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Weekend Journal 12-16-12: The Ref

22 Dec

foot

She broke my toe somehow, with her high heel.  She broke my toilet.  I could hear it running; I was still too drunk to get up. I just heard a soothing trickle like a rain forest waterfall.  It was toilet water saturating the rug.  Now my apartment will never not smell like mildew.   She bled all over my sheets.   Why do girls always get their fucking period at my house, it’s like I have some kind of hormone in the air.  I like to think they’re aborting some other man’s seed in preparation for me ravishing their womb.  But they always get their fucking period, which, it’s part of nature but it’s fucking disgusting.

Still.  What a piece of ass. Continue reading →

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Gertrude Part Six

24 Nov

I fucking treasure this sadness.  I treasure that I wake up hugging my pillow and in my half dreams I thought it was you.  But your hair was just the cat’s tail.  I have seriously wept unconscious tears into my cat’s tail– that is a Shakespearean level of sadness in today’s world.  If I had something that smelled like you I would smell it.  But I don’t.  Not even my sheets.  The night I realized you were gone I made a pork roast and farted like Vesuvius for hours and hours in my sleep.  I tried to sniff the spot where you slept and… it was a mistake.

I fucking treasure this.  Remembering your hair.  Your kiss.  God damn, you were a great kisser.  Gentle.  Every little motherfucking thing, things too corny to type.  I relish missing them.  This pain.  The way a leper relishes burning his hand on a candle.  I can still feel something.  This particular thing, desiring somebody, wanting them to be around, and them wanting to be around.  Even if relationships like this, between stunted people, people who fuck strangers in toilet stalls– relationships for us are like milk left on the counter on a hot day.  But it’s nice to know that it can exist. Continue reading →

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OKCupid: I Am Never, Ever Going to Reference Steely Dan

21 Nov

What is this girl, texting me– she is nineteen years old and works as a go go dancer at an S & M themed nightclub.  She says on her profile that she is looking for an older man.  She does not appear to be a prostitute.  She has literary pretensions.

What do you even do with this information.  When you can’t stay up past ten thirty and don’t even want to.  My ball hairs are white.  My scrotum looks like a disgusting wizard.  It’s not that I don’t want to have sex with this nineteen year old go go dancer, it’s that– I can’t even conceive of the logistical hassles to get there.  She stays up until four in the morning.  It’s like a sparrow wanting to fuck a bat– they just aren’t around at the same time of day.  What do I do now, invite her over for the pork roast I’m about to make?  A nice hearty meal with some roasted root vegetables while the cold winds blow.  Nice glass of red wine and a video.  The flavors of rural France.  I enjoy the things that old people enjoy, except for the part where I need to impregnate a girl whose professional attire is electrical tape over her nipples.
Continue reading →

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OKCupid: Better Than Expected

18 Nov

We were in a booth.  At the bar there was a guy, with a girl, and he was fingering the top of her ass and her panties.  He was wearing a baggy gray sweatshirt, cream colored shorts, and those sneakers that Teva makes that have a huge tread for your cross country needs.  How could someone dressed so poorly be in a position to stick his fingers under a girl’s panties in a bar.  She must look like a sea creature. She would turn around and it would be like the last stab of a Twilight Zone episode.  I had to know.

Make a noise, I said, and with no hesitation my date swept her martini glass onto the floor.  It shattered loudly.  Women can still surprise you.

The whole room turned to look.  The girl was not bad looking.  Who knew.

Gertrude Part Five

18 Nov

She did not text you back.  She is never coming over again.  She found another guy.  With a bigger dick.  She is with him right now.  Showing him the movies that she took back from your apartment.  As long as the DVD’s she checked out from her college library were on your TV table, you knew she would never leave you.  One day, they were gone.

She was with me because she is deeply insecure and lonely.  She stayed with me because she needed a place to go at night, and to be around another person.  She seemed grateful that I even wanted her around.  The attractive 22 year old college student who is exceptionally skilled with her mouth, vagina, and asshole and cleans your house when you leave.  Who brings you food and booze when you had a bad day.  Who brings movies. God, what a nightmare.  What man would want such a person in his life.

