I’m on vacation from thinking about the future.
This year I’m gonna quit my job. If the payout doesn’t come through by June. I said this last year. June. Then it was December. Before that it was when I had $20,000. Then $50,000, $100,000, $200,000. Now half a million, right? I hope so because the jump to a million’s too long. I’d be 50 probably. Interest rates, treasury yields won’t be high by then. High enough to sink that money into T bills. Get $50k a year plus my writing money–
My mom says it’s a bad idea to quit. My AA sponsor. My best friend. My–can’t say girlfriend yet. I did ask.
But it’s a nuisance, and gay, to do another man’s life’s work.
I need to make more from writing. I’m talking to you personally. If you’re not a paid subscriber to my Substack within 12 hours of reading this–I know who you are. I know where you live. If you’re not a paid subscriber within 12 hours of reading this I’m going to come to your house. And I’m going to (REDACTED) you. I’m going to (REDACTED) your family. First I’m gonna beat your ass in front of your girlfriend with Muay Thai. If you have any grappling this is not about you. Then I’m gonna We Need to Talk about Kevin you with a bow and arrow.
I’d say I’m gonna shoot you with my gun but I got a bad batch of ammo. It keeps jamming. You could cross the distance in the time it takes to get the thing back in battery. You’d beat my ass. You have grappling in this scenario. You could get me with a blast double. Take my back. Rear naked choke me. While I negotiate failure to feed after failure to feed. Is it the ammo which of course I bought two bricks of. Is it the gun worn out after ten thousand rounds. You could arm bar me.
I’m gonna quit my job that pays (REDACTED) grand to work (REDACTED) days a week because I fuckin feel like it, I’m gonna spend money like a (REDACTED).
Substack will ban me–who cares. I’m going to (REDACTED) you. You personally, reading this. You can’t afford fuckin five bucks a month you pussy? When I get that I’ll make you feel weak for not paying three grand to attend my Sol Brah beach wrestling seminar. My Andrew Tate walk on hot coals. You pay for some hog’s Onlyfans but not my diary about my new–I can’t say girlfriend yet. I did ask. Not for an answer. I just wanted her to know.
Things are good right now. I’m on vacation from thinking about the future. She’ll leave me on my birthday. She’ll cancel our plans. To lay on the couch and watch a movie with the dog. Her pug, Cinnamon.
Laying on the couch. Watching a movie with Susannah and Cinnamon. I swear to you, Roman emperors never knew such pleasure. Cinnamon will be agitated at first. She wants me to pull on a rubber toy. Wrestle it out of her mouth and throw it across the room. Then she wants to fake me out when I go to grab it from her jaws. She pulls back. She throws feints. Cinnamon’s a muay femur. A master of distance. Cinnamon slips like Lerdsila when I try to grab that giant fake pacifier from her.
She claws at you when you sit down so you play with her. Then she gets it. That you just want to lay down. That you’re 48 years old. She wants to lay down too. Susannah’s beautiful. Things are good right now. Maybe Cinnamon will turn on me. Maybe one day she’ll attack. Rend my flesh. Rip my arm off like that purple rubber bone she’s been practicing on. But for now we all lie down and cars go by outside. Susannah has good taste in movies. She’s sophisticated. A sophisticated person from a working class background. Exactly what you wrote about, and if she blows you off some day well at least you had it. We are outside time and our memories are the present, and God is real, and love is real, and it’s gonna be OK.
delicioustacos 
it’s not that i can’t afford to join your simpstack for five bucks a month. it’s that your writing has lost entertainment value. it’s worth negative value. it’s a chore to get through just the first couple paragraphs. you should be paying me to read your whinny stream-of-consciousness faggotry. your unpolished, unedited, retarded vomit of random words, sentences and numbers. of course you think it’s good to express your feelings, which it is, and that’s commendable. but don’t expect us to pay you for it if we don’t want to. there are better authors who actually compose their thoughts into a decent story.
Tacos should check out some of SteveMRE’s videos. the guy is always chipper, never asks for subs or likes, never asks for a single red cent. i don’t recall him even mentioning that he has a patreon. but his millions of fans just love him and sign up to it no matter what. he doesn’t even post often, sometimes goes months without posting. the dude harkens back to classic Heritage America and is always charismatic despite doing the same thing for years: opening and reviewing mil-grade slop. somehow he makes eating stale crackers and pouring hot water on freeze-dried food a funny and entertaining spectacle to watch. DT can learn a lot from that guy.
don’t hold back man tell him how you you really feel
DT holds in his feels until he can’t anymore, so he vomits a word salad into Microsoft Word and then copy-pastes it into this gay little wordpress site and hits the Publish button without reading it to see if it’s something that needs to be shared with the most fucked up balding sexless under 6ft’ men of the world. fuggin depressing blackpilled humble-bragging shit about how he isn’t happy despite having a BWC, six-figure job, six-figure net worth and free pussy that slides into his twitter DMs and emails on a weekly basis. i’d give up my left nut to trade places with him but obviously that’s not possible. So I cope by leaving mean comments once in a while when i remember he still exists and pollutes the internet with his degen filth. when i say “fuck you del tacos you bloody basterd” it’s like that unfunny black midget who kept saying “fuck you tom brady” during le epic roast.