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I’m posting old unpublished material to draw page views for my new book Finally, Some Good News.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.
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He lived alone. Every morning the same spider had fallen in the bathtub. An elegant silvery-looking affair. He’d pick her up carefully by three legs (one leg would have just snapped off). Place her by her web in the corner behind the shampoo bottle. Every morning she’d be back twitching by the drain.
One day he fired up the hot water, slipped on the soap and fell with a crack. And there she was. She was a woman now. Tall and elegant in a silvery dress with the mist shrouding her in rainbows. She held him. Stroked his chest with her soft palm while the hot water hissed on the tiles. I’ve traveled a long time, she said. Looking for one small act of kindness. Finally I’ve found you. She bit into his head and began sucking out the juice.
image stolen from elderscrolls.wikia.com
At the Mexican Doctor to get my surgeon referral. For the ass surgery I will need. Telemundo is on and the Copa Mundial is playing. Nigeria versus somebody. There’s a pressboard portrait of Christ on the wall, mounted on an oval piece of burlap, with the Oracion por la Paz. It feels like there’s a swiss army knife in my shitcave and all the blades keep flying open. The corkscrew.
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Will he too have to finger my asshole. What will this accomplish. Someone needs to look. Feel is not enough. Especially with those gloves– maybe he could tell what it is if he went in raw. Yesterday the ER told me it’s a hemorrhoid, which it isn’t. It’s an anorectal abscess. I know from the internet. Sudden onset anal pain that escalates quickly. Coupled with fever and chills. Lethal if left untreated, but lancing provides instant relief.
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is due. Way past due, months. We’re at the two missed calls every hour stage; they come from different numbers. My phone number is 831, from Santa Cruz, and they mix it up lobbing calls at me from 408, San Jose. Their computer thinks I’m in Santa Cruz so therefore I would see a number from a neighboring county and think: that’s legit. I’ll answer, since it’s obviously a person and not a computer from the phone company looking for money. Maybe it’s a chick.
Of course, I’m in L.A. No one in San Jose would ever call me. And I know I owe the phone company money, and I want to pay them; I just don’t have it. Even if they hadn’t sent me emails and texts and paper bills with sternly worded warnings on the inside and IMPORTANT CONFIDENTIAL ACCOUNT INFORMATION on the outside to fool you into thinking there’s some contract change and it’s not just “give us money.” Even if I hadn’t had a previous round of missed calls from 800 numbers and weird area codes; I’m aware that the phone costs money you are supposed to pay every month. I paid them what I had. It wasn’t enough apparently. Continue reading
You gotta understand that the hottest girl of all time is a sixteen year old special needs student with big tits who once sat wet in a white bikini on my uncle’s washing machine. He had a place by a lake; the kids would go there to swim. My aunt drove the special needs school bus in the town of Nottingham, New Hampshire. She rode this bus, so, something was wrong with her, but she seemed normal. She was beautiful. Perfect face. And big tits, bit sixteen year old tits that were still growing, popped out like balloons, a bubble butt that was still growing, a little hair on her pussy but not the pie plate sized tangle of Armenian backthatch that God sees fit to give women in adulthood. A sixteen year old special needs girl. Some kind of ADD or autism or dyslexia before these words were on TV, before they meant a rich kid who fucks up in school, so they just put her with the dumb kids. She was looked down on. The words you used to hurt people were retard and faggot; she rode the retard bus. She was sweet and just wanted somebody to like her. Just wanted somebody to kiss her under the raft, warm skin in cold water, just wanted somebody to touch her. This happened twenty years ago, and not even the part with the kissing, all I did was talk to her. The other kids were laughing at me but I didn’t know why. I didn’t find out she was mentally impaired until after the fact.
I’ve been jerking off to that memory for twenty years. A man’s dream is a woman who is beautiful, but at such a shit station in life that she’ll to talk to him even if he’s nervous. Before he’s a hardened soulless player shuffling through drunken anonymous fucks. You have as much of a shot at finding one as the fat girl does at marrying Justin Bieber.
This is a post about this person.
Adria Richards is not a person. She is a hologram reverse engineered by woman-hating reactionaries to perfectly fulfill every antifeminist nightmare. There is just no way that this human being can really exist.
Or if she does, I salute her canniness. She is the hedgehog who knows one thing: how to latch on to PC self-flagellants with computer money and promote herself without actually doing any work or spreading any knowledge. She is a perfect creature of our time.
She doesn’t deserve death threats, but, as a Developer Evangelist she ought to know that a twitter death threat is as credible as a craigslist ad for free pussy. The guy didn’t deserve to get fired but, who knows. Maybe they just needed an excuse. He mentioned liking his job, which means he sucked at it. If you’re leaving enough on the table to be happy at the end of the day you aren’t a productive worker. Like a wise man once said, what would it take for them to kick Jordan out of the league versus a guy riding the bench?
Between men’s and women’s sex fantasies is this:
If the cheerful 19 year old girl who delivers mail to my office came up to me one afternoon when no one else was around, and said “hey– you want to duck in the supply closet and fuck?” It would be the best day of my life.
If you were sweeping out your stern patrician father’s horse barn in 1895, and a mysterious stranger came in out of a rainstorm, possibly masked, and despite your chaste protestations he brutally ravaged you as the steely eyes of the stallions looked on, it would be the worst day of your life.
delicioustacos 