I miss you. I miss the smell of your hair. I miss your robust deltoids. I miss your dangling purple giblets. You have the hugest most developed cuntflaps I have ever seen. I miss them, I miss your moans, I miss your squinting eyes when you cum on top of me. I miss the dog licking my cum off the sheets, I miss the smell of the back of your head; I miss your tan, you always had a great tan. I miss you but what are you gonna do. If I got back together with you it’d be the same as before. Already I’m sending you dumb texts and I know they’re bombing. And it crushes me. So I can’t be near you. Can’t talk to you. But I miss you on me. I miss cumming in you. Waking up next to you. I miss your girl who has her shit together expensive white duvet. When you showed me pictures of your sister’s wedding I wanted it to be our wedding. I only want to get famous so you regret kicking me to the curb.
Train Diary: Bike Car
7 Dec
I’m posting old unpublished material to draw page views for my new book Finally, Some Good News.
(2013) Continue reading
Ariana Grande’s Yeasty Taint
6 Dec
Can’t write. But I have to post every day. Why– because I have a new book out. While writing it I stopped posting. When I stopped posting people stopped coming. Page views all time low after all time low, plus blogging in general, reading, collective IQ all headed for the toilet; if I show face, make videos, do people’s podcasts to promote it I’ll get fired.
Diary: The Bloody Eyeball
5 Dec
Yesterday I woke up. Brewed my coffee. Put my milk in my cereal and in my coffee cup while I smoked a cigarette so the cereal would get soft. Smoked my cigarette. Came in. Ate the cereal. Drank the coffee. Took a shit. I was reading the collected works of Ted Kaczynski, which are all true. He’s right about everything. I chewed nicotine gum. Finished my shit. Put some toothpaste on my toothbrush and looked in the mirror to brush my teeth and my eyeball had exploded. Continue reading
Train Diary: Mamacita
4 Dec
Image from youtube user dferg100
I’m posting old unpublished material to draw page views for my new book Finally, Some Good News. This story is entirely fictional, it never happened, and the guy in it is not me. I don’t get horny.
Continue reading
Fuck Cunt Pussy
3 Dec
My new book is out. Need to write a blog post but I blew my kundalini beating off to teen underwear ads. Plus life is pretty good. I could get fired and still have money. Today I went to Target. Bought a welcome mat with a cheerful bird on it. Brushed steel trash can. Nickelplated curtain rods. My new home shaping up. Soon I can play Red Dead Redemption 2 without sun glare making the screen inscrutable. I found a fast horse. She had kicked an NPC to death as he tried to shoe her in a field. Killed the legendary white buffalo and had its skin turned into an outfit I find pleasing. Continue reading
Moving Diary
18 Nov
Stock photo
Maybe today will be the best day of my life but somehow I don’t fucking think so. Have to move. Have to move to a new place I now hate and I just want to fucking relax. Even typing this is a distraction from what I should be doing. The activity I like least in the entire world. Which will be my entire day. And my tomorrow. And my tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. While working. While waiting–while having to follow up on my cover art, my copy edits– OK. I accept that God wants me to be miserable. He wants me to not finish the book. Not sell it. Whatever I want, is what God does not want. God does not want my ass to not hurt. God does not want my eye not to rot. My penis to not fall off. God wants my landlady, who is evil, to have money and happiness, while I languish in obscurity. God wants me to move. Continue reading
This Is What I Believe
10 OctWork is living death. “Job creators” are murderers. America is Satan’s agent in the world, spreading the Antichrist gospel of “work ethic.” It must be annihilated. This is what I believe.
Trump, while fun when irritating people, is just one more Satanic agent pushing jobs, jobs, jobs. Entrepreneurs and hustlers are not human beings. They are demons. Their purpose is to propagate evil.
America treats these malformed creatures as gods. Steve Jobs was an archdemon whose food was human suffering. Bill Gates and his succubus wife Melinda save African children only to one day channel them into psychic pain extractors (schools) to devour powerful waves of anguish. Elon Musk, a retarded boy seduced by a Zulu witch and given unholy powers. Warren Buffett feasts on flagellated fetus fear, wallows in Wall Street worship from his Luciferian temple of false modesty built to defile an Omaha burial ground. Archdevil Maruk Z’huqq-h’r-Bhurrgh, an infernal superorganism psychically conjoined to perpetually starving harpy sisters, innovated the ultimate demonic feeding trough of advertising-based agony. A book that eats faces.
All entrepreneurs and businesspeople, as well as high-level executives and professionals, are not people. Rather they are eager servants of Hell who gorge on human pain. Vomit it mama bird style, in paroxysms of quasi-sexual greed ecstasy, back in the gullet of their beloved master, Satan. There are no exceptions. This is just my opinion.
The Tight Underwear
12 Sep
My new underwear is too tight. If I wear the waistband low it will cut off my femoral arteries. Or the veins that crawl over my hipbones. It will cut off my blood supply. I’ll have to get limbs amputated. I will be retarded. Continue reading
Beat the Dog
11 Aug
I was on the beach. I was “scouting locations” for my book. I needed a house. It belongs to a specific person, I can’t say who. And I read that she lived in this beach town. So I went there and I walked down and down and down the beach past where young teens shivered in the waist high water with their ass cracks devouring their bikini bottoms. To the rich people part of the beach where old men sitting in folding camping chairs glare at you because in their mind this beach is private. And I glared back because I’d be happy to humiliate them in front of their wives and daughters. Stun them with one right cross then drag them out in the surf and hold their head down for about 45 seconds. Let them up for one desperate breath. Then back down again. Repeat repeat repeat. The wife can’t leave to run back in the vacation rental and get the phone to call the cops but she’s not quite prepared for violence either, genetically. She has to puzzle out a right-size piece of driftwood to swing at me with. I got doxed so I won’t tell you what happens to her in this story. She better hope a fuckin dolphin saves her. Continue reading
New Book
delicioustacos 