-talians have still got it…
If there’s any place on Earth that needs to be destroyed completely, it’s Los Angeles.
I fucking lost it at “On the plus side, thanks for those girls with the pussy pics. Tremendously helpful. Amen.”
Good show.
Thank you for another terrific post, DT.
I’ve wondered about the enormous popularity of the ‘zombie apocalypse’ scenario, as well as the other genres of pop-apocalyptic entertainment (extreme weather, 2012, massive riots, etc). As is the case with individuals, I believe that every era is endowed with a distinct character – something near a personality – and that includes the era we’re currently living in.
Is anyone else starting to feel that, the more powerless we feel, collectively, about the rising levels of economic exploitation and socio-political ‘conform or suffer’ mandates exacted upon us by corporatised socialist oligarchies (socialist in the sense that, anything they want to own, they already own; anything they don’t need to own, they’ll let you pay them to be able to own it)…
…the rising levels of ‘politics as emotion-driven theater’ as news, entertainment as ‘news,’ and other tropes of empty distraction…
…the rising levels of ‘cynical, life-sucks humour’ and ‘Daily Shows’ and ‘Dilberts’ and ‘ha ha, your job both sucks and is inescapable, isn’t that funny?’ poured forth from the imaginings of the pop cultural landscape….
… I ask, is anyone else starting to feel that those of us who long for beauty in human or divine form, those of us who yearn to experience genuineness and meaningfulness, are now turning away from all of this ‘entertainment-as-denialism’ bullshit and becoming more and more possessed of compensatory prayers for the destruction of this hellish empire of commercial vacuity?
As the sacred, creative human mind gets ground into hamburger meat daily, in the gears of the corporate Soullessness Manufactory, people may begin to dream about, even long for, the Apocalypse. For decades (perhaps longer), we have borne witness to these cultural fantasies, both religious and secular, of decline, decay, of even the end of civilization itself. The towers must fall. The cities must be overrun. Whether in the form of some monstrous backlash unleashed by scientific ‘progress’; or feral, zombified humanity; or by the patient and inevitable processes of nature, it would appear that people’s imaginations are now actively seeking freedom through ideations of a Regression to the Mean.
We pray for these things to come to our aid, that our nature-denuded, modernity-strangled minds may be pulled down like the towers and walls of our own confinement, so that our reborn passions and vital imaginings may bloom once more like wildflowers in the cracks of the sterile, post-apocalyptic roads, the crumbling and abandoned office parks, the empty strip malls….
This may be what ultimately lies beneath our fascination with apocalyptic scenarios. In the contemporary end of the world myth, the hyper-commercialised, hyper-technologised, hyper-commodified individual, once befogged by his own deviant, convoluted and misdirected sense of self, undergoes a kind of cleansing destruction, contemporaneous with the destruction of civilization itself, and he becomes free to start life anew.
George Carlin shared your sentiments.
Great piece, thank you for writing it.
Whining, whining, whining. Half the updates are good because they are about sex.
The other half consists of whining about your job, your career prospects, your debt, your shiftlessness, your non-future. If life is so fucking unfair for your overprivileged ass, try being a fucking Mexican and have to actually work at something other than a desk job, like cleaning the shitstains and puke marks out of a hotel toilet or office building urinal.
You’ve never had to do real dirty fucking shit-style disgusting feces work like that. Until you do, you’re just another fucking whiny kid from the millennial generation.
Even if you’re Gen X, you might as well be a whiny piss-ant millennial. Bitching about making your boss money. You know why he is the boss and you’re not? BECAUSE YOU’RE A FUCKING PUSSY WHINER.
Sack up, grow a pair, succeed at something for once in your life, and make something of yourself. You keep telling us about your potential, but unless you put in the blood, guts, determination, and ambition to realize that potential, you’re not just a whiner. Instead, you’re just pure, unadulterated, dickless homo at heart.
Stop being a homo.
who gives a shit that you worked some job cleaning up feces you bottom-dwelling loser. stop you’re fucking whining you little bitch ass faggot.
why don’t you shut up, big guy? you’re the one who is the faggot, you bitch ass whiny cunt motherfucker. fucking jobless loser.
I disagree. I say, continue being a homo.
One way or another this blog will earn you a living. It must , it just must.
I take it back. This writing just goes to show how WEAK delicioustacos has become.
He is just a whiny little bitch, constantly framing himself as the powerless victim…trapped in a dead-end job in a city that he hates.
Instead of taking control of his life and his circumstances, he just sucks it up, white-knuckles it, and graces us with his complaining, nihilistic writing once in a while.
I’m tired of this site. It’s a broken record, playing the same gloomy song over and over.
To sign off, here’s one last comment/article inspired by the not-so-great DeliciousTacos:
—— The Value of Hate ——
Let’s get real. Let’s be honest: we all hate certain types of people, places and things. You wanna get even more specific and you can admit to certain specific people, certain specific places and certain specific things.
You hate these people, places and things with full certainty.
You may or may not know what you like or what you want to do with your life.
But when you feel annoyance towards something, when you feel hate towards it and you just want to get the fuck away from it, you know that with CERTAINTY.
