How to Pick Up Girls

19 Jul


The phone rings in your pocket and you think it’s her. “I went on that date and realized it was a mistake. Let’s move in together and never stop fucking” she’ll say. It’s Time Warner Cable. An urgent change to the status of your account.

You wonder how it went but you know. She took his huge meaty unprotected cock and came around it a million times until she breathed fire and was full of his offspring. She made that face you like when she’s on top. Weird look of concentration, like a sorceress. Better with him than with you. They have a mortgage now probably. In a year you’ll see her on the street gravid with yuppie eggs, pushing their firstborn in the number one safety rated sport stroller.

Call my sponsor. I gotta get this out of my head, I tell him. I know emotions are healthy but this is sickness.

Did you tell her how you feel, he asks. This guy and his Ward Cleaver pussy advice. Look, I’m sure she figured it out. Anyway I’m gonna get on OKCupid and go slay some ass. No, he tells me. Those internet girls are disgusting. You can go jerk off into some fat degenerate or you can find a real woman. Start a real relationship. Quality girls don’t have to go on OKCupid. They get hit on all the time.

Why then would I add myself to that dogpile. Plus, I don’t know what internet you’re on but mine is chockablock with nubile teen ass. But he’s right, he’s right. Go talk to a woman tomorrow, he says. This is your assignment.

Next morning I go to the coffee shop. It’s all men. Bearded whiteboys hunched over Tumblr. A fat guy reads Thomas Piketty’s Capital. The book of the summer. I’ve been waiting for someone to ask about it at a party. I haven’t read it, I’ll say, but I looked at a precis. I will pronounce precis like the douche I am. It will impress her. First I have to get invited to a party.

On the back patio there’s one woman. Gigantic ass. Face like a Mexican dwarf with Downs syndrome, but forgivable. I should talk to her. Check off my homework. Excuse me, miss. I couldn’t help but notice your fat pudenda clearly defined in your half sheer black yoga pants. Your chubby cunt crack looks like it’s about to come to life and say feed me like Little Shop of Horrors. I’d like to bury my raw helmet in those sweaty yeasty folds, all pungent in the summer heat. Let me know your thoughts. I say nothing.

Another one sits. She is cute, maybe 25. Before that awful dry season at 28 when girls have to get their shit together. Wholesomely pretty. Miss Clairol red hair. Not too red, just enough that she can call herself a ginger on the internet. Out of shape skinny but she’s feeling the top of her own tits, maybe taking a pet hair off her shirt. She has a framed canvas. She is drawing on it. Excuse me, miss. What are you drawing there. Is it my rigid purple cock spraying a hot salty load on your Miss Clairol hair, because if so you are really reading my mind. I say nothing.

Woman in purple yoga pants carrying a baby. The pregnancy weight made her ass floppy. I want to spread the crack open. Bury my face in it. Tongue out her hemorrhoidal postnatal asshole. Mount her and blast on her battered cervix so the kid has a little brother to grow up with. Her jiggly fat white girl thighs. Her soft functional maternity exercise clothing. Her war zone of a cunt. Something primal about it. Proof that her womb yields fruit. She is talking to the waitress, answering some question about the kid. His hair. She must get sick of talking about it. He can walk. He’s roaming free and climbing on the furniture. Clumsy. He’ll fall on the polished cement and crack out all his teeth. Permanently warp his skull. She has a fanny pack full of products for cleaning out his ass.

Now he’s making that baby eye contact with me. Awkward. Sorry for thinking those things about your mom. Enjoy that banana. He smiles at me. She looks. I say nothing.

It’s too hard. I leave and go to the gym. There are girls there too but headphones, iphones. Civilization was built to give women tools to avoid me. The day is a bust.

Try again the next morning. On the way to the cafe I pick up a copy of L.A. X-Press, the hooker paper. A girl works the counter. I have to speak to a woman. Jesus Christ, I tell her. I hold the paper up. These whores are disgusting.


Seriously, look at this. I show her. Sexy Alejandra has a 1/3d page color ad. She’s maybe 65. Body like a white tall kitchen trash bag after you’ve been stomping chicken bones down in it for three weeks. Her lips are full of sheep fat. I wouldn’t fuck her with your dick, I tell the girl.

Oh wow, she says.

And dudes are out there paying for this.


I’m sorry for carrying this paper in here. But it’s interesting, you know, they have real world news. Like look, there’s an article about Honduras.

Wow, you never see that.

But you wonder who looks at the brutally murdered Palestinian teen and then wants to fuck a hooker.

Maybe, she says, the idea is that you get so worked up over the pain of the world that you need an erotic massage.

