(This is a selection from my book Hot Naked Tits, which you can buy here.)
They were at El Prado. He had mineral water. She had dry Riesling. So I have to ask you something, she said.
He knew what was coming but pretended not to. Go ahead.
Are you really as much of an asshole as you say on your blog?
It’s factually true. Things I say happened, happened. But I leave out the parts where I’m a functioning human being most days. It’s boring to say I woke up and took a healthy shit and earned money and paid taxes. Emotional reactions are heightened. Particularly with regard to sex. For instance, I don’t literally want my mouth and nose to be skin grafted onto a 40 year old alcoholic Cambodian woman’s asshole.
My friends told me not to go out with you.
Yes, I know, he thought. That’s part of it. Your friends will tell you not to go out with me which means you have to. Your friends will tell you not to fuck me which means you have to. Don’t think about elephants. Your friends will tell you I’m a pig but it won’t stick until I start liking you and that’s when you leave. And yet here you are, he said.
You know girls are scared of you and you love it, she said.
It’s true, he said. And it was. Or it had been for a while. Now, it wouldn’t hurt to hear something new. But this wasn’t going to be the night. Anyway, I walked here– did you drive?
Uh huh.
Where did you park?
Why are you asking me that.
Why don’t you give me a ride back to my place and we can take a walk in the park.
Oh, and we’re going to listen to the owls and you can try to fuck me?
Correct.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Let me close out my tab.
I can’t believe you’re doing the exact same thing with me that you wrote about 5,000 times and I’m fucking agreeing to it.
How do you think I feel.
Each time they had different drinks and stayed different lengths at the bar. But the tab was always 36 dollars. He still had to think to figure out 20%. The bartender tonight was the one from Bryn Mawr. A floutist. He’d talked to her about BWV 1013. J.S. Bach’s only solo flute composition.
She didn’t recognize him. He needed to spell his name to get the credit card back. When she took the receipt she said thanks with a hint of fuck you on her breath. He could never figure out his transgression.
On the walk to the car he held out his arm. She put her hand in the crook of his elbow. How gentlemanly, she said.
Notice that my bicep is like a cobblestone.
He pulled her in for a kiss on the corner. She didn’t smoke. He used to worry about his tongue tasting like cigarettes but it turned out the effect was overstated. Her car would be nice but ten years old and she would apologize for it. It would be clean but there would be one paper bag and maybe a notebook in the passenger footwell. She’d apologize for the mess. She would plug in her phone with the aux cable and play recent hip hop or R & B. She would apologize for it. This is me, she said. 2004 ML350, black.
I like this car.
It’s old, she said. I’m going to get a new one soon. Sorry it’s a mess.
My car is 13 years older than you. And my toilet is full of silverfish.
She turned the ignition and plugged the phone into the radio. Iggy Azalea’s Fancy played. Oh God, she said– this is a guilty pleasure. I know you like, uh… what’s that thing you always play.
Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun by Debussy.
Right.
Don’t feel bad. I spent all day reading rape arguments on Twitter.
It’s funny that you listen to classical stuff instead of… like, a lot of guys like you play Frank Sinatra.
When Sinatra got a girl home he’d play Ravel.
and swear I meant that there so much that they give that line a rewind, said the radio. What did it mean.
**********
I’m gonna cum too fast the first time. But give me about 15 minutes and I’ll get hard again, he said. I’m sorry but you’re just too hot. She asked about a condom. I don’t have any diseases, he said. Have you been tested? Not since the Philippines. I can’t not tell you that I had unprotected sex with prostitutes over there. But it’s mechanically impossible for a straight man to get an STD.
I hope they were 18 at least.
I have no idea.
He did cum too fast. They kissed for a minute and then turned their attention back to the movie. The Baader Meinhof Complex. Young German terrorists suffer from brutality, paranoia and infighting as they campaign violently to end American imperialism over 10 years. The women were painfully hot. The message, therefore, was: become a terrorist. I need to wash your sperm out of me, she said.
When she went in the bathroom she was white. When she came out she was Asian. His hair was longer and he had the beginnings of a beard. The TV was playing Z by Costa-Gavras. He was surprised at how beautiful she looked naked. Let’s go in the bedroom, he said.
He did last longer the second time. He came on her ass crack and then kissed the back of her neck. Put his face in her hair.
I’m glad I met you, he said.
Yeah, I like you for some reason.
I like you too, he said.
I wonder what it is. You’re a scumbag but you surprised me with the Debussy.
You didn’t remember that? I talk about it on OKCupid.
We didn’t meet on OKCupid. It was Tinder, she said.
Are you sure?
I don’t have OKCupid. I don’t think anyone does anymore.
Will you go out with me again?
I don’t know, honestly. You’re hot but I kind of need a guy with a job.
Why don’t you just stay with me until you find him.
We’ll see, she said, and dug her face between his arm and chest. Let out a warm breath on his skin. They fell asleep with a big wind shaking the palms and the coyotes crying in the hills. He thought: please let her stay.
**********
When they woke up she was Mexican. Her eyebrows were weird but her ass was like a poster. His hair was short again. Hers was curly. I have to get home to my son, she said. But thank you. I had a nice time with you.
