Tag Archives: balls

Reader Mailbag: Do You Need a Muse?

8 Nov
image stolen from calliopepoetryseries.com

image stolen from calliopepoetryseries.com

I need two million dollars so I can fuckin retire. I can make a muse. I could fall in love with a fucking couch cushion. Find a way to think the couch cushion didn’t love me back. The couch cushion is fucking other guys. I’ll never find another couch cushion like her.

Any woman can be a muse. Just like any woman can be a fuck. Just project your self hatred and inadequacy on her. In my Ted Kazcynski dream cabin I could make an elk my muse. Why won’t this elk return my texts.

Every girl I half like is a muse. Because I drive her away with neediness. What I want is: cuddle on the couch. Have babies. Cook fuckin Betty Crocker pork chops. I want to love and care for someone. Women are appalled by this. So no matter where I start—we could be talking about someone who spends money to be near me—I’ll get hung up on her. Afraid she’ll never like me. Afraid I’ll never write again. What made her like me will go away. What will be left. Clark Kent, but ugly. Gray collar small dick office nebbish. My true self.

Morning Diary: A Rich Inner Life

8 Nov

Try to remember the dead can’t hear your thoughts. Try to remember there’s no hell. If there is, you’re not going there for writing on even numbered lines in a notebook. Your mother won’t get in a car crash with her face on fire because you didn’t climb stairs properly. All people must suffer like this. They just don’t talk about it. Most able to put it aside. No one goes through the day having normal thoughts. No thoughts at all. Minds just blank drywall. Everyone grew up picturing swarming heaps of black crustaceans. Centipedes under the table waiting for the edge of a finger to brush them so they can latch on. Crawl up your arms. Armored mandibles strip your flesh down. Not to kill you. Just taking skin so your face looks burned forever. Unimaginable pain over every part of you forever. Everyone thinks this constantly. Or is it just you. Anyway good morning.

To Whom It May Concern,

27 Sep
image stolen from careerealism.com

image stolen from careerealism.com

I’m writing to apply for the (TITLE GOES HERE) position you posted on Craigslist. Per your request, below you will find a detailed cover letter. My resume is also attached.

Or rather, a .pdf of a medium-resolution color portrait of my scrotum is attached, entitled “Delicious Tacos Resume.” Taken during the recent heat wave. Note the varicose veins. Like the back of your eyelids when you blink after lightning. The hairs, uniformly white. Wiry. I trim vigilantly but the brain coral contours of the human sac ensure that I’ll have missed a few. They grow to inordinate lengths. Form elaborate kinks and curls. Take on lint. Chunks of skin. Brown and pink wads stuck to them, hideously dangling. I have the balls of a one hundred twenty year old man, in other words. But rest assured I am of prime working age. Continue reading

Protected: Reader Mailbag: Superpower

13 Jun

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Protected: My Stupid Fucking Ball Sack and its God Damn Demands

1 Mar

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28 Jan

Balls are nature’s greatest mistake.

Your heart, for instance, is obviously an important organ. So what does nature do. It’s behind a wall of muscle and bone, centrally located where much of its work can be done by gravity. Similarly, your stomach is in behind your abs where it would be a real fucking chore to eviscerate you and get it out. Plus all the movement of your midsection helps with peristalsis. This is great engineering.

Notice that neither of these things is hanging off the side of your gut in a veiny membranous sac covered with long gross hairs, and so rich with nerve endings that flicking it with your pinky feels like a shotgun full of rock salt was blasted into you at close range. Neither of these things hangs in a hideous wrinkled little pouch that anyone could lightly tap and it would incapacitate you for hours. Your brain is not dangling six inches off your body on a hot day to the point where in loose pants you could snag it on the corner of the coffee table and kind of feel nothing for a few seconds until suddenly wave after wave of nauseous burning agony washed through your gut and you could literally do nothing but lie curled up groaning on the floor for the several minutes until it went away. So why the fuck does a nut sac exist? Continue reading