Tag Archives: racism

Fuck the Future, Burn Your Money

21 May

I need to fail. When good shit happens it hurts. I asked for a raise. Had to wait two months to know. The whole time thinking don’t freak out. God remove my obsession with money. God let me just show up and be of service. God remove outcome dependence. Let me be patient. But that’s not how it works. Continue reading

Protected: Train Diary: Those People

2 Aug

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Reader Mailbag: Are You Dead or Something?

11 Oct

My 4 fans ask:

How come you haven’t posted in so long– did you die?

No, I just took a week off.

It was just such a weird week that I didn’t even beat off.  Or I did, but less than usual.  I have beat off just about every day for the past 26 years, but this week– the car was dead; I would have to take the bus home.  The 218 half an hour over Laurel Canyon, drop off at Sunset and Crescent Heights, wait half an hour for the 2– not the 302, which Google Maps had assured me in its public transit directions would pick me up and take me home toute fucking suite— the 2.  Because the 302, which is the bus that comes by two minutes after the 218 reaches Sunset and Crescent Heights, that one will just blow right by you as you stand hanging half off the sidewalk holding your briefcase like a jerkoff in a whirlwind of leaves and wrappers stirred up by the 302 and you’ll swear that the driver had a malicious gleam in his eye. Black guy.  I assume he’s thinking “Haha! Fuck you, cracker!” as he deliberately ignores my stop.  In reality, he’s thinking “Haha! Fuck you cracker!” As he goes about his prescribed route which does not include my stop.  Go ahead and think “fuck you, cracker,” by the way, black people.  None of us care. Continue reading

Protected: Racism

24 Jul

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Kenny Rogers, the Dog

29 May

We found a dog in the park.  Me and Nikol, and this other girl.  Walking in the middle of Elysian Park on this long dirt road, we saw in the distance what looked like a gigantic coyote or a small bear stumbling drunkenly around, digging up shit, and eating sticks.  Getting closer it was just a huge German shepherd. Little beat up but a handsome beast, and with a collar on, so we figured some jerkoff would come jogging up the road behind his Gestapo enforcement dog that he’d let roam free in a public space frequented by small children.

But no.  No one came.  And getting a closer look at the dog he’d been fucked up by something.  Patches of fur falling off, walking funny, and the top half of both ears were missing.  Like he’d tangled with something that had bitten them off; they were just lumpy black skin scabbed over. Continue reading