Archive | December, 2015

If It Flies Floats or Fucks

28 Dec

image stolen from

She has nowhere to go. Stop making your readers think I’m a hooker, she says. Will you please buy me a plane ticket.

And I do. It’s cheap, a hundred bucks. And I’m a trick for doing it. But who fucking cares. In six weeks I’ll turn forty. Nothing left to prove with pussy. I look like the fucking chamberlain from the Dark Crystal. Never had money. I’ve had the shittiest, most debased jobs; spinach pickers are cooler than me. Went to the shittiest schools for pussy. Lived in the shittiest towns for pussy. Walk around feeling my gangliness, ugliness, stupidity, weird voice weird face small penis like a cigarette burning the back of my neck since I turned six fucking years old and I’ve still got more pussy than anybody. I’ve fucked like god damn Caligula. The Floyd Mayweather of pussy. No fun to watch but I am un fuckin defeated. Continue reading

Shit I Didn’t Post in 2015 (Part 3)

24 Dec



Now I’m outside trying to write and there’s literally a god damn mariachi band playing. Loud power tools from the fucking construction on the neighbor’s house. What’s next. Someone needs to come blow a vuvuzela in my ear. The high school gong corps needs to bash 1600 gongs inside my asshole. A chorus of roosters needs to crow for the dawn while a herd of elephants is burned alive. Someone needs to make me wear a jet engine for a hat and blast 15,000 Mexican car alarms inside my skull. Continue reading

Shit I Didn’t Post in 2015: Rolling Stone Rape

24 Dec

image stolen from deviantart user swept-wing-racer

Can’t stop looking at twitter. Reading about the UVA rape. Everyone is constantly being raped, no one is ever raped– weird twitter and the manosphere fighting over it… god, the sweet drama. There’s a picture of the girl now. Too late. No beating off to a rape scene you know is fake. Continue reading

Shit I Didn’t Post in 2015 (Part 1)

23 Dec


Clearing out the vault. Here’s some shit you might have read this year, if I could have cracked it: Continue reading

Morning Diary: Hate O’Clock, Rise and Shine

12 Dec


Good morning. What do I not want to do today. Continue reading

Where the Heart Is

11 Dec


I was in Boston for my father’s death and I fired up Tinder. Girls there actually match you. Message you. Can you imagine. Enough to make you think: could I live in the cold. Sidewalks packed with surly oafs in puffy Burlington Coat Factory jackets muttering about the fucking Patriots. Their fat Irish faces. I’m stuck in LA though. My mother moved here. Too much of a twist of the knife to move back to the frozen hell I talked her into leaving. Cold ground so hard you fall and hit it like a car door slamming. Can’t leave my mother. Instead she’ll get to watch her only child die alone. Her genes extinguished. Continue reading

Why Don’t You Write About James Deen

4 Dec
birch 3

image from wikipedia

Because who fucking cares. Woke up today and prayed: Lord make me a channel of thy peace. My dad’s in the ICU. Looks like he won’t make it. Lord let me seek to comfort rather than be comforted. Let me be a good son and brother. He’s been sick for 20 years. Used to have to put on a hazmat suit to see him. Pressurized room so germs don’t blow in. I think about this picture of him with me as a baby on his back. He’s taking me on a walk in the woods. Near my uncle’s place by the lake. White birches in summer. The man who showed me my first cloud. My first bird. I’m about to crack, but: he might make it. Hold it together until you know. Go to work, be of service at my job. Save money to get to the trees. At night I drive homeless guys to AA so they don’t die. James Deen is fucking trivial. Continue reading