delicioustacos

All you gotta do today is make one paragraph of OC. Continue reading →

I didn’t need this life lesson. That I’m old and I’m gonna die. And before that the best part of me will get clipped off. Joy wit creativity and energy will leave me. I knew already. I knew since I was born. The reminder was not needed. I don’t want wisdom. I want to remain an idiot. Always thinking better days are around the corner. I’ll get well soon. My ship’s about to come in. Xochitl breaking up with her boyfriend means she’ll date me. I can bulk up my arms again. Stocks will go back up, et cetera. It’s not over.

I want to be an idiot. Tired of God teaching me. I want to be tempted by carnal pleasures. A hairsbreadth away from bailing on my job to get teenage Austronesian monkey pussy, eat coconuts and disappear.

Taking the phone back was like taking a dog back to the shelter. The iPhone13 Pro. 512GB, in Sierra Blue. 120 hertz ProMotion display. Stainless steel side trim. The blue was so tasteful. It was the Antarctic Blue Clark W. Griswold wanted on his Super Sports Wagon. I had money and decided to get the best one they made. The battery didn’t dip no matter what you did. You can leave it playing Preston Jacobs videos all night. The animations imperceptibly smooth. Curved polished steel bright and warm. Continue reading →

2021 sucked ass. You can tell because I was productive. Doubled my net worth. Huge progress on the new book. It’s the worst thing I’ve done. Got no pussy. Helped others. Improved important life skills. I did things that men on Twitter who fell ass backwards into money tell you to. Vitamin D, invested, all that shit. God damn did it suck. Continue reading →

I can accept death. But not the mechanics of it. Nothing else in my ass, ever. They found a nodule on my prostate. The prostate is a walnut-sized gland under your colon. Nodule is a synonym for tumor. Per Web MD a knuckle-like hard protrusion. Knuckle-like. Of course it’s H.R. Giger. Knuckle-like protrusion twitching under gunmetal-color Berlin college girl face with steel fangs and no lower jaw. She quaffs hydraulic fluid from ridgy black intestinal tubes, tangled nightmare quasi-organic hoses pumping ooze from disembodied black chrome tits on some Satanic Contra boss apparition… Nodule means tumor. But “tumor” just means swelling. It’s nothing, he tells me. They’ll check my PSA. Some chemical you make when you have cancer. Confirm it’s nothing after I fast, get my blood drawn, go back for his next available appointment in 2032. Until then put it out of your mind. Continue reading →

Pic unrelated.

Someone left a mean comment that I’m getting old. Stop Muay Thai, start jiu jitsu because I won’t get good at striking. Which is true. But I don’t plan to book a fuckin cage match. It’s just fun. Something to get better at. I pay a man to beat me up and praise me. Clinch work, he cranks my neck down with freakish monkey strength. Later I can’t beat off because the smell of another man’s hair gel won’t wash off my palms. If something smells like a man within 20 feet I can’t get hard. He tells me the bars are good again, there’s pussy. The only manly thing I can talk about. But I can’t drink. I’m on Hinge looking at age appropriate Southeast Asians. Because Michelle Malkin and Stephen Paddock’s wife look good to me. 15 months of quarantine. 
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The shower drain used to work. And I used to not notice it. Then some ball of fat got stuck in the pipe by the sewer connection. One out of three showers I’ll hear the toilet bubbling and the drain will back up. I’m standing in an inch of lukewarm shit water I have to tiptoe in. Wash my ass and armpits fast and get out of there.

And now when it does work I’m grateful. Watch the water spiral down. Perfect little cyclone with its silvery throat. It’s not backing up today. And I think: I love this shower drain. I have the greatest shower drain in the world. This is why women love a drunk.

Rain at 2AM and one big thunderclap. Brain damaged from sparring. Brain and face damaged. My instructor whose day job is at an elementary school, who cheers you hitting pads like a kindly dolphin trainer– he wore shorts for the first time. Calves like cinderblocks. Veins thick as gas hoses snaking over them. He has 15 lbs on me and was a professional kickboxer. He went easy. I’m brain damaged. Driving home. Each stoplight had to relearn I was sitting in a car I needed to operate. Thinking ten times did I miss my turn. Is that McDonald’s supposed to be there. Continue reading →