She expected nothing of me.  She laughed at my worst jokes.  She didn’t have to be entertained.  You didn’t have to take her out, spend money, drive all over motherfucking creation to go to her friend’s stupid play or some shit.  She just wanted to talk about books and maybe eat something and have a brandy and cuddle on the couch.  Then fuck.  Make you cum too fast with her tight tiny pussy.  God damn.  I feel like I conceived her in the computer from Weird Science. Continue reading →

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The Big Book of Girls Who Won’t Fuck Me Volume Five

4 Nov

The worst thing in the world is a good looking chick who fucks everybody but won’t fuck you, and I know a ton of girls like that. Why do I keep them in my life. I mean, who cares; they are good people and good friends and would give their right arm for me; they’re fun to talk to and go out with and if another chick sees them and thinks I’m fucking them then they’re doing they’re job. You don’t have to fuck everybody.

But you do have to fuck everybody so fuck them for not fucking me. You know who you are. What the fuck is your problem. I’ve been around you alone and drunk, I’ve made a move. You rebuffed me; it was insulting. I’ve seen what you fucked. What human schwag pulled of a crime of opportunity.

But it’s too late now. I’ve known you for years and those are the years when you mattered. Now it’s over. Oh well. You for one didn’t miss out on much. I can’t fuck worth shit. But still. I hope you get hit by a truck.

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Gertrude Part Four: Further Proof That STD’s Are a Fake Boogeyman

26 Oct

At this point it’s almost like “what do I have to do.”  I’m the Whitey Bulger of herpes, flagrantly committing crimes and then dodging punishment for decades while walking around with my hugely recognizable face in a heavily populated city.  What do I have to do to get an STD.   I mean, maybe this girl– there could still be an incubation period.  When did I start fucking her– probably like a week before this test.  So no AIDS would have come through or anything.

But what the fuck would SHE have to do to get an STD. It’s easier for girls to get it than guys, right?  That’s what they tell you in sex ed.  Sixty per cent of new HIV transmissions are women, eighty seven per cent of new syphilis transmissions are women, blah blah blah…  That’s what they tell you in health class.  They also tell you there’s a big chance that if you fuck someone unprotected you’ll get an STD.  So fuck what they said in health class.  I’m not gonna believe anything that came out of that shit anymore.  I’m gonna go back to my childhood understanding, based on speculation from an ass porn mag given to me by a hobo, that a baby is made when a guy puts his penis into a girl’s butt and pees. Continue reading →

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Protected: Gertrude Part Three

19 Oct

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The Foot Tattoo

16 Oct

The foot tattoo makes her seem more accessible.  Such a person makes poor sexual decisions.  No impulse control.  If you have a tattoo on top of your foot, you have no concept of such a thing as “the future.” Having this poem written in script on your foot, a poem I can only assume is something unbelievably stupid, is now and is always going to be an awesome idea, the way to a dog consuming an entire roll of toilet paper will always be an awesome idea.

¡¡¡REMISSION!!!

15 Oct

Nikol D.S. Hasler, the person with the most accurate middle initials in the world.

You know that feeling when you’re having a shitty day at work and people are assholes and you have no money and the car you just bought is now beginning to show signs of a flawed cooling system, but you just tore off a new piece of ass the night before so nothing can really get you down? Well, Nikol’s cancer is in remission.  So nothing can get me down today.  Also, I tore off a new piece of ass. But mostly it’s Nikol.

Nikol’s cancer is in remission.  I never even thought about her cancer, when she had it, unless some big shit like surgery was happening, or it was right after her hair fell out.  Unless it was in my face.  She was sick, but she’s always sick, because she can take a handle of Von’s brand whiskey to the head and does tons of drugs; she’s the kind of person who texts you “I just took 30 tylenol PM’s and I’m going to die” and you can just laugh it off because she can eat pills that would make a billygoat puke.  She’s a tank.  But you could never tell if she was just hung over as fuck or if it was, you know, terminal illness. She wasn’t one of these cancer talk people, cancer cancer cancer all the time, my treatments, my symptoms, my positive thinking program, my misguided attempt to use alternative medicine from Mexico that will only accelerate my death. You didn’t think about it. Continue reading →

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