Could be.

I actually like the horoscopes in that one.

Against all odds she is interested. I should keep saying stuff. The Mamas and the Papas is playing. The next thing I would say is: I can’t hear this band without thinking of Papa John Phillips rawdogging his passed out daughter on her 18th birthday. He wrote all their songs, you know. But the girl, I can’t see myself fucking her. So what’s the point. I order tea and leave it alone. The paper tells me new friends could appear on the scene, Pisces.

At night I go to AA. Astrid comes too, because last time she drank she pissed herself and I had to put her in a chokehold to get her upstairs. Afterward a cute girl talks to me. You look exactly like a guy I know, she says. My cousin. You ever flick the bean to him after a family beach outing, I want to ask . She was across from me at the big church table. I’d been eyefucking her all night. Once in a while she’d look up and our eyes would meet. Well here, I say, let me take a picture of myself. You can send it to him. She texts herself the picture. We’re going to Two Boots after, she said. Do you want to come. But I had to take Astrid home. And showing up with Astrid was the only reason this girl spoke to me in the first place. This was AA meeting #150 for me. AA meeting # 1 where I showed up with a tart in a tight dress. #1 where a girl spoke to me after. I hate women.

Well good, my sponsor tells me when I tell him the news. You got a girl’s phone number in real life. Now ask her out.

But I don’t want to. She seems too normal. And I don’t want a girl anyway. Not yet. I want to sit at home alone a few more nights reading that stupid poem and being a pussy about it.

I go home. I have a facebook message from this actress my brother fucked back East. She’s out here now. Once every three months I look at her work on youtube. Jerk off to it and think: I should ask her out.

I liked your story, she says.


I don’t agree with everything you write about but you’re more compassionate than you’d think.

I try to be.

I love your brother to death. From what little I know it seems you guys had a difficult childhood.

Yeah, I tell her. Really my childhood was fine. Why kill the momentum.

I had a lot of that same shit too. A lot of abuse. It’s hard to carry the weight of all that around. I’m glad you’re doing the AA thing.

Thank you.

I’ve wondered if I had a sex addiction.


Like a lot of the time all I want is to fuck or watch porn and masturbate and it’s a huge distraction.

Is it fucking up your life? I’ve found the 12 step thing helpful.

Like last night before I went to bed I took a picture. In case I woke up and wanted to send it to a guy.


She’s a human being who hurts and you are too. You want another girl and you’re just using someone to forget that for a minute. This will help nobody. This will definitely fuck you up. You know this. You know this. You type “come over.” Do you hit send or what.

37 Responses to “How to Pick Up Girls”

  1. Anonymous July 19, 2014 at 12:45 am #

    Fuck man how do we get better..

  2. blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaablabla July 19, 2014 at 5:45 am #

    I’m pretty sure you hit send.

  3. Anonymous July 19, 2014 at 10:50 am #


  4. Nikol July 19, 2014 at 2:17 pm #

    The poem made me cry.

    • Anonymous July 19, 2014 at 11:20 pm #

      Your posting this, rather than just telling the guy, makes me cry.

      • whatever July 20, 2014 at 2:03 am #

        You’re being rude to a lady and ignoring grammar, rather than just shutting up, makes me cry.

      • nikolhasler July 20, 2014 at 10:47 am #

        But I wanted all of his readers to know that I was crying. It was very important to me.

      • Anonymous July 20, 2014 at 11:19 am #

        Yes, I completely understand (how you most likely cried “among the trees. To the real. To the magnitude of pain, of being that much alive.”). It’s this complete understanding that makes me cry over your posting this. I wanted all of his readers to know this.
        That said, I shouldn’t have been expressing myself by using nominals here, since they seem to make the unprepared cry. Well, whatever…

      • nikolhasler July 20, 2014 at 11:35 am #

        But, who was I meant to tell instead of posting this? DT, or the guy I was thinking of while reading the poem?

        And here’s a list of the things I have cried over since reading that poem:

        -commercial for graham crackers
        -latest episode of Hell’s Kitchen
        -bank statement
        -kids ate all the Flavor-Ices

      • Anonymous July 20, 2014 at 11:46 am #

        Yes, DT or the guy you were thinking of.
        Sorry for your loss, by the way. I didn’t know Flavor-Ices, let alone yours, but looking at a bunch of them Google Images makes me cry again…

    • YOU went to an AA meeting, Nikol? Say it ain’t so…

      On another note, I think your sponsor’s judgement of Okcupid is a little off, DT. Old people don’t get it. My mother is the same way. I was over her house the other day and she was watching one of those true crime shows on A&E or whatever, it was about a guy who killed a girl he met online, and she goes to me, “you see, it’s a bunch of fucking weirdos on the internet cause they can’t meet people in real life.” (those were pretty much her exact words, too) I didn’t tell her I had an online dating profile, I just nodded my head in agreement.