Yeah, me too, he said. Let’s uh…
You’re going to invite me over for chicken.
Correct. How about it.
OK, she said. Text me. She kissed his forehead almost like a mother. Started looking for her bra. The blinds were open. Outside a mockingbird sat on a wire with a blade of dead grass in its beak. It must be spring.
Beautiful
My thoughts exactly
yyyyyuuppp
Having read your blog for a long time now, I feel like I’ve read this particular entry so many times. You wrote “it’s boring to say I woke up and took a healthy shit and earned money and paid taxes.” Well, I for one think that reading about your business-as-usual internet dates is not more interesting than your day-to-day life. What happened to the golden stuff, like your instructions on how to become a screenwriter, the 50 Shades of Gray review, or the classic Unemployment Diary: Want Ads? Those entries were some of the best writing I’ve seen on the internet.
Why can’t every post in 2015 be as good as the best three posts from all of 2013, they ask.
I don’t ask for that much. It is unfortunate enough that the three best posts were all in 2013.
You know what? Fuck you .I’ve pored over all your blog posts, even commented a few times. On one hand, I’ve got so many laughs from your shit. I mean, deep down to the core laughs that leave you a little out of breath and with a blissful afterglow. Stuff that makes you giggle inappropriately at work the next day when it just crosses your mind — that’s what you have. On the other hand, collectively a lot of your shit is like a basilisk, where the cynicism and nihilism about work, life, girls, and everything just seep in and taint you if you stare at it long enough. (I guess your recent spiritual endeavors either haven’t come across or haven’t soaked in yet. I read a lot of your old posts.)
But this one is the first one where I actually had a feeling of dislike for you right while reading it. I think it’s mostly just envy. You complain so much about everything but you still have this. You kind of posture like it’s all meaningless but as fleeting as these hookups are they seem to really kill the pain, at least temporarily. I hope you tell some stories from when you were 24. Somehow it would make things better, no matter how they go.
He has nothing.
Man, that’s a product of your own failure. Don’t you understand the grass is always greener? Everyone’s problems are the most important thing to them.
Your problem of not having sluts to fuck every day is the same caliber as having too many. Read the messages in between the lines. Understand that as you move up the hierarchy of needs, your ratio of problems stays the same, they just change shape.
Everyone gives zero shits about other people’s problems. I’d rather entire rainforest villages get set on fire than have an embarrassing moment. Because my shit is most important to me.
Tacos..please, i beg you
Write that damn book.
Life is a fucking precious beautiful gift and you’re wasting it on these endeavors.
Amazing gift with straightforward prose and an open wound view of the male psyche. Reading DT is a rare treat.
Perfect Alpha Fucks description. If you add the Beta Bucks to your own individual score, then you are an automatic “Good Man” with an edge.
I wonder if you would care enough in a traditional setting though. Christian McQueen is looking for a new co-host and producer of his show. You were quite good there – considered joining him? Might be fun.
The problem in my eyes with McQueen’s podcast, is he treated the co-host like shit. Walked all over him in an effort to be the alpha dog on his own podcast. Always had to remind the audience, “Who’s name is on the podcast?”.
The best episodes were the ones that had 3 people, so the dynamic changed. I don’t care if MQ is way better than whoever he has, but the attitude didn’t make for entertaining content.
McQueen’s site kicks ass though, I have only listened to a couple of his podcasts. No free time lately..
I had an awful day of practice questions, I needed this funny post to lift my spirits. Good one DT!!! That shit you posted on Roosh V Forum was fucking hilarious too so I up voted it as well! That chick from Brown getting her PhD was kinda cute….
Loved it. Want a man like that. Maybe in another life when we’re cats.
You’re such a waste. Stop lying to yourself. If you wanted anything substantial you wouldn’t do the same crap over and over again. Sure the girls are idiots looking to get laid, lying to themselves about why they’re going out with you. The one huge difference is, they know the difference between a fuck date and a real date. You seem to have no idea.
It’s a crying shame because you would really have been a good father. You should have stayed chubby.
The incels come out of the woodwork here.
Tacos would be an automatic “dream-man” for most women, if he suddenly came to riches or a good job. Countless other moronic men with great jobs get shafted by women, because they lack the understanding that Tacos has about women.
His personal life choices are his alone – let anyone walk in someone else’s shoes before judging. “Let he who is without sin throw the first rock, so that I can smoke it.”
This is great. Perfectly judged mix of comedy, sadness, lyricism. Feels like the emergence of a major literary talent. Keep it up.
dude, this is phenomenal.
sober or not, your writing is hitting a new rhythm.
when bitches ask you what you do for a living, just say with firm pride and confidence:
“i’m a writer”.
you’re a goddamn artist. a true inspiration.
if it weren’t for your influence i’d be taking an infinitely long dirt nap from liver failure.
usd the first pargraph of this for my PoF profile..so far, so good
You never see writing like this… Topical, yet somehow deep. This conveys the beautiful simplicity of a man’s nature while simultaneously expressing raw truth in it’s purest form. This is truly a remarkable piece of writing.
Must be the fifth time I’ve read this since you wrote it, always off of Twitter links.
It’s really sad dude. You should have had kids. It’s not too late for you to have one now. It would improve your writing.