At the beach. Looking for the place I took Lilly. Where I carried her down the cliffs on our first date. She’d broken her leg eating it on a bicycle. Had a cast on. I helped her to her car after AA, where I’d stared at her two years. Lifted her crutches into the back of her Prius. Would you uh… do you want to uh… go to the beach with me this weekend and she said YEAH right away like she’d been waiting. After taking fastidious care to never look at me. Never sit near me. Only glance at me sideways, like someone told her I’d written about wanting to come back as a tapeworm and live in her asshole. I’m sorry but it’s true.
So I took her to the steepest cliff in Malibu and carried her all the way down it. My whole core rigid. This was what my squats were for. Deadlifts making the Taleb face. Her ungodly Thai temple tits, her ungodly bikini body forced against me skin on skin at 12% body fat. An old black lady we walked by said that’s love. How long ya’ll been married. 8 years 3 kids ma’am. That’s love.
Went for the makeout with the gulls crying and the waves hissing up and up and it was like she’d been waiting. Like every woman who’s lived in New York, she had herpes. I didn’t care. But she went on a trip. I never saw her again.
**
I’ll never meet my future wife. So what. Prepare for this. Prepare to die alone. Could you be like the 65 year old Aussie bogans in Pattaya with the snow white crew cut plus rat tail. Tattoos of… I don’t know what, beer labels, with the 6.5/10 32 year old Thai hooker wife. Absolutely. Absolutely I could do this. If she spoke English and read books instead of watching 60 IQ Thai sitcoms with Three Stooges sound effects–
Fuck, American women don’t read books. I can’t date a retarded woman. I can’t date a normal woman, I’m on Hinge, it’s a Pottery Barn catalog of middle age adjacent professional Jews with their dogs. Their dream date is take me to Bali. Are you fucking kidding me bitch– I’d rather swim in Bali with a cobblestone around my neck than take a white woman there. Picture her yelling some feminist talking point at a Muslim market stall attendant who’s crushed 10 human heads with an SKS stock. Poaches Komodo dragons with bare hands as a side gig. Kissinger era armaments buried in his yard, in a place where there’s no law against backhanding your wife. Making her T shirt price dispute my problem. Omigod he’s scaring me, are you gonna do something–
God takes care of everything except me. God created light. He could not create my girlfriend. As soon as I ejaculate I’m the guy that used to get pussy. Well Tacos it’s your own fault– yeah no shit. Doesn’t matter. I want to be romantically loved. God please help me not ask you for selfish things. God please give me money and sex.
**
It’s 153 degrees and I’ll never, ever have a girlfriend. Met a girl with big tits at the barbecue. Amy. Hot enough to date but maybe just ugly enough to date me. She does (REDACTED), she’s a (REDACTED), she has the exact day job as me in the exact industry and she also writes plays. I’m writing my Gotterdammerung, she said. She knows me. She’s heard my stories at readings. Likes them, I’m a good writer, and she has big, big tits. Let’s go in the pool I say and she says I can’t swim. I could teach her. Press her to my 12% body fat rippling inguinal crease while she squirms against me scared in the cold water and therefore has to love me. Like Lilly had to love me. Old herpes cunt Lilly as I carried her down the cliffs at Point Dume on our first date and an old black lady from 227 or some other Sherman Hemsley sitcom said that’s love. And it was, for a minute. My God I’m meeting a woman. Could it be. She says something about her husband.
Lilly has herpes and Amy’s married and Lily one L is autistic and none of them like me anyway. Angela fucked another guy when she was here and Chloe’s dead and Nikki’s crazy and Annie’s crazier and fucking Ling Ling rejected me to keep fucking a married guy she works with. When will I quit my job for some horseshit where I meet girls. My books make me 20 grand. Could I get a minimum wage job where I can fuck instead of waking up at six. What if I’m just too ugly. What about Southeast Asia, people say. As if I wasn’t trying. Past a point I can’t talk to those girls about anything but taking the condom off.
I’m fucking good on paper I swear. Six figure income (doesn’t matter) six foot one (matters slightly) nice place (doesn’t matter) famous (to Nazis) ripped (matters for LMR but you have to get them in the house first). My cock longer than an iPhone. Kind to animals.
Look man, don’t say you’re desperate. The women will hear. Women: I’m already married, Two wives, I choke them. Better stay away,. Better not come over and not even fuck me just touch my back please for five minutes, maybe with your top off…
The problem not drinking: you’re never disinhibited. Never believe you could be great, or just OK. And to have something you can’t want it. Or it has to be meant to be. Will I just fuck whores forever.
delicioustacos 
“Could you be like the 65 year old Aussie bogans in Pattaya with the snow white crew cut plus rat tail. Tattoos of .. I don’t know what, beer labels, with the 6.5/10 32 year old Thai hooker wife. Absolutely. Absolutely I could do this. If she spoke English and read books instead of watching 60 IQ Thai sitcoms with Three Stooges sound effects–”
So true
Go back to school & get an MFA & teach at university.
You’ve clearly known your stuff as a writer for a while.
I always found your predicament baffling because it seemed the other way around – hard to get a casual shag but every girl was up for marriage.
But now that I’m more open to something long term I’m finding the same thing – every time there’s a problem. I look back over all my girlfriends and struggle to think of one who was marriagable.
And am I? Probably not anymore.
