I used to want billions to die. But age brings diminishment of passions. Now I just want one god damn night of eight hours sleep. I snap awake at 4-something AM every day for two weeks. I can feel it giving me Alzheimer’s. My one prominent face wrinkle fissuring deeply, ugly old failure etc.etc.. Whatever man. I always felt like this.
47. I knew it was gonna be a hard one. And it is. There’s this corridor in February. Anniversary of my father’s death. My sobriety birthday. Valentines Day. Natal birthday. Special occasions. I just gotta get through it. I could have done this if God gave me eight hours sleep. But what are you gonna do.
It was God’s plan for me to wake up at 3:30 AM after going to bed at 9. Roll around grinding my boner in the mattress topper thinking of unspeakable sex crimes for two and a half hours. Get up irritable, be out of cereal, have trouble taking a shit. Definitely not have the cognitive horsepower to edit my beautiful new chapter of True Love. It is what it is. Last Sunday it was God’s will for me to crank out a first draft of that chapter. Yesterday it was God’s will for me to be walking down the sidewalk. See a sign at a restaurant advertising a crispy chicken sandwich. I’d seen it a few times before. Wondered is that sandwich any good. God’s will for me to enter the restaurant and eat the sandwich. It was excellent, and reasonably priced. It was like Chick Fil-A but the chicken breast was more plump and oily like when you fry chicken at home. It was a great sandwich and it cost ten dollars with fries. Less than a McDonald’s meal these days. I couldn’t believe it. Not only the taste but the value. The server was extremely nice. Things were good back in those days, when I was 46. I may never know such joy again.
It’s all random and unknowable. And there’s no point fighting it, except whether you fight is itself genetic. Some people are born able to let go and surrender. It’s God’s will. Others have to wake up cranky and be mad in spite of the bluebirds until it passes through no plan of mine. No action I take, no prayer, no service to others, pussy, foods high in starch, it’s just gonna be what it’s gonna be. I’m on a little boat going down a fast river and my stupid paddle does nothing. You can try not to die. You can go the doctor. But they can’t do anything. They’re all morons.
I’m gonna die without kids and just suffer in a superbug laden rest home while angry black orderlies chew off my arthritis fingers to get my rings. Actually that’s wedding rings so I’m off the hook. I’ll simply kill myself at some point. Not today though, don’t worry. Many years in the future. I enjoy being alive, and I will fuck whores. I’m not kidding that I’ll quit my job and move to Southeast Asia and eat teenage pussy. You think I won’t do it– I broke the news to my parents last weekend. I want that or I want a 37 year old single mom who lives in Claremont and wants one more kid. Someone who knows what the fuck they’re doing with parenting. I can’t go through being a 47 year old man trying to figure shit out. You’re supposed to know by now. But at my age if I fuck a 39 year old it’s statutory rape.
I had this idea for Jonah and the whale. The whale keeps dropping the guy off at his office where he has to make spreadsheets. I think about this most days. I get up and pray to do God’s will. Pray for my character defects to be removed. Pray for the person I hate to have everything I want for myself. I’ve been doing this nine years. Everything’s exactly the same. What helped is incorporating stretching into my prayer routine. It’s God’s will for me to have loose hamstrings.
Today’s as close as I get to blowing my head off and it’s still real far. I’m going to be fine. I’m going to quit my job in June and go spend money. My stock will never vest. But I have $300,000. It only seems like not enough because of clenched male twitter people bragging. Money is a feeling.
Happy birthday self. I’m glad you were born. I’ll enjoy my life and try to help somebody. I prayed and the yard’s filled with nice mustard flowers and geraniums. Yesterday I had a choice to make. Would my last bite be the last bit of sandwich or the hot crispy waffle fries. Would I dip my last fry in ketchup, or the tangy orange dipping sauce they give you in a little white croquette. Whatever I picked, I knew it’d be perfect. I can’t lose.
delicioustacos 
Happy birthday DT
Thank you
Good story bro
Happy birthday Tacos! Find your happiness, whatever that might be.
That’s a lot of money, DT! I only have a out $55,000! You could buy a condo in Ho Chi Minh city and overdose there while two teenagers suckle on your scrotum.
