Wednesday, April 27, 2005

i'm sorry

That I haven't been posting. I just have nothing substantive to say. Lately I've been trying to lose weight. And I've been succeeding like a motherfucker-- i lost 20 lbs in 3 months; I'm ripped as fuck. But a consequence is that for most of the day I'm in a surly, hypoglycemic daze... I saw a random picture of a "cookie cake*" on the internet today and I swear it was like looking at the hottest porn I've ever seen. I think about a warm, glazed Krispy Kreme chocolate doughnut and it almost makes my dick hard... and so I can't write anymore. I can't think anymore... I just want chocolate and pastries.

I'll never make fun of fat chicks again... I can understand now. Seriously, I would rather eat a cupcake than fuck a chick.

* two gigantic cookies sandwiching a layer of icing, topped by more icing.

Sunday, April 17, 2005

watch me fuck up

All right, so I haven't written anything in a couple weeks and it's because I've been happy. I got laid. I fucked an extremely hot chick, this girl *******, Courtney's friend. She's an actress. She was on Passions and The Young and the Restless. That's how hot she is.*

So, not having been miserable I've not been inspired. But now I'm back at my desk because things are back to normal.

I'm miserable again. I'm miserable because I'm very excited about this girl and I know I'm going to fuck it up. I'm going to fuck it up by being miserable about knowing that I'm going to fuck it up, and then after my being miserable goes ahead and fucks it up I'm going to be even more miserable. Probably more miserable than when I started.

Also, I have a canker sore.

Holy fucking goddamn shit-- this girl is fantastic. But when I'm with her, anticipating that I'm going to fuck it up somehow, I try to concentrate on the unattractive things about her so when I lose her it won't seem so bad in retrospect . For instance, *(potentially inflammatory sentiments omitted)*.

But whatever, it all amounts to nothing because she's just one of those people that has perfect bone structure and is just generally well-built and there's not much she could do to blow it. And she likes me! We have a great time! She must have been abused or molested or something because if she had any real gage of how attractive she is she would want to find another extremely good-looking, charming person and date them. Or at least somebody not so self-sabotagingly, self-referentially insecure.

Hang on a second, I have to go rinse my mouth with warm salt water...

The problem with this canker sore: so my aforementioned diet and exercise program has actually been working like a motherfucker and has given me nice sunken cheeks. But the sore is on the inside of one cheek and it makes that side all inflamed and swollen, thus reducing its sunken-ness and further creating this almost imperceptible but definitely real kind of lumpy asymmetry in my face. And I have to see this chick tonight. I have to call her soon, in fact, and I'm afraid to because even though when we're actually together I have-- honestly-- some of the greatest fucking times I have ever had in my life, and what's more I think it's actually fully reciprocated-- our phone conversations are horrible. Just unbelievably stupid and awkward, each person's insecurities forcing them to act unnatural and weird and not wanting to fuck up and then "candidly" admitting said insecurities in ways that don't let off the pressure but rather only make you more insecure.

But man-- that first night, in the hot tub at Courtney's mom's house-- a cool wind blowing, ripping through that crazy rose garden , that sixty-foot tall bamboo whipping around, hissing... down on the beach at night just making out on the shore for like hours-- incredible. Just incredible. I was thrilled to be alive.

*Look, don't go IMDB her or anything; they were bit parts.

Monday, April 04, 2005

junkie fiancée memory # 1

The first time she told me she was pregnant she was just making it up. Chicks do that, I guess, just to fuck with you. But the second time I saw the little blue pee-stick in the trash and I knew the shitstorm was coming. In no way did being pregnant slow down her vodka and opiate-consuming needs-- on the contrary, the stress of the situation made her want to take more. We would be fucking, she on top of me on a little-- you know those fucking chair-mattress things, in our friends' guest bedroom, and suddenly some combination of pills and hormones would kick in and she'd start mumbling and crying, talking about how much she loved me and needed me, and if I ever went away she'd kill herself. Then she'd get a wild look in her eye, piss herself (on my cock,) and pass out on top of me. When she passed out suddenly it was like a corpse-- there was no way you were getting her up again. She would piss the bed every night-- we were staying with a bunch of friends (even though we both had perfectly viable apartments,) and she would kind of moan and burble and it would spout out of her while she slept. You couldn't wake her up. Every night I would have to just roll over the corpse, rip the sheets out from under her and drag them down to the basement laundry as the urine on my pajamas cooled against my skin.

