I saw a rock that looked like a piece of liver. Went to pick it up. It pulsated. Some kind of sea slug. Weird, naked and vulnerable. Squirmy limbs like tree fungus uncurling from it. A foot away the waves. I should throw it back, I thought. But what if it wanted to beach itself. Maybe it has its reasons.
I let it go. The tide was rising. Maybe it died in agony wishing I’d thrown it back. Maybe it lived, wishing I’d killed it.
This post is fiction.
IT’S MY FUCKING BIRTHDAY. 43 years old. A Tuesday. Work at 8AM. OK. Continue reading
This post is fictional.
**
Jeni
I like your profile, said Jeni. And I (he looked at it) like yours, he wrote.
It said, three times:
!!!NO FLAKES!!!
Would you like to meet at Sunset Beer, he said. She said see you there
He put on his best clothes. Walked to the bar. Opened a tab.
She never came. Continue reading
About to turn five years sober. Found this journal entry. From right before I stopped drinking. Continue reading
Second time I woke up and the deadbolt was locked, with no memory of it, and no sense memory of turning it. The distinctive brushed bronze. Was the back deadbolt locked. This would have been definitive proof that I locked it myself, right?
Unless someone with the keys did it. Continue reading
it doesn’t matter if your book sells today or ever– you fucking did your best. It’s all you can do. If it sucks, if it fails– you got up there. You got in the ring. If a huge guy threw right cross left hook combinations into you repeatedly doing severe permanent cosmetic and brain damage and had a much better physique because he’s black and everyone, millions and millions of people laughed at your backfat on TV… if you fell over backwards, hit your head hard, again, the ref pulled off your pants and put peanut butter on your dick and a dog started licking it and this image went viral… and it was cold so your dick looked small too– it doesn’t matter. You took your shot. You’re a– well not quite a champion. A champion would be the guy who won. Whose book outsold Sweet Alien Savage: Zerconian Sex Warriors Book 4 in its Amazon category… but you’re a guy... a guy who stood in a ring, and took his shot, and failed, publicly, and you suck and everyone hates you, and you’re ugly. Thank God I get laid.
Image: Aesthetic Dentistry of Charlottesville
He got in a long distance relationship with a rich girl who lived in Canada. They would Skype and she’d push her middle finger in her asshole while her other hand held her phone. Talking calmly to her mom. Telling her the ways she was cleaning up her act. Please send money. She needed this to get off. For him, her asshole was enough.
I’m posting old unpublished material to draw page views for my new novel Finally, Some Good News.
My mom got into genealogy. So did your mom. Older women love genealogy the way actresses love astrology. Whereas men know your great grandmother took a hot load from the blacksmith. Blacksmithed.com. Continue reading
Her father was a speaking in tongues cultist. He had a sugar cane and pig farm in Kentucky. The cane keeps the pigs in. Continue reading
David writes:
…how do you get people to come to your website when they don’t even know your name?
delicioustacos 