Vietnam or the Pislands seem like paradise. utopia for the white man. they’re already used to being colonized. the women are submissive to anyone but their own kind, and I don’t blame them. in the land of 4″ cawks, the men with 6″-8″ cawks are King. go claim your crown and live a more lubricated life. without stress, traffic, excessive taxes, crime, and all the other nonsense that goes with living in the Diversified West. $300K is basically the same as $1M+ over there. hunter thompson didn’t end it until age 67. tacos is still a young man compared to other suicidal authors. he’s got 20 years left of pain and pleasure, depending on how he plays his cards. he can continue browsing twatter, beta-orbiting the redscare cunts, and getting sad about not being a multimillionaire international playboy. Or he can buy a plane ticket and start a new life, the next chapter. it’s a simple choice. he’s already got his Vaxx Card filed out so he’s in the clear.
DT collects another Dub
The man can’t lose
I’m grateful for your voice.
Happy Birthday ya old so and so.
Looks like we have the same birthday.
So……what did you tell your parents?
Can’t lose man, unbeatable…
The one way you can help the world is to trace exactly what you were doing and thinking 10, 20, and 30 years ago that made you an absolute fuck-up at 47 years of age. You’ve spent two decades self-promoting and have nothing to show for it—that’s strong evidence that you are a bad writer. Start considering that now.
He does have that 300k. So, absolute is a little harsh.
Happy birthday, DT.
I like the end. It’s Sam Pinkish.
Happy birdday, DeeTee.
Got a homework assignment for you: go rewatch Californication. Revisit why you wanted to be a badass LA novelist in the first place. Sometimes we need a little Kosher re-brainwashing to get back on the saddle. Yeehaw.
Californication sucked after the 2nd or 3rd season. became repetitive and pointless. mainly because he never left LA. kept repeating the same behavior, just different variations on the same thing (oh no i’m so unhappy being a wealthy writer who still loves his ex-wife). maybe this sounds familiar. but if DT never leaves LA, i’m not going to buy his next books and not going to read any more of his content. because I know it’s just going to be variations on the same thing, over and over again. except now he believes in God, has some savings instead of debt, and stopped drinking. may you find the pussy and peace that you seek.
I’m really happy about this. You’re in a good place and you’ve made the right decision. It’s going to be a lot of fun. I would suggest Lesbos for a spell, as it has more migratory birds than just about anywhere on earth. There was a line on the love of a whore i pulled from hemingway years ago that resonated which I can’t remember but when I googled to try and find it, I found one perhaps more pertinent anyway,
‘Death is like an old whore — I’ll buy her a drink but I won’t go upstairs with her.’
So I think you’re in good shape. 300k will go a long way but the amount doesn’t matter really, a generous heart is a gift from God.
Happy birthday, and enjoy.
I knew you were an Aquarius – makes perfect sense.
Happy birthday my man.
just noticed it says crispy chicken sandwich, but the photo is a burger.
1. don’t drink coffee after 12pm
2. if you need a “pick me up”, drink green tea, it has LTHEANINES
3. listen to “relaxing ASMR” before bed, preferrably by a HOT ASIAN
4. earplugs, eyemask, light-blocking curtains, sensual candles (inhale the soy), weighted blankie, relaxing bell sound therapy by tibetan monks, beat off to professional womens photos on linkedin
this is what works for me and maybe, just mybe, it will work…for you.
Your life in stagnation and a slow descent to nothing. Petering out. That ego you had cost you.
I hurt your fee-fees so now you’re going to your favorite hobby: self-promoting on Twitter. 47 years old.
go to bed earlier in order to wake up earlier, take 3mg of melatonin and go back to sleep for 4.5 – 6 hours
You and I are two peas in a pod, both still addicts to the most powerful psychotropic compound in all of human history. This highly addictive substance has ruined lives, crashed empires, bankrupted kings and conquerors like Napoleon. I am of course referring to the one and only, something that goes by many names, yes that’s right, this destructive drug is none other than…the Pussy.
Mazel Tov and l’chaim, let’s get that kessef, baby!
Ego is a blockage against God. You’re such a fuck-up you commune with nothing and call it Father.
A late happy birthday, DT !
IT’S HAPPENING!!!!11!!!1!!
youtube(.)com/watch?v=m9YOXB5Rx7I