it ain't all bad

I know I bitch a lot, but I'm not a fucking ingrate. Some things I am grateful for:

I do not have adult acne.
I do not have genital warts.
I do not have a two inch penis.
I am not in prison. In fact, despite my many crimes,* I have never been arrested.
In both cases (to my knowledge) where I impregnated someone, the zygote was dispensed with in a timely manner.
Whoever you are, there is pretty much a one in one chance that I am smarter than you.**
While I am not good-looking, I am not so bad-looking that it becomes a handicap. In other words, through the use of charm on the few occasions when I've had it, I've been able to surmount my slightly weird looks to have sex with women much more attractive than myself.
I am not dead of a drug overdose.
Out of the many occasions where I've seriously contemplated suicide, none have come to fruition.
Most mornings I am capable of having a fulfilling, structurally sound bowel movement before I shower.
I am not a woman.
I was never molested.
While I am suicidally despondent at all times about my social, romantic, creative, and professional prospects I often enjoy the scent of a flower or the plumage on a bird, pretty clouds, etc.
I've been a smarmy fuck for decades without once getting my ass kicked for it.

* Including but not limited to: statutory rape (come on, what a fucking bullshit crime anyway,) possession of (way) more than 10 grams of cocaine with intent to distribute, posession of fucking , like 500 hits of acid in my fridge with intent to distribute, in fact once I distributed 50 hits to a dude and he ate them all at once right in front of me. He later went out to the park and ascended a stairway that came down from the sun. Manufacture and posession of more than one kilogram of marijuana (another bullshit one because they consider each plant a kilo and I had like three plants) with intent, felony posession of paraphernalia (triple beam scale along with a bunch of little baggies and some coke,) assault and battery, felony destruction of property, propulsion of missiles, terrorist threats, domestic assault (NOT beating a chick, just screaming and shaking her. Beating her would be battery...) posession with intent on pretty much every other drug, including but not limited to heroin, ecstasy, mushrooms, mescaline, klonopin, valium , percoset, percodan, morphine, codeine, oxycontin, vicodin, methamphetamine, dexedrine, GHB, ketamine, rohypnol, etc. etc., theft of... a fucking condom machine***, attempted theft of a parking meter a la Cool Hand Luke which is like, destruction of municipal property or some shit, unauthorized use of explosive devices, DUI of most of the above substances, and fuck, that's a big list but trust me there's some shit I'm forgetting and some shit I'm leaving off.

** Not meant as an insult, but come on, it's fucking true.

*** By kicking it off the wall; it took twenty minutes. We were hammered.

Sunday, April 03, 2005

mysis relicta

I'm horny and I would like to beat off, but I can't. The reason is-- I buy these special shrimp for my fish. They come in a huge frozen block and I have to saw off one little chunk for them at a time. Today I figured I would cut up a bunch all at once, since it's a pain in the ass, and put them in a ziploc bag for future use. The shrimp smell awful, like rotten clams, ands it's that oily kind of smell, like garlic and onions have, that doesn't come off you even after washing. The best you can do is kind of cover it up.

So I cut up a bunch of shrimp cubes. And then, retard that I am, I went into the bathroom and took a piss without thinking-- without washing my hands. The smell was communicated to my penis.

So I'd like to beat off, but I can smell my cock from here. And when I start getting horny, and start picturing the chick who sits next to me at work popping into my cubicle to shine my knob... she gets my pants open and looks up-- appalled, even in the fantasy, at the rotten mollusk-stench.

It's like if you ever brought mussels home from the beach as a kid, and then when you found them in your little pail the next day-- that smell.