OKCupid: What I’m Doing with My Life Part 2

11 Dec
image stolen from movieposters.com

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 →

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Her

11 Dec

She 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 →

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Update

11 Dec
egret

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 →

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Letter to My 20 Year Old Self

1 Dec

It 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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Protected: Diary: I Just Want to Eat Asian Ass Forever

18 Nov

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Fetish

26 Oct
image stolen from bestpaperz.com

image stolen from bestpaperz.com

When I fuck a girl, to stay hard, I have to think about getting her pregnant, moving to the suburbs, having her quit her job, me making enough money for both of us. Having her love me, having us give up this war of dick pussy money. Just live in a house together. Nice yard with trees. Wake up beside her on a fall morning. Watch her while she sleeps. How her hair lies on the pillow. The smell of her neck.

Continue reading →

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Romantic Life

26 Oct
image stolen from en.mercopress.com

image stolen from en.mercopress.com

I take my sponsor’s love advice even though he’s basically an idiot. This OKCupid and Tinder with you; it’s compulsive, he says. Surrender shit to God’s hands and learn to love yourself. Go talk to women in real life. Seek genuine connection, etc. He’s an idiot because he’s good looking and gregarious. What then would he know about women. I spend every second of my inner life gnawing at my own soul and my face looks like it was hit with a shovel. Yet I occasionally get laid. Therefore: genius.

Anyway, I tried it. Turns out there are no women anywhere to talk to. They’ve all been sequestered away somewhere by louder better looking men. They’re all at some house I wasn’t invited to, some party with a pool. When there is one– like, there’s a cute girl at one of the AA meetings I go to. I’ve noticed her a couple times. Young Asian, perfect face, but those weird buck teeth so you think you have a shot. After the serenity prayer I waited patiently on the sidewalk for my chance to talk to her. Finally it came. The instant half a word was out of my mouth another, louder man swooped in and literally grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her toward him and asked her on a date. He was uglier than me, even– or at least, he has no chin; he is stupider than me, less funny than me. But he knew one thing: all men are piranhas swarming on one thumb sized piece of flesh. There are a billion men behind every fucking bush and forget waiting for your shot. Coming up with the right shit to say. You won’t get an instant of a woman’s time. You better make an instant, and when you do you better pull the trigger.

She said no. She was embarrassed and scared. He didn’t get his date but what he did was enough to blow it for me. Me and my long setup, show how funny I am, and then subtly, subtly over weeks build something up. I’m left standing there like a douche knowing I’m just like him. A difference of degree not type.

Anyway: her loss.

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Manic Pixie Dream Girl

19 Oct
image stolen from nymag.com

image stolen from nymag.com

Here’s the whole fantasy. You are at the doctor’s office. Or at work. There is a pretty young woman there. That alone: fantastical. She is not looking at her phone, grunting cruelly at some other guy’s text. She does not have a boyfriend. She looks at you. You are not invisible to her. Not innately puke-inducing like a silverfish found in her panty drawer, hauling its unwieldy H.R. Giger chitin sperm casing between wispy twitchy legs and trailing a six inch smear of dust and hair from under the refrigerator. An attractive woman a) exists in the same place as you b) acknowledges you. c) does not recoil and cry out for some other guy, her boyfriend, to come kill you with a magazine while she hides her eyes, and later she’ll tell the story of the ugly silverfish in her drawer to her colleagues, wail on facebook, make an accusing phone call to her landlady.

A pretty girl who does not have a boyfriend a) exists, and b) thinks things, and says them; she speaks and then you are having a two sided conversation. Not just you digging into the terrified cavernous emptiness of your adrenalized OH FUCK A PRETTY GIRL head for a perfect thing to say, voice cracking like Peter fucking Brady, flailing to drag it out past her first sentence when it becomes clear she never thinks about anything. Or if she does, it’s dogs, or astrology. She talks to you and wants to know you and plays you some nice music and you keep hanging out and between now and when she becomes your girlfriend none of the fifteen billion other men on Earth get in her face with a better proposition, and suddenly your texts go unreturned for long painful eons, and the desperate agony makes you repulsive to her like a gangrenous wound. To her, and all other women.

Every day you are a worm dying on the sidewalk after the rain. The Manic Pixie Dream Girl picks you up and tosses you back on the grass. She’ll leave you. That’s part of the trope. But all you needed was just once, a nice pretty girl talks to you somewhere. You got a better shot at crapping out the crown jewels.

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A Tinder™ Success Story

14 Sep

That Puerto Rican girl Cynthia. Perfect tits perfect ass near perfect face. I don’t remember if she had a perfect pussy but I remember after I came too fast the first time she got me hard again in five minutes by sucking me off and doing some weird trick with my balls. Kind of reaching through my sack and fiddling with something the way you would reattach a hose on a car engine and I got stiff like a reflex. The first time was for me, telling her to go slow, go slow, then blasting in her in two minutes when she was on top. Second time was for her, doggy style shoving her face in the pillow so she couldn’t breath and then letting her up and yanking a fistful of ponytail back, pulling her ass back into me, choking her, pounding her like a jackrabbit. Not my thing but it got her off. She’d been to Japan, she said. It’s so safe people sleep on the street. All their weird sex stuff is because there’s no connection between people sexually. It’s about the individual’s fantasy. E.g. you wrap me in saran wrap and tickle under my nose with fifteen year old girls sweaty panties while I shit myself. Really interesting stuff, she said. Why didn’t I call her– she was pretty smart too, and had her shit together. It was because she wouldn’t kiss me at first. She’d only kiss when she got really hot. Before that she would just nibble on your lip a little and then pull her head back and laugh. It takes all kinds.

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Protected: Weekend Journal: Will You Still Love Me

14 Sep

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