Diary: Going to a Baby Shower
22 DecMaybe I’ll meet someone at the baby shower. This is the sort of shit my sponsor would tell me to look for women at. The sort of shit that normal men, men who talk like sitcom dialogue, would tell me to meet women at. “That sort of shit drives chicks NUTS, man,” says a balding potbellied actuary who has never fucked a woman after a baby shower. These will be normal girls, accomplished girls with a slight artistic bent who dress well and are friends of friends. That’s how Brown University Mini Cooper driving girls over 28 get their dick– friends introducing them. You should meet Jake, he hang glides and has a great job. My friends, all the girls they know are ugly. Or my friends who know hot girls never invite me places. Why would you.
The girls at the baby shower have boyfriends. Probably someone they met at a previous baby shower. Whatever, just go and congratulate these people on their stupid baby. I want to have kids some day but god help me I don’t want to have a stupid baby shower. I have to bring a stupid baby picture of myself so they can project it on the wall and play a guessing game. Which adult is which baby. God, they will think– what the fuck happened to his face. Wonder if I have one in a drawer somewhere. No, just some diaper fetish hooker’s business card.
Diary: I Hate Women and God
16 Dec
image stolen from wikipedia
I hate my first ex who broke my heart. I hate the girl I lost my virginity to, for then telling me she had a boyfriend. I hate my mother for teaching me to respect women. I hate capitalism. Every job I ever had made me so I could have money to get women. Money isn’t so I can eat, sleep in a building, etc. It’s for women. Jobs aren’t even for money. You just have to have one because women ask: what do you do. Continue reading
Diary: Worst Case Scenario
15 Dec
Aythya collaris
Let’s assume I never get laid again as long as I live. What happens. I have no children. Fine. I die alone. Fine. Age slowly, rot; disease, brain turned to mush. I forget who or what I am. Trapped in a state nursing home. Surly orderlies snap my arthritic fingers to get my rings. Shitting myself, fed from a tube jammed in my throat, no one to hold my hand as the pain takes forever to kill me. Each instant containing lifetimes. OK– this exercise was supposed to end in “that doesn’t sound so bad.” Fuck.
Try to hang myself but my bony arthritic hands can’t tie a knot. Wallowing in weeping sores in a hospital bed; I roll out and try to aim my head at the floor but it only breaks my face, my pelvis, thick needles ripping out of my arms…. you lose your ability to move but not your ability to feel… Jesus Christ. A friend from the past shows up; I mutely plead to be smothered with a pillow. He just kicks me in the nuts.
Only way to avoid this is to have kids. Only way to make kids is to get some ass. Right back where we started. Continue reading
OKCupid: What I’m Doing with My Life Part 2
11 Dec
image stolen from movieposters.com
I was unemployed for a while. Now I’m a gray corporate worm. I have a 401(k). I wear loafers. I use Powerpoint; Excel. Advanced proficiency in Microsoft Office Suite.
I’m in a small branch office of a large corporation. We share a bathroom. This means that the 4 times a day I piss, which should be a respite– 3 of those 4 times a man from another company will piss next to me. Often it’s a particular bear of a man. Six foot eight, fat, bearded, sweat along his widow’s peak from walking to the restroom. There are 2 urinals. I must stand right by him. The heat from his fat arms noticeable. One side of my face hotter. Unbuckle my reversible genuine leather belt, black on one side brown on the other. Unclasp my pressed business slacks which have a metal tab as well as a button. Withdraw my penis. Which had begun to recoil, already, upon seeing this man from 50 feet down the hall as he keyed in the bathroom door code. By the time I get it out it’s a shrunken acorn head. The other man is slow with his pants. He has only now released his member as he’s heard me keying in the code. His penis too has recoiled. Continue reading
Her
11 DecShe had a flappy pussy and her face was like a baby bird. Her teeth. The incisors pinched in. Modern people have too many teeth for the jaw. We’re meant to lose them. Get clocked by some other proto-hominid or drop one gnawing a hyena bone. The teeth get crowded; some of them fold in and go half sideways. With her it was the incisors. She let the cat in the bedroom when we fucked. She wasn’t that funny. She was on hormonal birth control and never felt anything. I love her I miss her. She is a cunt with no soul. Come back to me.
She was a yuppie whose job was her life; she was hired by an old perv to be a hot woman and her hotness was waning; she had good skin but you found out later it was because she sandblasted it; you caught her talking once with a coven of other girls about Retin-A, abrasives, lotions you have to get from overseas. She would come in in the morning and her face smelled like fruit. She was always putting something on her face, trying to hold it back.
She had a funny ass and she wore stupid pants and you were so unsure of yourself you could never relax around her. She was a cunt with no soul and come back to me come back to me. Come back to me. Continue reading
Update
11 Dec
A great egret, unruffled by nearby American coots
Monday was a bad day. Because Sunday I went out with a pretty girl. She didn’t like me. Tame date at the duck pond; I’m trying to not get girls sauced and rawdog them on our first meeting. I’m old now. I want a wife. I spread out my blanket and she sat turned slightly away from me and I knew. I learned about girls’ body language cues from PUA message boards. I used to read that stuff all the time. Had to leave because of the politics. Misogynists are wrong about everything, except women.
She didn’t like me and she took off. I spent a few minutes on Tinder desperately trying to call in the second string. I failed. When something like this happens I start to think I’m a malodorous mutant who will die alone of some crippling illness. In this case, early onset Alzheimer’s since that Julianne Moore trailer came out. That lasted 36 hours.
Tuesday was a good day. I got fired. My company merged with another company, or bought some piece of them, or they bought some piece of us. That meant they needed to cut a bunch of people. One of them was my boss. That meant another one was me. Continue reading
Letter to My 20 Year Old Self
1 DecIt never ends. Just so you know. You’re almost forty now. Yesterday you nearly cried as you unfriended a college girl on facebook.* She wasn’t returning your texts.** She had a toad face and she was a shitty poet but she was the last girl who will ever like you. You still masturbate ten times a day and then go out and look at girls like they’re the last clean water after the nukes hit. They look at you like you’re an insect. It never ends. Text a girl to confirm a date and only then does she tell you OMG*** I’m stuck at work! Her friend has a concert she forgot about, or some shit, and you still think: I will be stupid and awkward and ugly forever. Or if the planets line up and you get her back to your house, you come too fast. Still.
You’ll be a hundred twenty years old getting sad from dumb girls on OKCupid.**** You could be Emperor of the planet with a fifteen inch dick and you’d still be ugly in the mirror. You depend on woman for happiness and woman is a treacherous beast. But what else are you going to reach for. Job, money, a nice hairstyle– all bullshit. There’s nothing but girls and girls are cunts from having it too easy, until they get old and turn invisible. It’s still like this 20 years later. On the plus side you’re not bald.
* an internet rolodex
** email you send on your phone
*** “omigod” abbreviated. People often abbreviate in texts.
**** personal ads on the internet
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