Tags: hamburgers, legendary crusher of teen pussy alan thicke, underage ass
These Kids Today
10 Dec
I met a girl at a party and took her to my car to make out. Choke me, she said. I was parked on a well lit public street. Even better. Get her topless and clamp her neck between my arms; she is excited that a cop might drive by. Nowadays every girl under 25 is a cenobite. They want to be choked, hit, fake raped. They want to lacerate you with sharp nails, scratch at your nipples, bite your bottom lip and draw blood. They all squirt. Ten years ago nobody squirted. It just didn’t exist. Now everybody squirts. Everybody deep throats. Everybody’s into BDSM. She’s a sub telling you on the first date that she needs a forearm in the throat to cum. Or she’s a “pro domme.” No such thing as an amateur domme. Dommes all get paid. Continue reading
Seasonal Affective Disorder
27 Nov
image stolen from thomas “the pussycrusher” kinkade
It’s the light that gets me. Dark at 4:30. I just want to drink and sleep. You try to go outside but it’s cold and all the girls walking around have big sweaters on. No more yoga pants. Why go outside if you won’t see a fully defined pubic mound, the mathematically perfect curve of an ass crack jiggling. What’s the point.
Drink and sleep. Your hormones crash. Go to the gym and your strength has fallen off a cliff. Creaky joints. Every movement grates like bone on bone. I believe I tore my rotator cuff. This is another way of saying: my shoulder hurts. “Rotator cuff” is the only piece of shoulder anatomy I know the name of. Therefore I tore my rotator cuff. No heavy bench press, no heavy military. I now have the upper body of Barbie without the tits. It hurts when I hold the bar to dead lift. It hurts when I support the bar to squat. It hurts when I do a pullup. Continue reading
Tomorrow is Another Day
15 Nov
image stolen from vosizneias.com
(This is a selection from my book Hot Naked Tits, which you can buy here.)
Yesterday was gonna be the day I stopped drinking. But I got stuck in traffic. Tanker truck caught on fire on the 60 freeway. It was carrying liquid hydrogen. Hindenburg. All lanes closed in both directions.
I don’t take the 60 freeway, but everyone who does jumped on my freeway of choice, the 10 East. It was my day to stop drinking. For the first hour I took it. Stuck with the plan. But I’d been driving all day. It got dark on the road. The radio just kept telling me about the horrible traffic conditions I was in, every channel. Defeatist messages. Folks, it’s gonna be bad out there for a while. As we’ve been reporting the 60 is closed. Of course you have your alternate routes, the 10 and the 210. But those are stacked up now too from downtown past Azusa. There’s a ripple effect going on here folks. The 605 and 710 are a sea of red. The 101 is stop and go through downtown past Hollywood. And the 5 is on fire, the commuters have begun torching their cars and eating passengers’ flesh. Trees blackened. No life left in the hills except one sinister looking cactus. Starved crows circling. If you’re an alcoholic, you’re gonna want to drink extra liquor tonight to power through the sensations you’re gonna be feeling for the next several hours. I am speaking directly to you, Delicious Tacos, the announcer said. You are an idiot for wanting to stop drinking. Why would you torture yourself further. Think of that first drink. The one that makes this all go away. Continue reading
Unemployment Diary: Things Fall Apart
20 Oct
image stolen from burrard-lucas.com
AAAAHHH money money money money money. Relax. You have enough to pay the credit card bill. OKCupid coaching will pay enough to register the car. Unemployment will come through. You can bill work for leads. Everything will be fine. Except it won’t because you have no god damn money. You have no god damn money. Your credit is destroyed and there is no way you will get a job, ever. Ever. You worked beneath your talents for eight years and this is what it got you. Nothing. You saved nothing, learned nothing. You were miserable for nothing. Now you are miserable for less than nothing.