That is the kind of knowledge you need to guide you through life.
Sure, one way—the “main” way—is to figure out what you like and to go towards those people, places and things. If you prefer hot young Asian girls, warm weather, and things like good food, fast cars, then you’re more likely to live in SoCal and do your thing there. Go after a lucrative career or build your business.
If you figured out at a young age that you wanted to be a doctor or lawyer or optometrist or dentist or one of those “professional” fields the you do the college route and then the professional school thing.
But few of us are lucky enough to achieve (or be blessed) with such clarity.
Most of us are struggling. If you’re reading this, you’re probably struggling, and I’m telling you, it’s not hopeless.
You might not know what you LIKE and what want to do with your life, but you sure as hell can figure out what you HATE.
Hate is a very basic, fundamental instinct. A reaction you immediately feel.
Imagine walking by some shit, or smelling something really bad. Something nasty like trash or dog shit on the side of the road. You immediately feel revolted by it. You immediately have an instinct to get away. Your face makes a face that says “this is unpleasant”. Those are natural reactions that you need to be honest about, and to listen to.
Society tells us we should, no, we MUST, go through this long, bullshit process to specialize in what we love to do. But that’s easier said than done.
Instead, try figuring out what you hate, and use your hate to sculpt a definition of what you enjoy doing.
It’s a process of elimination: figure out what you like to do by seeing what you hate doing.
Eventually you’ll figure it out. Expose yourself to enough experiences where you hate things, and over time you’ll get a feel for what you enjoy.
Take myself for example: I hate talking to people and dealing with fickle clients over the phone. So I avoid jobs that require a “people person” set of skills. These are jobs like sales, customer service, all that shit. Jobs that involve dealing with stupid people on a daily basis—I learned that I HATE those jobs, and therefore I avoid them.
I have learned to focus on and specialize in skills that just involve me and the data that’s shown on a computer screen. And you know what, I love it. I love just making things based on what the data shows. I love interacting with people THROUGH the middle man of websites and ads. I don’t like dealing DIRECTLY with people, so I don’t do that. And I’ve found what I like to do by having a variety of experiences over time.
You have to have patience to get to the point where you know FOR SURE, with absolute certainty, what you hate, so that you can narrow down the choices and figure out what you love.
In today’s POLITICALLY CORRECT world, in which we are not allowed to use the word “hate” because it would imply a “hate crime” or a “prejudice” or a “hateful disposition”, we are trained to lie to ourselves. We are told to put on a false mask that smiles when it should be frowning at something we hate.
Get the fuck away from that politically correct filth, and be honest with yourself and with those who matter.
If you hate doing something, stop doing it. Quit that job. If you can’t immediately quit, then continue to work while consciously saving up enough so that you can quit soon. If you hate a certain person or type of person, then ignore and avoid those types or that person entirely. If you hate living in a certain place or a type of place, then make a serious plan of action to leave that place. It’s a simple thing called MIGRATION and even animals can do it. Even dumb birds know when to leave one place to go to another, better location. Oh, you hate living in LA? You hate the people in LA? Then LEAVE. You little whiny cunt.
You control your own reality. If you let your environment affect you negatively then you are just a victim, a weak little slave. Shut the fuck up with your complaints about where you live and “your job”. Be honest with yourself and figure out how to change your circumstances.
by Mark Tuckerberg
April 29, 2014
La Jolla, CA
All right, then let’s get to work. Say, you don’t have three dollars and fifty cents on you, do you?
That was long…
dt probably quit writing after he fell into a coma trying to make it through this comment.
Amen.
Keep it coming DT. Reading about your misery makes me smile.
I would fuck E.L. James.
Go Fuck YOURSELF, Mark.
Right in that stupid open mouth of yours.
Attempting to co-opt the readership of someone else’s blog by advertising your own blog posts in their comments section?
Well, Mark, I’d probably tell you to go fornicate yourself, too, but in honor of the recently deceased/diseased artist H.R. Giger, I should like to tell you to go spend eternity in a vast hall of vermiculated annelid-shapes coiling around your limbs forever, as their eye-encrusted and mouth-scabbed forms feed on your blood, bone, and brain mater in a frigid, shrieking slumber of endless hellish nightmares, and continue, Mark, to slowly rot in these living chains in innumerable caverns bordering upon giant coastlines of lead-wrought ribs and hideously dripping walls, wet and squirming beaches of lashing tentacled violence eternally devouring one another, where Himalaya-sized waves of black oil attack twilight mountains in hellish cacophony, beyond which countless great walled cities decay in a bleak landscape, where dead and mighty engines, dim with rust, loom over them.
And while yer at it, please see the award-winning documentary film, “My Scrote Slappin’ yer Chin: The Motion Picture”
Yup. Giger was the first man who realised that headless, malformed beggars cloaked in tattered, exuviated skins shambling through quasi-biotic landscapes of grotesquely exoskeletal walls are, in fact, hilarious and a joy to look at.
