Thursday, March 30, 2006

that venezuelan girl

was cute, yes, but she had a hideous overbite a la japonaise and it made me think of a rake scraping the top of my penis. bad dentition is a dealbreaker.

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

like waking from a hangover to find a live sturgeon in your bed

yeah, it would suck... its horrible death-thrashing—- its awful, over–pronounced h.r. geiger spine-- its spiky fins and weird plating-- its horrible gills gasping open on views of creepily vulnerable-looking blood-red soft tissue-- its foul-smelling slime trail...

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

salt

“ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost his savour, wherewith shall *it* be salted? it is thenceforth good for nothing, but to be cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men.” matthew 5:13

wherewith shall it be salted? fucking— super salt! celery salt!

hot sauce! i don’t know.

i remember one time i was at my parent’s friends’ house; we were all sleeping over there. this was when i was like six. i was on the couch. they had a new kitten, and when i woke up the kitten was licking my balls. no joke. i asked somebody— why is the kitten doing that? they speculated it was for the salt.

there’s a rustic polish saying: “a kiss without a beard is like an egg without salt.” but i think a kiss *with* a beard would be like performing analingus on an alpaca.

Saturday, March 25, 2006

chicken

do i ever think about the factory-farmed chickens, kept crammed in tiny airless cages with their beaks sawn off and their legs fused into the wire? stewing in their own waste after a force-fed meal of other, pureed chickens? yes. but i still find chicken delicious. it’s like, i can still fuck a chick even though i know she takes shits.

Friday, March 24, 2006

diary 3/23

i forgot to beat off this morning.

shit, man, i better beat off before sophie comes over. you know what? i’m actually putting “beat off” in my schedule for 7:30 so my cell phone will buzz and remind me.

goddamn.. my fucking computer... my puny hard drive, packed to the gills so i can’t get any new porn. these porns i have now are completely fucking spent. i have beat off to every scene ten thousand times, even the scabby chicks i saved for last. even the awful extended dp’s with the lube-shiny nuts waving in my face, the oddly infantile-looking genitals… the awkward male buttocks winking in and out of the camera... the woman’s mole-covered unbleached asshole gaping unintentionally, making me flash back to my colonoscopy... even those scenes. but i only have space for two movies and to find the two good ones i have to download twenty. i’m afraid to get rid of these ones because i may have to get a quick emergency jerk before a party.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

the best artificial vagina ever

take an officially sanctioned NFL™ novelty oversize puffy laced slipper with the colors of your team of choice. loosen the laces and insert a Ziploc™ bag filed with 98.6 degree water. wrap the whole thing tightly in a trash bag, shaping the padded outer rim so it forms a vulvoid canal opening, and then lube it up and fuck it. not to be crude.

salad

i was eating salads every day at the height of my male anorexia. i thought that salads were this kind of calorie-free bulk. on the back of the monster lawn-and-leaf-bag-sized baby greens package it says that one serving has fifteen calories and there are only five servings per bag. with things like that they inflate the serving size so it looks like you get more vitamin a and shit.

so i was eating big salads, but i stopped losing weight. and this is because i was putting two tablespoons of dressing on there— a reasonable amount— but two tablespoons of dressing has as many calories as a hershey bar. and I was putting two cubic inches of chopped cheddar cheese on there— and two cubic inches of chopped cheddar cheese has as many calories as a krispy kreme doughnut. it was like a goddamn horror movie for me when i finally read the calorie counts on the various condiments and trimmings in my fridge. a tiny amount of food would always turn out to have this hellaciously huge amount of calories—like, if you burned a chunk of cheese it should heat your house for the whole winter. it should change the fucking climate.

i go out to the cafeteria, or to any restaurant in Hollywood— and chicks are eating salads. out here in the valley they’re eating things like “taco salads”— a salad served in a tortilla shell with an entire burrito dumped on it. people are eating “chop salads” the size of basketballs with chicken and cheese mixed in, and oily vinaigrette. and this is because they can say “oh, i just had a salad.” girls i used to work with* would eat like an LA-municipal-leaf-recycling-bin-sized salad with an egg on it and cheese, and then say “oh, i shouldn’t eat this cookie, but... i just had a salad for lunch.” salad is like— people who eat salads are like the fat fucks i see sitting next to me in a movie, engrossed in their popcorn. the food is the only reason they went to to the movie, so they could squeeze another whole meal in the day without the honesty with oneself it would require to just sit down and get a full boston market turkey dinner at 3pm.

* fat girls

fun with AIM

(note: "=-0" was originally the AIM open-mouthed "angry/surprised" emoticon)

