Passionately Romancing Jennifer Aniston’s Meatflaps

13 Apr

aniston

This is the last Delicious Tacos book. The next one will be my real name. Augustus Beaujolais. Mortimer Q. Fagballs. Whatever my real name is, I don’t remember anymore. I’d pretend to be tired of this “persona” but I’m tired of the real version of me that has to work. I’d like to get more into my persona, become Hitler McFucksteens, get back into coke, drink, huff gas, move to Oonga Boonga Philippines and have a high school age girlfriend, et cetera.

God damn do I hate writing books. But there’s only so much Legend of Zelda you can play. At some point, you have an experience, it makes you feel something, and you have to tell people about it so you don’t go crazy. Crazier. Especially if the Chinese created a bioweapon based on your 23andMe data that was meant to kill only Caucasians but they blew it as the Chinese will. They got a “best minds” problem like us, the smartest most driven people are also money-worshipping selfish hustlers, the kind who worm into government contracts to build collapsing hospitals rather than diligently work to sterilize all Caucasians by splicing together their bat meat virus with HIV. Pangolin meat, whatever. Anyway they created this virus in a lab, designed it to kill your grandmother and eat your testicles so they can populate every land mass. But the guy slipped on a banana peel and dropped it or sold the infected horseshoe bat and/ or pangolin filets to the meat market and now we all gotta stay in the house. Walk around with a mask on just to humiliate us. It’s raining too, the Chinese made the rain, they seeded the clouds. It rained all week last week and you live alone and you could barely get a date before, Tinder is showing you Women Around the World and they all say pay me for my Snapchat, globalism at work– on a side note, Colombians are the biggest whores.

Fuck man I REALLY don’t want to go to work. My living room.

It’s hard to write good books. I do a better job than everyone except Michel Houellebecq, Sam Pink and Bronze Age Pervert. Most people’s styles too twee and affected.

Nine more minutes. I woke up early and didn’t sleep well. Had a dream I relapsed on coke with BAP and our dealer was taking us to Jennifer Aniston’s house. In the back of a van doing blow and getting debriefed about how to act around Jennifer Aniston. Thinking in the dream how I’d passionately romance Jennifer Aniston’s meatflaps. Nine minutes till work and I earn 25% less now but who cares. Maybe I’ll get that stimulus check after all. I can’t tell what my Adjusted Gross Income was, whether it includes the book money from last year or not. I made like 113 grand but a lot of it was not salary, it was Delicious Tacos Industries the publishing business which had some costs associated with it- was it fucking thirty thousand dollars worth of costs, no. Every article called Everything You Need to Know about Whether You’ll Get the Stimulus tells me nothing I need to know about whether I’ll get the stimulus. After 401K my wages were 84 grand and I collected about 18 grand on books, this is all so fucking complicated– they say 83 per cent of taxpayers are getting the stimulus. Moneybags over here in the 17%.

I don’t hype my books in advance. I don’t like tap dancing. Not a showman. This new book is a story and blog collection like The Pussy. It has some new stories and password protected posts. Not everything in it is online free. You should buy it. Actually I don’t care, there’s no “big opening weekend.” I’m gonna be cramming this shit down your throat on every medium known to man for 18 months. So relax and buy it when you want. I haven’t even proofed it. I can’t get the proof mailed because of this European-caused Caucasio-Virus 19 which was awakened from the flesh of normal Western meats by racism, so maybe it looks like shit. Who knows. But then you’ll have a rare first edition. The stuff in the book is better than this post.

The last story is one of the best things I’ve ever done. Exclusive to the book. Savage Spear of the Unicorn. Savage Spear of the Unicorn. Have to say it somewhere so it gets on Google. Here’s your fuckin Decameron.

5 Responses to “Passionately Romancing Jennifer Aniston’s Meatflaps”

  1. I don’t sleep well at night, and I haven’t for a long time. I’ll often wake up with feelings of an unidentifiable, shapeless dread- a subtle haunting- which I can’t immediately suss out the origins of, that will cause me to stand in my kitchen for several minutes, long after midnight, composing myself. These feelings were stronger when my life was a disaster- after my engagement and career blew up at the same time, when I had given up on long-term planning, when I had suicide as a potential endgame, where I’d go out with two middle-fingers up to the world that betrayed me. This felt like being on fire, which had since been extinguished, and now the remaining embers caused a dull burn.

    Zenith (the low hum of a blank screen)

    https://killtoparty.com/2020/04/01/zenith-the-low-hum-of-a-blank-screen/

  2. adawkin at 5:48 am #

    I thought you hate Legend of Zelda.

  3. Nick August at 7:23 pm #

    I heard Jen had a botched vaginal reconstruction and now only does anal.

    • kvndoom at 10:54 am #

      Just ordered yesterday! If it’s even half as good as The Pussy it’ll be worth twice the price. I enjoyed that one so much that I bought a second copy for my best friend (you know, the imaginary one who lives in DC) 😉

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