Like me, Giger was a fan of Zdzisław Beksiński; also RIP, unfortunately (killed by a couple of fucking Polak punks who wanted money)
What is the Gabor Szabo reference? My mom worked for a Gabor Szabo….curious to know if it’s the same guy.
Donnie, please…
Egad, Rapewhistle.
Would you mind terribly if I used that Geiger bit in my OKCupid profile?
You may do so, and just in case you’re dating interracially – which is fantastic, I recommend it – you’ve my permission to use the ‘black’ version of it:
And they be like muthafuckin’ headless snakes o’ sumthin’ be all like around you an’ grabbin’ you and shit, them bitches ain’t playin’ yo! An’ be all like some muthafuckin’ eyes and mouths an’ shit in dat shit, be all up ya grill, yo; like they some caves and walls dat be made outta some big ass rib-bones be everywhere, and everything be all black, not like Beyonce Rihanna black or even like Oprah black, we talkin’ all sub Sahara muthafuckin ‘Free Willy’ black, ya see what I’m sayin.? And everything be all dead an’ shit, and shit be growin’ and standin’ up way up in da muh’fuckin sky like a big-ass building be all settin’ off like dat shit just got real, ya see what I’m sayin’? Yieah, yieah, we scraight.
what’s the point of comments & the internet if you can’t comment on other’s work with wannabe-fan-writing and other comments that comment on other’s comments. no one’s trying to co-opt anything. just sharing.
free speech.
don’t worry Atlanta Man and Can I Get A Refund On This Rape-Whistle? —- you are not alone.
we need a post, a funny tweet, a cat update, something to let us know that our favorite internet writer is still breathing and possibly putting pen to paper, sober or not.
keep the comments going. show deltaco his readership’s doing what those AA people say to do: “keep coming back”.
in the blog/site world, nothing’s sadder than a site with no updates AND no new posts.
thank you for sharing.
p.s. @ mark tuckerberg — don’t go full retard.
It has been a month DT come on and post already. The last five posts have been pretty kick ass and you were not even wasted. Ben/ Mark Tuckerburg have posted more and that is in your comments. I know you are a perfectionist but do not let perfect get in the way of really good. Also I want a cat update!
Weird, I think Ben & Fuqqerburg are one and the same as well.
Something about the schizoid nature of the comments s/he leaves.
And something kinda sad about commenting on commenters’ comments…
So yeah, Tim. We’re still here.
Been feeling a bit sad over here, so I’m leaving this comment about your comment about commenting on commenters’ comments. Feel free to comment…
earlier i saw the hottest little brunette teen…thin, perky tits with long legs and poppin butt. she wore a black mini skirt that showed her well-tanned legs. and was walking briskly to the Baskin Robbins ice cream shop, holding a piece of paper in hand.
i surmised that she was dropping off a job application.
is that how bad the economy’s going? when attractive chicks turn to working for minimum wage at a chain ice cream joint?
i was sober and i had emptied my seed into a mcdonald’s napkin in the morning, so i was feeling neebish, too milquetoast to inquire as to why a good looking girl such as herself would be applying to work there instead of doing something more profitable and noble, like doing a scene in amateur porn for “exploitedcollegegirls(dot)com”.
oh well. next time.
just wanted to share that.
I think the Anonymous meant that new posts are missed,
and it’s sad that the only activity is among the peanut gallery.
Get on it, Timmy. The lunatics are taking over the asylum.
I’d Hit It: Sharon Stone
by Mark Tuckerberg
Let’s be honest: I would fuck Sharon Stone.
There’s not much I’m certain of when it comes to the nature of reality, where the economy’s headed, or all that other political-social shit. Sometimes I even doubt if 2+2=4.
But one thing’s for sure, I would fuck Sharon Stone instantly if the opportunity arose.
This is both in spite of–and because of–the fact that she’s a 56 year old woman. Not just any 56 year old woman, but a highly sexual, fit one who knows how to look good in a dress.
I can only imagine how fucking sexy she looks naked, bent over and showing her pussy between her taut, properly exercised ass cheeks and thighs.
This entire “I’d Hit it” series is in response to the near-unanimous belief across members of the “manosphere” who say that the perfect woman is a girl in the 18-20 range who is traditional, subservient, yet still willing to fuck if a guy “spits the right game” and has “inner game”.
I’m here to confess, as writing is said to be a confessional medium.
I’m here to dissent from the majority opinion and state that I would fuck Sharon Stone until we both cum. Then we’ll do it again, and again so that all we feel is each other without regard for time or space or “the world” at large.
Descartes said “I think therefore I am”.
For men living in 2014, it’s more along the lines of “I fuck therefore I am a man”.
(full essay continued on my website)
Um, Mark?
No.
And don’t even THINK about writing about me, you purple Hack.
Right, or me either. Ben. You low-rent stewardess, you.
If you guys are bored and want to read something, I wrote a new article:
5 Things the Manosphere Gets Wrong
You, Mark. Shoulda been an Abortion.
I actually gave your “website” a chance, Mark (or Ben. I’m suspicious).
Verdict?
You say absolutely nothing. Not one syllable of anything new at all.
Just paraphrasing this or that, and rambling about nothing.
In short, zero stars.