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Lunch Break Diary: Fifteen Year Old Girls, and a Conversation

4 Dec
I know this man's spank bank like the back of my hand.

I know this man’s spank bank like the back of my hand.

Good afternoon.  Two reasonably attractive girls having lunch across from me.  Talking.  I have ruined their lunch, probably, by violating their privacy.  They can’t talk candidly about men.

Or not… they’re talking about some guy.  Something something cell phone pictures, Facebook®.  Some guy sent some pictures from vacation in Mexico.  They were scandalous in some way.  Maybe he was penetrating a burro.  Whatever it was, I’m sure it doesn’t merit the gasp it received.  As though the slightly less attractive girl were hearing about the death of Archduke Ferdinand.

Going to (REDACTED)’s tonight to have dinner.  Her fifteen year old niece is going to be there.  It should be illegal for me to be anywhere near fifteen year old girls but there you go.  They make me nervous.  They make all men nervous.  Because we all want to fuck them.  More than we want to fuck the people we are supposed to be attracted to, people in our own age cohort.  And yet, anyone who was dating the mom on Gilmore Girls would never even consider sneaking a peek at the daughter.  Did they ever have that storyline?  I could actually ask people who wrote for Gilmore Girls.  Hey, did any of whatsherface’s boyfriends ever try to fuck Rory?  Or even sneak a peek at her tits?  Steal a pair of her musky cotton panties out of the hamper and wear them like a luchador mask while feverishly beating off?  Tonight, on The WB®… you will see a guy behave as he would actually behave in real life if he were dating a woman with a sixteen year old daughter.  This thing, this truth that happens all across the planet every single day and which every honest man knows instantly in his bones, would be the most shocking thing ever put on television. Continue reading

Lunch Break Diary: An Attractive Woman Sits Near Me

10 Sep

There is an attractive woman sitting across from me.  A very attractive woman.  A “9,” in the parlance of those people who use numbers for these things.  An “L.A. 9.”

She looks familiar.  I feel like she was the casting assistant on some movie I worked on.  It is completely plausible that such a person would be sitting across from me on that bench. But if it is her, she doesn’t recognize me, or doesn’t want to acknowledge me.  Maybe it’s not even her though. All good looking people essentially look alike. All perfect looking people.

I would never in a billion years go over and talk to this person.  I wouldn’t have the faintest idea of what to say, aside from some obviously fabricated ruse that was just basically– I think you are good looking, and I would like to have sex with you.  There is no other reason on the planet anyone would ever speak to anyone out of nowhere, except maybe abject loneliness.  And yet here I am.  I am thinking about her.  I am writing in my stupid journal about her; she is looking at her phone and eating a ham sandwich.  On wheat bread, with lettuce peeking out from the crusts.  Homemade sandwich.  Someone made her this sandwich, or she conscientiously packed it for herself.  Good for her.  More people should take the time and care to prepare their own meals. It’s good for your health, it’s exactly to your tastes, and it saves money.
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Lunch Break Diary: What’s on Your Mind

17 Aug

“And then I lick my armpit and pretend it’s your salty twat.”

Always something annoying going on.  Never enough time.  Feel pressured; the need to put something on the blog.  But this god damn squeaky door opening and closing behind me.  This slouchy unlaid nerd walking back to his car with his sneakers squealing.  Two maintenance guys up on the deck of the bungalow above yacking endlessly about different kinds of caulk.  This new caulk they have now, it holds good and you wouldn’t believe how fast it dries.  Now they are joking about caulk.  But not the joke you would think. I guess if you discuss “caulk” 5,000 times, making a “cock” joke is no longer funny.  But I bet it takes a real long motherfucking time for that to happen.

People walking by with their stupid conversations.  Nobody is ever talking about the thing they want to talk about: fucking.  Or if you’re hungry, maybe chicken.  Some guy walking by having to listen to a chick talk about her god damn career; how well she gets along with her various colleagues.  He cannot say “I see your point, and also: you have large titties.  I would like to see and hold and touch and suck on your large titties, please.” The only thing he really thinks, he can’t say. Continue reading