Let me say this again: there are no jobs out there. Back in Spring when I didn’t want to work, I still dutifully applied. I applied for jobs for which I am fully qualified, overqualified. I took care on my resume and cover letter. I have hired people; I know to keep it short. Nothing. I had one interview, a group interview. A Beverly Hills residential Realtor™, a white man the color of an Irish Setter, made 20 of us complete 2 hours worth of tasks that simulated being his assistant. Other than that it was finance scams. One interview– no, one group bake-off– for over a hundred resumes. And I’m good. Continue reading
Financial Leaders of the Future
16 Oct
This woman is never going to come through with the money. The check with the funds was returned to her client, she says. It was money to turn my apartment into a Home Office. Insufficient address. It will be re-sent to me today by UPS or Fedex. The sufficient address was on my resume. The sufficient address was presented clearly in the body of an email. But the check was returned. How long until they ask for my bank account. I give it two days. I know you prefer to be paid by check. But in the interest of time can we send a Western Union money transfer. Can we wire it directly to your account. We will need your routing number, account number, online banking password, and Social Security number. Her English is out of Google Translate. She is in Thailand for eight weeks teaching a seminar. She is a portrait photographer. I am unaware of a market for eight week portrait photography seminars in Thailand, but– what if. She offered me the job. The unemployment claim form says: did you REFUSE any work? Continue reading
The Internet
13 Oct
image stolen from thegailygrind.com
Our generation’s Van Gogh will never flower. He has to work sixty hours a week. Photoshop retarded bug eyed cats so they’re looking at Miley Cyrus.
Alice Munro won the Nobel Prize this week. Our generation’s Alice Munro captions sassy GIF’s for Buzzfeed. Lucille Bluth shakes her head flamboyantly. Makes some kind of “no” gesture. She is reacting to Miley Cyrus. Our Mark Twain writes for Gawker. Commentary about Vice’s commentary about The Atlantic’s original opinion about What Miley Cyrus Means for Our Times. Gawker’s angle is that the Vice one is racist. The comments go down and down and down. Click to see 87 more replies. Black people and white people saying why they hate each other. Women’s Studies majors shocked and indignant. People reacting to an 800 word GIF-laden throwaway like the guy who covered the Hindenberg. Continue reading
Reader Mailbag: How to Get Pussy on OKCupid
6 Oct“Crom” writes:
Since it seems you’ve banged a ridiculous amount of women from OKC, would it be possible for you to drop a datasheet/guide on OKC from opener-bang?
Or at least, yoda, just help this young man along, mentor him and pass on your legacy? HAHA
because I get many profiles views, replies, and numbers but I have a hard time turning that into dates. I know all the basic logistical shit and I’m not new to game. can you show me a screencap/transcript of how you play things?
I typically have decent openers, but the replies from women are so banal or the profiles are bare and generic, I have very little to work with. How do go from opener>chatting>IRL meeting. I’m getting phone numbers but having difficulty with getting meet ups.
You’re probably sick of jackasses like me asking you things like this so I understand. >_>
Don’t listen to me. I know nothing. I’ve blown more easy ass than I’ve gotten. What I do get doesn’t make me happy. My OKCupid tricks will not help anybody. The short version is: be me. Then go on a date and behave like me. I am over six feet tall, white*, and not ugly. I am a hilarious genius. Fuck off if you don’t think so. The way to get pussy on OKCupid is to be a tall, not ugly, hilarious genius.
Then again I’m broke as shit and a filthy alcoholic pervert. I make this known. Reading my profile, you can almost smell my broken, hissing toilet. See the house centipede as long as a dollar bill gnawing a fresh log of tuna fish shit in my cat’s litter box. You read my profile and you know that there’s a half empty flour sack sitting torn open in the back of my cupboard, swarming with weevils. I come out and say it: I want to have filthy unprotected gutter sex on our first date and then never speak again. I still get laid. The women are often wonderful. So maybe there’s something to it. Continue reading
New Book
delicioustacos 