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Protected: Did You Quit the Internet

21 Aug

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Book Review: The Pussy by Delicious Tacos

5 Jul
COVER THUMBNAIL

Cover design by Matt Lawrence: mattlawrence.net

Fucking sick of this book. Which no one will buy. Sick of uploading this shit to god damn Createspace over and over. Page breaks in Word don’t translate to page breaks in the proof. The fucking table of contents– every time you make some slight tweak it wants to repaginate the whole thing. You can’t highlight just the page break, it highlights the entire table of contents. The evil spirit of Microsoft Word reaching a spindly grim reaper hand over yours on the mouse, jamming a thousand levels of complex unwanted auto-formatting that you must weed through and correct. Matching the table of contents to the digital proof that does not match the Word document, you fix one thing it breaks ten others– the only solution is: close the laptop. Go kill everyone. Five page table of contents because there are like 100 pieces in this book. All shit. I’m a terrible writer. My whole dream is a joke. People only read my shit to laugh at me. Continue reading

Protected: I’m Too Compassionate, Is My Problem

30 Apr

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Protected: Reader Mailbag: Racial Issues and the Alt Right

30 Jan

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Protected: Shit I Didn’t Post in 2015 (Part 3)

24 Dec

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Protected: Shit I Didn’t Post in 2015: Rolling Stone Rape

24 Dec

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Protected: Shit I Didn’t Post in 2015 (Part 1)

23 Dec

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Protected: Where the Heart Is

11 Dec

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Protected: Reader Mailbag: Do You Have a High Sex Drive

19 Nov

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Diary: The Muse, That Flakey Cunt

27 Sep

Once you make a rule– in this case, “Sunday morning is writing time–” once you make a rule, the opposite will happen. I took time to do other things. Sixteen minutes to whiten my teeth. Put on a Biore nose strip. Trim my body hair. Sixteen minutes. Enough to derail all meaningful thought for sixteen hours. I’ll never write again. All the other shit I’ve made this week: fucking garbage. Therefore I’ll never be famous. Never make the girls melt like the comedian who shared at AA last night. Now I have to google him like every woman in the room did. God dammit why wasn’t I a comedian. No one googles me but me. Although I do it enough to affect SEO.

Well they can’t do what I do, I think. Sit down at the keys to prove it. Watch the wizardly words flow out of my fingers. Crisply honed sentences. Metaphors that connect souls to truths they’ve thought their whole lives in unguarded corners of the mind but were just inchoate murmurs, until now… WATCH ME. WATCH ME, MOTHERFUCKERS–

Nothing.

Accept defeat. I’ll never write anything good again. What’s left of me. Half decent guitar player; about 60% funny. Enough to get a sideways glance from a fat elderly woman covered in roast beef purple cysts, maybe.

(Check out my book Hot Naked Tits.)