I will be off the internet for several days and there will be no new posts for a while. In the meantime, the “Best Of” is pretty good and these two are also amusing. If you know me in real life, I will not be answering my phone or responding to texts or emails. Rest assured, I will be within the state of California dutifully seeking full time employment each day. Excelsior.
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Drunk Thoughts on Syria
28 Aug
Last night I consumed a pint of Christian Brothers® brandy from Royale Junior Liquor Market and sat down to determine my position on U.S. Intervention in Syria. This was not inspired by Drunk History:
I kept thinking about a guy peeling potatoes.
Originally I pictured him in one of Assad’s palaces. I heard on NPR, an expert speculating. Maybe the US would bomb the palaces to send a personal message to Assad. So I thought of a guy who works in the kitchen there. You think they let them leave when they’re going to get bombed? I’m sure there are guards standing around with AK’s, making sure the staff stays put. I kept thinking about this guy. He has a kid maybe, a girl. He was having issues with his wife, some pain in the ass in his day. But good things happened, too. His daughter did something cute, brought home a picture from school. He was employed. Lucky to be. And what other jobs are out there. You get a job for the king, you gotta take it. So he’s peeling potatoes in the kitchen. Everyone is nervous. They heard the Americans are going to bomb the country. Scared chatter. Someone makes a joke. The dark mood is broken. Then they’re all vaporized in fire. Skin blistered off, organs boiled inside their bodies. His daughter hearing the news. Continue reading
Women: Why Don’t You Read When You Shit?
22 Aug 
- image stolen from flickr user “Lesley Looper.”
Or do you? Is it just every woman I know who doesn’t? I’ll be out with a girl. A real she-bro with whom I can talk honestly. She’ll remark that she has to take a shit. An odd choice, the “social hours” shit– the wise person knows to train his body for the morning one-two punch: shit/shower. If your schedule is off, sleep holding it in. Let your bowels marinate a fuming hot sauce log. Suffer dreams of goblins gutting you with hot knives. With one night’s pain you reset the clock. You buy the ultimate human achievement: blissful ass purge followed by the hot womb of the steam. Every day. A perfectly clean asshole. Think of it like beating jet lag. Continue reading
Jesus Christ, Now What
21 AugReading Charles Bukowski poems. They will keep you honest. But honesty is a bitch when you’re employed and don’t hate your boss and don’t drink too much and don’t give a shit about women. Honesty is nothing. I think and feel nothing. Wake up, healthy breakfast, bike to the train, sit down and nod kindly at my fellow commuters. Open the laptop. An hour with no internet. A gift carved out of the day. Nothing comes out of your fingers because nothing’s there.
I don’t hate anybody. I don’t care about the government. Women are just women. They’re still out there, I still want them. But wanting to fuck some teenager on the street is so old now it’s like the weather. Nothing happens. I go to the gym. I’m unhappy that they got rid of all the good magazines. That’s the only emotion I feel in a day. Cook chicken and jerk off. Three dollar bottle of wine, fall asleep watching a movie. Nothing.
Having a normal life feels like waiting out the clock to die and even knowing that gives you nothing. People are out there writing things. Elaborate novels. Political screeds. They get pussy and make a living. But he’s right, that’s all nothing. Even these words about those things being nothing are nothing. If it isn’t exploding out of you then don’t do it, he says. Well what the fuck am I supposed to do then? Something’s gotta show up on the page. People need new words to read on the toilet. Take their mind off of work.
You need pain to make something. And it can’t be fake pain that you chase. Maybe I’ll get lucky and get hit by a truck.
Consider Using Public Transportation
2 AugDriving to work today. Not taking the train. This means my future wife would have been on the train. A beautiful woman, in a good mood, primed for conversation. Ready to make the first move. What are you typing, she would ask. I would have been working on my book. Certainly not some bullshit blog post about some bullshit topic and every other word is “fuck” and “cunt.” No. I am writing a novel, I would have said. She would be impressed. Let’s get off in El Monte, she’d say. Take my hand and we’ll run up into the mountains. Forget about your job. We’ll find some place with flowers and just fuck forever.
Now she’s sitting next to an empty seat, or some hobo. We will both die alone.
Train Diary: Share the Load
2 Aug
image stolen from dailynews.com
Guy talked to me for the whole train ride this morning. Friendly. Possibly because of speed. I met him because I went to take a piss in the train toilet. I kept rattling the handle, thinking it was stuck. Turned out he was in there taking a shit. Who takes a shit on the train. He emerged carrying a huge wad of those brown paper towels and when I came back he had squashed them into a ball and was picking tiny bits off, flicking them at the window.
He had been in prison, was in for seven years. Not clear if it was all at once. I didn’t ask what for. I’m the type of white person who congratulates himself for knowing that’s against etiquette. Had his first kid when he was 19, before he went in. Then another when he got out. Then another, another, another. Three women. Youngest kid was 2. One of the girls was fucking him on child support, he said. A welfare queen, on the food stamps, state aid. Rest of them never asked for nothing. Child support fucks you, man. They will garnish your shit. Take sixty four per cent. That means, I make a hundred dollars, I get to keep forty four fucking dollars man. Continue reading
Relax, You Are Doomed
21 Jul
image stolen from findagrave.com
You’re not gonna get throat cancer from eating pussy and you’re not gonna get dick cancer from HPV. You’re not gonna get AIDS or syphilis or herpes. That thing on your dick is an inflamed hair follicle. Trust me; I know. I have made my body an experiment, fucking the entire internet unprotected on a first OKCupid date and then living through the paranoid terrors of a slightly itchy penis the next morning. It’s all bullshit and your doctor knows it as soon as you walk in the door. Heterosexual men are basically immune to STD’s. You couldn’t get one if you tried. Continue reading
New Book
delicioustacos 