  5. nikolhasler July 19, 2014 at 2:24 pm #

    “Quality girls don’t have to go on OKCupid. They get hit on all the time.”

    All girls get hit on all the time. No female is on OkCupid because they have to be. It’s just a way to pass some time finding out what’s out there without having to go anywhere or talk to anyone.

    • bucky July 19, 2014 at 9:38 pm #

      nikol makes a good point.

      • Dr. Murray F. Rottencrotch July 20, 2014 at 6:09 pm #

        This blog has the most out-of-whack ratio between content and comment quality. Where the fuck do these commenters come from?

        DT, I call dibs on your final, inevitable brains-on-wall masterpiece.

      • Anonymous July 20, 2014 at 7:18 pm #

        The United States, mostly.

      • Anonymous July 20, 2014 at 7:23 pm #

        (Agreed, by the way…)

      • bucky July 21, 2014 at 6:02 pm #

        true, with the exception of your comment, dr. murray. poetry, man. pure poetry. the way you used to word “fuck” to highlight your disgust with our talentless drivel. sublime stuff.

      • Can I Get A Refund On This Rape-Whistle? July 22, 2014 at 7:34 am #


    • shutup July 22, 2014 at 9:53 am #

      lol, sorry honey you’re getting hit on by the dregs of society. hot women at least get hit on by a wider variety of men.

      • Anonymous July 22, 2014 at 10:52 am #

        Can we all now stop the Nikol-shaming for fuck’s sake?

      • shutup July 22, 2014 at 11:13 am #

        if she didn’t spout stupid, self-centered shit then it would stop. she needs to lay off the internet and take care of her fucking kids.

      • Anonymous July 22, 2014 at 4:23 pm #

        There is a clear and distinct difference between cunning trolling and defaming shaming — and the former is certainly down (or up) Nikol’s home alley. And there’s another difference between it and unvarnished invective, and the latter is rather too dull to be called for at all. So shut up, shutup.

      • shutup July 22, 2014 at 10:14 pm #

        look at you being a combination whiteknighting faggot and pseudo-intellectual. no one gives a shit.

      • shutup July 22, 2014 at 10:16 pm #

        in fact, you sound like too much of a fucking faggot to actually be a guy. likely you’re just nikol being pathetic.

      • Anonymous July 23, 2014 at 1:41 am #

        A faggot woman, then? Or a faggot simpliciter?

      • shutup July 23, 2014 at 10:00 am #

        my definition of “faggot” is anyone who is a pandering dumbshit, like you.

      • Anonymous July 23, 2014 at 10:47 am #

        Your definition *is* everyone of that kind? That’s a real definition if there ever was one. But then pandering dumbshits don’t actually *fall under* it. Idiot.

      • shutup July 23, 2014 at 10:57 am #

        lol look at you trying so hard. faggot.

      • Lol July 23, 2014 at 11:01 am #

        lol nikol, take care of your fucking kids instead of trying to sound smart over the internet.

      • NikolHasler July 23, 2014 at 4:03 pm #

        Wasn’t me, shutup, but I certainly appreciate and agree with the message.
        You think I am ugly, stupid, and a bad parent. Message received. Now shutup.

      • shutup July 23, 2014 at 4:30 pm #

        nah you’re worse than all that – you don’t give a fuck that you’re a bad parent.

    • Queefer Sutherland July 23, 2014 at 7:10 pm #

      That’s why, “Quality girls don’t have to go on OKCupid. They get hit on all the time” Is a statement made by someone who is the living embodiment of a queef.

      • nikolhasler July 23, 2014 at 7:24 pm #

        I hope is advice on staying sober is better than his advice on dating.

  6. Can I Get A Refund On This Rape-Whistle? July 23, 2014 at 7:51 am #

    Everybody’s more combative and angrier than usual. Must be this heat. When it’s this hot, you can’t avoid seeing crowds of gigantic fat fucks in skimpy clothes whenever you go out. You even see entire FAMILIES of obeasts waddling about, and they’re way more common than you’d believe.

    if you’ve gotta rage, don’t rage here. Go out and tell a fat fuck to stop fucking eating so goddamned much. There. Feeling better now?

    • bucky July 24, 2014 at 8:00 pm #

      i have no clever way of saying i agree with you about fat people. therefore, i will just say that i agree with you about fat people.


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