Great piece. I’m glad you’re making mint with your book. Don’t piss it all up the wall. And good on you for internationalizing the word bogan.
this is not advice, so don’t take it that way:
but maybe you are looking for “love” in the wrong places.
look into where people usually meet their wives, and then find segmented data on success rates. you can do it. use that sooperior White European brain of yours. look into data about age disparities. i’m guessing you don’t want to marry some retarded ex-prostitute Thai who is only looking for a greencard to the US of A.
i’m guessing you want someone who is smart, artistic, reads, writes poetry, enjoys the same types of movies and food that you do. well, start by doing what you enjoy and then go from there. If i were a literature-oriented guy like you, i at least try to go to some poetry readings. try to hang out at museums on the weekends, artsy-fartsy trendy places, and scout for single women. if you want *girls* age 19-22 you’ll need to go to gallery art shows and shit like that. you’ll need to do the detective foot work. pussy won’t fall into your lap just because you pray and believe in a higher power. you have to go out there and hunt. you were a veteran of the pussy war, but it is no longer conventional. you need guerilla 4th generational warfare tactics. you need data, plans, strategy, covert ops.
here’s an easy start: go spend an hour browsing at trader joes or whole foods. you probably shop at those places already so it’s 2 birds 1 stone. you’ll inevitably meet some YUPPIE girl in her mid 20’s who loves “trendy tasty good quality food” and if you are unlucky she also “loves to travel”. invite her over for a grilled ribeye, paired with organic roastie veggie, and fresh squeezed apple juice. if you want to marry a high quality girl, it’s gonna cost you…trendy organic food, at least some globe-trekking, a $50K ring plus $50K wedding. etc. etc.
good luck out there.
Next timem.bigger gas chambets.
> if you want to marry a high quality girl, it’s gonna cost you…trendy organic food, at least some globe-trekking, a $50K ring plus $50K wedding. etc. etc.
any girl who refuses to marry a man because he can’t buy her a rock the size of Rhode Island isn’t worth marrying or even dating though
I’ll send this link to friends and they’ll open it, read about halfway through it before thinking “what the fuck is all this disjointed meaningless that Choad is making me read?!”. Then they’ll close the tab and never mention it again.
And that’s a tragedy.
Because this type of post and others like it is inspiring to me.
Picking up freewriting at your suggestion, DT, is what has made me a remotely-functional friend and person to these same friends I mentioned above. It’s literally been life changing.
Thank you for writing and existing, DT. Here’s to hoping you continue to do so for a long while to come.
Choad, poast some of your freewriting. I wanna read it.
They’re in Google Docs. Can’t attach screenshots as comments here.
Just picture a 24yo who has absorbed DT’s style in his rant pieces; only I’m less original, less witty, have a smaller vocabulary range, get infinitely less sex than he does, more self-loathing, helplessly into opiate abuse; who whines about all that into a blank page everyday he’s sober enough to sit at his keyboard for up to 30 minutes.
Picture a DT clone; only less creative, and infinitely more boring.
You will fuck whores forever until you realize that some of the whores are madonnas.
Your problem right now is you’re living in the West, among presumable madonnas, and just waiting for the madonnas to reveal themselves as whores. When are you gonna realize it happens every time?
Instead of living among madonnas and waiting for them to reveal themselves as whores, why not go live among the whores and see if any of them reveal themselves as madonnas?
You’re perpetuating your own Madonna-whore complex by refusing to see that all women are both madonnas AND whores. Instead of continually setting yourself up for disappointment by giving them the benefit of the doubt as “potential madonnas” only for them to continually reveal themselves as whores…. remove the benefit of the doubt. Wise up. Go live among the whores and see if any of them turn out to be Madonnas. Stop this childish game of inflating your expectations so high they can never be met, then blaming women for not meeting your unrealistic expectations.
Women are not the problem. You are. Dude, CHANGE.
re: Icey:
This anon gets it. DT is ashamed of his horniness because he grew up during a time when protestant/puritan views of sex were still permeating throughout the US of A. He is confused between two choices: horny guy who loves SEazn whores, or trad guy who wants a cute smart wife and at least one offspring. he is confused and bored of repeating the same cycle (work, sleep, wake, eat, work, vacation, work, write, don’t write, etc.)
The galactic-brain move is to embrace the fact that we live in The End Times. Go fuck whores if that is what you enjoy. Die whilst high on heroin. Who cares. Full nihilism. Nothing matters. The collapse has already started, except it is a gradual-type one that will continue for decades. The price of everything slowly creeps up. A succulent rib eye steak at Trader Joe’s was once $5.99/lb. Now it’s $9.99. That’s not even *organic* or *grass-fed*. Just regular conventional corn-fed cow. Everything is getting more expensive but luckily for DT he’s old enough to command a high salary and get book sales. So he’s not sweating the financial aspect. Now he’s got stability and money to get a wife, during perhaps the hardest era in which to find a wife. God exists and he’s got a sick sense of humor. Question is, will DT find his wife or will he continue further down the degeneracy rabbit-hole….Until one day he fucks a ladyboy for the novelty.
re:Choad:
Nevermind, I do not want to read your writing, but if you enjoy doing what you do, then have at it and take pleasure in reading your own work. That’s important. For a short time I was mimicking DT’s style too, but now I don’t want to do that anymore, because it is unfulfilling (to me). His style is also too choppy: “tee hee, look at me, i’m so masculine because I write dry, short sentences.”