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Get in Shape, You Disgusting Fat Fuck

1 Jun

Don’t read this if it’s about you.

I went on a date this week with a girl who actually has a nice body.  Can you imagine?  A girl, off the internet, whose weight was as advertised.  We all know that OKCupid weight classes are two words for OK and then fifteen synonyms for fat, and you know when you go out with someone here they’re going to be at least thirty pounds over what their photos would lead you to believe.  It’s just a hazard of internet dating.  Something you accept.  The girl who shows up is substantially fatter than her photos. Every. Single. Time.

And I was cool with that—I don’t mind if a chick is a little “thick,” or even “plump—“ basically, I have no standards and will fuck anything that moves, and the virtue of internet dating is no one has to see what you’re doing.  I won’t email with someone who has “a few extra pounds,” because we all know what a cruel joke that word “few” is in this context, but “curvy,” sure.  “Average,” why not.  It’s never the “average” for women between the ages of 18 and 29 in Los Angeles, CA, the most body-conscious city on the entire face of the Earth; these girls generously judge themselves by the national average.  But still.  Fine. Continue reading →

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John Wayne Gacy

31 May

Did you know that John Wayne Gacy got married, by the way?*  He married a fan who wrote him nonstop in jail and sent him sexy pictures.  Did you know that this not-good-looking multiple child rapist/ murderer managed to find someone to settle down with, while your faithful correspondent Cornelius J. Tacos— a reasonably tall, not violently bad-looking young man who is capable of holding court about Narwhals or the Electoral College or WHATEVERTHEFUCK YOU WANT, people, I will have an intelligent conversation with ANYONE about ANY FUCKING TOPIC and charm the goddamn pants off you, and I have an IQ three and a half standard deviations above the mean and 11% body fat and many fine, interesting hobbies, and am generally a well-rounded and not unpleasant human being— this distinctly non-child-raping-and-murdering young man has been making A REAL MOTHERFUCKING EFFORT for several years and still can’t find a decent goddamn girl to give him the time of day?  Were you aware of this?  Probably. Continue reading →

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Scared?

31 May

Are you scared of crushing hordes of nubile young pussies as easy as breathing?  Are you scared of bending dewey-eyed coeds to your sexual whims like you were General Fucking Zod as portrayed by Terence Stamp in Superman II?  Except General Zod was trying to have sex instead of throwing cars and shit?  And therefore Superman didn’t give a shit what General Zod was doing and instead of having to thwart his plan just left him alone, and General Zod just went around the Earth peacefully fucking everything that moved until the end of his days?  Are you scared of being like a Kryptonian except instead of flying and X Ray vision our Earth’s yellow sun just gave you extraordinary powers of fucking? And Superman was watching from on high where he was using his majestic power of flight and looking down on you and thinking “fuck, man, I really got stiffed on these powers. That looks way better.” Continue reading →

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OKCupid: Girls with Kids

27 May

My best friend, whom I met off OKCupid, has a kid.  And I have discovered that I enjoy the fuck out of going over to her house, cooking a 1950’s housewife dinner for her and her kid, and then we all sit around the table talking quietly and politely about how his day was at school and making sure he eats his vegetables.  He’s like fourteen, so, he is close to being a fully formed human being and is at the cusp of a cool time in his life when he will drink his first beer, make out with his first girl, get his heart broken, and etc.  I enjoy spending time with this young man and his mother. It has awakened some deep yearning for domestic life that I never would have suspected.  Now I want to come home every day to a family, have a woman hand me a martini and talk to my son about baseball practice or some other Leave it to Beaver shit.

So I would gladly date a girl with a kid, because at forty grand a year for eleven hours per motherfucking day someone else’s kid is the closest I am ever going to get to this.  But here’s the problem with kids: who is the father.  A girl of dating age who has a child who is fully formed enough to enjoy had them young, which means they were impregnated by someone whose last words will be “hold my beer, watch this.”  Someone with tons of tattoos who had to quit his band because he broke his fingers on some guy’s face and now has to send three hundred dollars per month of his landscaping income to some actress/ waitress. Or a Nicaraguan barback who drives Denzel’s car from Training Day and carries a switchblade and wants to kick your ass. Continue reading →

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Stop Telling Me “Just Go Talk to Her”

26 May

Stop telling me that, you women and gays.  You have no concept of what it’s like to “just go talk to her.”  Just listen to me complain about how I can’t get laid and shut the fuck up.  Don’t tell me about how you would like to be approached and etc.  Don’t even tell me that I’m hot and that if you were single you would be delighted to be approached by me. You are either lying, or you feel that way because you know me, you feel comfortable with me. It is inconceivable to you, the experience of being approached by me for the first time out of the blue. I don’t come off well.  If I even have to consider “just going and talking to her” I’ve already lost.  How can you not know this?  Oh, you’re a woman, you understand nothing. Continue reading →

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Protected: High Heels

25 May

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Yoga Pants

24 May

No woman in the entire Los Angeles area, outside of those compelled to wear a work uniform, now wears pants. Or a skirt.  The entire cohort of Los Angeles women is now to a one wearing black or dark gray “yoga pants,” which is to say, sheer insubstantial tights.  Of course, they cannot wear underwear with these things.  So you are seeing fully defined, flatteringly compressed ass and pudenda at all times, everywhere you go.  I feel, sometimes, like I must have willed this into existence.

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Protected: Now I Call It an A-Line Sleeveless Undershirt

23 May

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They’re Gonna Hang My Cock from the Rafters

22 May

I can’t be bothered to go on a fucking date anymore.  The whole thing has just become so joyless.  And  it’s not them; it’s me.  There are plenty of nice attractive girls.  I get unsolicited OKCupid messages from them.  It would be so easy.  But… fuck it.

There was an old episode of STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION.  Or maybe DEEP SPACE NINE.  What happens is, the Klingon messiah from thousands of years ago comes back to life.  Kahless.  And there is debate among the Klingon community as to whether it’s the real guy, or merely a clone.  As one would expect with Klingons, words are not enough to settle the dispute and there has to be a ritualistic duel of champions with crazy crescent shaped two handed knives.

So the pro-Kahless and anti-Kahless guy are having this grim battle with the knives; sour, determined faces, cunning and strategy; and Kahless steps in and is like- “what the fuck is the matter with you guys? You are taking no JOY in this! We’re Klingons! We fucking LOVE fighting– you guys look miserable!”

That’s what internet dating feels like to me now.  And dating at large. I love dating; I love women, but it’s become just this rote, mercenary thing, you know.  It’s become an assembly line.  Find girl.  Message girl two to three sentences exactly– longer messages and shorter messages get far fewer responses. Fifty per cent of the time they respond, almost always continuing whatever joke I made.  I “cut the thread,” say some other funny thing that is unrelated, and ask for the number. Fifty per cent of the time I get it. Ten minute phone call on the drive home a day later.  Propose a specific plan. A specific bar on a specific night, and the bar is a place close to my house that serves artisanal beers with undetectably but shockingly high alcohol content; three of them will get any girl into the fuck zone.  Go for the makeout on the second cigarette break.  Walk her to her car and ask her to drive me home.  Ask her to come inside.  Get her inside, more making out, more booze, get her into bed, eat her pussy till she gets horny enough to let me put it in unprotected.  She’ll ask if I have condoms; of course I don’t. Continue reading →

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More Molly

20 May

You have the body of a fetal pig soaked in formaldehyde and your teeth are like corn kernels stuck in Play Doh. But I am still completely in love with you.

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