Archive | May, 2015

Reader Mailbag: What is Your Workout

31 May

get ripped

Matt asks:

Would you ever consider posting your workout?

I’m built almost exactly like you – 6’1″, naturally skinny, and jacked up nose. My ball bag is well-proportioned however, but that is beside the point. Anyway, your physique is pretty much my endgame. I broke my shoulder recently and am just starting to feel well enough to get back to the fitness grind. I could use something different, because I plateau easily.

I got this question because I post shirtless twitter selfies. I do this because I grew up a flabby sack of shit and now I’m not. I use social media to beg other men to look at my naked body and love me. Because in my heart I hate myself.

Anyway– here’s how to look like those pictures: Continue reading

Weekend Journal: One More for the Road

30 May
photo(13)

Ardea alba

She was a thick black chick and her cunt smelled like celery. Thicker than her pictures but I’m so thirsty I’d fuck a possum carcass. We met by the duck pond. She was leaving town that night. Whatever showed up, I was fucking it.

Now my bed smells like celery. There are pustules on my crotch. Not near my dick. Way off to the left by my inguinal crease. If I get some infection, fine. As long as it’s something condoms wouldn’t have prevented. Because then it’s like: what are you gonna do. I promised myself I’d never wear a condom again. After the Philippines. I put my bare dick in whores, in a country where the average net worth is a chicken. Came back, paid extra for the full bore VD panel. Nothing. Continue reading

Diary: Buying a Car

24 May
image stolen from strollingwild.com

image stolen from strollingwild.com

Fucking money. 20 thousand dollars I may never have for a thing I don’t need. I could get a craigslist car for five grand. But fuck that. No more tow trucks. No more haggling with Armenians.

It has a sunroof. Picture driving to the desert. The stars. A girl. A girl… I’m buying the fantasy. All wheel drive in snow. 4 more horsepower than previous models. Have to haggle over interest rates. They know I’m a sucker. Don’t show them your cards. Don’t tell them your mommy can cosign for you if your welfare queen credit score is an issue. Don’t tell them this, don’t tell them that. Be prepared to walk away. Continue reading

Reader Mailbag: Where the Fuck Did You Go

10 May

dong

“C” asks:

Where the fuck did you go

I’m not hurting anyone. I’m not fucking anyone. So: nothing happens.

Wake up. Eat granola. Healthy stool. Shave. My car is broken. Imprudent to spend the money to fix it. Take the bus to the train to my workplace, where I struggle to be of service to the best of my ability. 9 hours of that. Train to the bus to the walk back home. Call the cat in. Eat leftovers. Jerk off to a black man impregnating an overweight Asian woman. Read three pages of A Feast for Crows. Fall asleep. I dream that I’m drinking. The feeling is: oh no I fucked up. Continue reading