Can’t meet a girl until I quit my job. Can’t quit my job until I have a hundred grand. Can’t get a hundred grand because I spend it on girls. I crashed my car. I crashed into the back of a Salvadoran couple who were clearly uninjured but the guy started holding his back with the subtlety of the evil priest in the telenovelas they play at the laundromat. Motherfucker. Now I’m getting called into work on a Sunday. Exactly like fucking Office Space. How did this happen. It’s always been like this. I listened to my AA sponsor. I was grateful to be of service and now I’m alone working my ass off with nothing for nothing and I’m horribly aware that my problems don’t exist and they’re all in my own head. I do have a hundred grand. Some of it’s a retirement account. I’d pay taxes if I withdrew it. So suddenly it doesn’t count. This time two years ago it was fifty grand to quit and it’ll just go up and up to whatever amount is close but not quite there. It was six months of cash then a year now two then two plus what if I get someone pregnant, like anyone’s keeping my fucking baby. Like I’d want them to at my Los Angeles public schools level of income. I need an abundance mentality. I could crash into a hundred Salvadorans and still be in the black. I could Farmers Market it through the Salvadoran Heritage Festival. A hundred kids with a hundred whores– what the fuck are they gonna do to me.
I took a girl on a second date. To sushi. It was $120 and afterward she wanted to go into a nearby crystal shop where I bought her a citrine that she said had good energy. I bought myself an opalite. Entrancing to look at. Good energy, she said. And I was so horny I thought: maybe she’s right, as I looked into its depths. Like the moon through dirty yellow clouds. In the morning, after she’d barely kiss me and gave me autistic instructions about how to touch her, I looked again into the stone. Its stratus clouds in nuclear sunset glow. And I felt it.
Later I crashed my car. Now I’m getting called into work. After my main work project this week was to avoid the come in Sunday call I knew I was doomed to. An imposition I can’t even blog about. Because they did it in Office Space. That rock is evil. It’s bad luck. I need to cast it into the sea. Shatter it on the very forge of the gods. Citrine is a special stone, she explained. It doesn’t hold negative energy. You don’t have to e.g. purify with sage if it absorbs bad vibrations. Bitch why didn’t you tell me that opalite is not this kind of stone. It’s an evil car crashing weekend working stone and why won’t you let me eat your pussy.
I ate a Seeking Arrangement girl’s pussy instead. I pay the girls $100 to give me backrubs and about 60% of the time we hook up. They get horny touching my chiseled back and listening to me be a genius. She was magnificent. Filipina with the Thai temple tits and an ass like a Nicaraguan and she pretended to be impressed when I stuttered nakaka intindi ka ba naung Tagalog? You know, my books are well known in the Philippines. Readers there tell me they’re happy someone’s telling it like it really is. Why yes, I interviewed sex workers, I explained. It was her first Seeking Arrangement date. She doesn’t know yet that guys exactly like me but three inches shorter will instantly offer to buy any Asian woman a house.
She’d been to school in Utah. Told me about a Mormon practice called soaking where you fully penetrate your girlfriend before marriage but don’t move. After she left I came twice furiously. Smelling my hands thinking about soaking her into an unwanted pregnancy.
All week I knew I’d be working Sunday. But they couldn’t fucking ask in advance. On Friday afternoon I started thinking I was off the hook. Do I have to cancel my date. She’s white. 33. A woman ten years younger than me, too old to date. She’d never fuck me and if she did she’d give me AIDS because of this fucking Twilight Zone pebble. My back hurts from the car wreck. And I have to do laundry, Jesus Christ.
delicioustacos 
Seeking Arrangement? Crystals? $120 sushi? $100 massage?
Can a decent-looking bloke like you really not get the girls in LA without shelling out, or is this some sort of confidence issue on your part? Serious question.
I look like ET, have the social skills of All Caps Bro, and I get girls by taking them for coffee; sometimes dinner for $30.
But I am somewhere else. You could be here too, with your book earnings plus some savings. $1,000 per month dead minimum, $2,000 would be very comfortable. The girls are free so long as you avoid your favourite city, and they all want to get pregnant as many times as possible.
Don’t confuse delicioustacos the author with the character. You assume this is all autobiographical. Can’t know that for sure. It could be a pivot towards content that continues to attract the “disillusioned horney/lonely young male” audience, aka “incel” crowd, which helps his book sales. The sweet spot is getting readers to think “oh boy he’s just like me” combined with a sense of awe when tacos describes a conquest. Instead of writing another James Bond or Indiana Jones type character, the genius behind this blog is that you get to see the ups and downs…sometimes he gets laid, but most of the time he has to deal with the many inconveniences of working and living in LA. There’s realism in that. At the end of the day, we’re each alone. We have to earn some sort of living. Anything above that goes towards savings, investment, and entertainment. If writing for the incel/gymcel crowd yields shekels, then it is rational for DT to go that route.
How funny, I just learned the term ‘gymcel’ yesterday.
As to your point, I’d be interested to hear from DT himself about this but he rarely deigns to reply to comments. I should pretend to be a fat Asian girl and DM him instead.
i’ve met DT in person. at the rooshv LA tour. can confirm the author is turbochad who writes his fictional character to sound like the polar opposite. delicioustacos (the best-selling author) is at least 6’4, 220 lbs. of functional muscle, ~5% body fat. face like a young david gandy. he had two girls with him. one to rub his shoulders. the other to cradle his massive ballsack. so it wouldn’t drag on the carpet. they each wore naughty t-shirts and tight plaid skirts like those two nip twins from austin powers.
after the talk ended, i walked up to delicioustacos and meekishly asked him for an autograph. i said, “i don’t mean to bother you, k-kind sir” to which he said “oh, like you’re doing now?”. then there was an awkward pause. he let out a huge belly laugh, slapped me on the back and said “sure thing”. i now own a *signed* copy of The Pussy with an actual drawing of a vagina inside. it looks like a Picasso sketch. my life is complete.
His balls could be held aloft by a single lady? And to think I respected that guy.
“I need an abundance mentality. I could crash into a hundred Salvadorans and still be in the black.”
Do it the Salvadoran way. Just drive off with a chuckle.
Is that your handwriting in that image? Not sure I can read your writing anymore.
White women aged 33 are the worst.
Dear Diary,
Today I got redpilled. DeliciousTacos did that thing again, where he wrote about how hard it is for him to get free pussy, despite being famous online, older, white, tall, physically in-shape and financially stable. I used to have hope, but now…all I have left is the rope. At least my Chainlink isn’t doing as badly as the other cryptocurrencies. Perhaps I can afford one of those mail-order brides.
LA is a different kind of disease. The kind I steer clear of.