Justinanon00: B==> =-O <==B
vulkoqq: i ususally use 8's fo the nuts, but it's a personal decision
Justinanon00: I like the effect of one nut being larger and a little saggier... gives it more realism
vulkoqq: yeah, if you could get a cyst on there it would be even better
vulkoqq: actually you make a very good case
vulkoqq: i may switch
Justinanon00: B==>*** (o)(o)
vulkoqq: and again, not to second guess
Justinanon00: Making a cum stream is hard
vulkoqq: but i find that a tilde makes the best ejaculate
vulkoqq: ~ ~ ~
vulkoqq: 8*===> ~ ~ ~
Justinanon00: I'll buy that
Justinanon00: That's a nice looking pair of titties though
vulkoqq: for sure
vulkoqq: i think a real craftsman could make a multi-level piece
vulkoqq: but you'd have too compensate for
vulkoqq: the length of your screen name
vulkoqq: i can never pull it together
Justinanon00: ( * )
vulkoqq: that looks like an ass ready for doggystyle
Justinanon00: I I
Justinanon00: It was until you fucked up my multi level with your shenanigans
vulkoqq: see, i fucked you up
vulkoqq: try again
Justinanon00: ( * )
Justinanon00: II II
vulkoqq: see, it's hard
Justinanon00: Those are legs
vulkoqq: if you were using courier fiont it would be easier
Justinanon00: You keep messing me up
vulkoqq: b/c each character is teh same width
vulkoqq: right, the dream is a whole tableau
vulkoqq: with emoticons for heads
Justinanon00: ^
Justinanon00: I I
Justinanon00: making a penis is hard that way
vulkoqq: dude, te4ll me about it
vulkoqq: ^
vulkoqq: { }
vulkoqq: | |
vulkoqq: | |
vulkoqq: **
Justinanon00: OO
vulkoqq: ****
Justinanon00: shit
vulkoqq: oooh- nice move
Justinanon00: I fucked it yo
Justinanon00: Those were going to be balls
vulkoqq: yeah
vulkoqq: no, i see where you were going
Justinanon00: I'm glad to see we're almost 30 and still doing this shit
vulkoqq: ha
vulkoqq: fuck, beats working
vulkoqq: i'm working from a sketch
vulkoqq: i happened to have a drawing of my penis nearby
vulkoqq: a black velvet painting
Justinanon00: Such a small penis has never been done in the color black
vulkoqq: ha
vulkoqq: i had to project it onto the canvas with a flashlight
Justinanon00: It's like a call to a small, shriveled crime fighter
vulkoqq: ha
vulkoqq: if you shave it, it's liek a slightly smaler crime fighter
vulkoqq: sorry larger
vulkoqq: all right man, i have to take off.
vulkoqq: maybe tomorrow we can discuss proust

dogs

i was thinking about dogs because an ugly person hit on me. and, look, i’m not a fucking model. but this chick was a fucking hideous mutant. she looked like f. murray abraham in a dress*. and she kept calling me asking me to go out to drinks and the only thing that i could think of was the image of my cousin’s old dog masturbating, dragging it’s gleaming, veiny worm-penis across the carpet on its belly— and the dog would look up and make eye contact with you while it was doing this, this kind of sad, mournful eye contact. and it made me think: respect the fucking species barrier, dude. same deal with the ugly. again, i’m not a fucking model, but if you think someone as ugly as you is actually from the same planet as me you have something seriously fucking wrong with you; not just your horrendous middle-aged-man’s face.

also— being in a room alone with an extremely ugly person is like being in a room with a piece of dog shit. you’re always aware of it; you have this weird physical sense of it in your periphery... you can never quite push it out of your mind— this repellent thing, crawling with ugliness like it was a skin disease that could just leap onto you at any time... blecch blechh blechh. so the sense of her ugliness is palpable like a smell. like a fresh piece of dog shit.

thank god i am not that ugly. seriously. thank you, god, for not making me that ugly. it’s like— thank you for not making me a rwandan, or giving me cerebral palsy. thank god for giving me at least enough physical appeal that I can occasionally talk my way into not being laughed out of the room.

*f. murray abraham played salieri, the loser composer from AMADEUS. he was also the guy that got hung out of a helicopter in SCARFACE.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

diary 3/5: birthday party at tokyo delve's

so afterwards there was this fat chick the size of a polar bear kind of shambling around on the sidewalk. i guess it was her birthday, too, because she had one of those conical hats on. except hers was sticking out of the *side* of her head. anyway, she kept kind of slumping halfway out into the street, with the crack of her huge and yet oddly kind of planar ass hanging out, moaning to herself… and none of her friends were stopping her. i thought: maybe i should do something. maybe i should go out and say: you know, if you can’t keep a hat *that has a fucking strap on it* secured to your head properly, maybe you shouldn’t be trying to negotiate traffic. but i didn’t. i just stood there kind of praying that she wouldn’t get cracked and turn the night into one of those weird creepy traumas that keep recurring to you every time you get drunk.

the whole night was a fucking freakshow, though. i had been up for two days on cocaine, and got basically an hour of sleep, but the whole thing with this party was that it was kind of a prix fixe menu of room-temperature sushi for $20, and if i didn’t show the group would have had to absorb my fee, so... so i showed up to this random sushi bar in the valley and all the staff were wearing microphones on their heads but yelled at absolute top volume anyway, right into your ear. like as soon as i walked in they all yelled “HEEEYYYY!!! and immediately i felt like a dog when you turn a hose on it. and there were flashing lights, and more loud noises, and lots of sort of valley-type like salt-of-the-earth overweight people with too much makeup on, there for bachelorette parties or whatever. and fuck— they had, there was like a whole twisted dinner theatre thing where these amusement- park-mascot type actors did a very elaborate reenactment of an old N-Sync video, with eerie accuracy… and fuck, all kinds of other shit… it had this bosch-hell quality, they were playing ratt and shit… and just, they made everybody do the funky chicken— it was nuts.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

a kick in the nuts... of the mind

so-- this weekend... this weekend-- a buddy of mine set me up with a girl. she was very cute, very alluring, and he said she was a wild whore who was "down to fuck." exactly what i need right now.

i was hooking up with her, and she wouldn't let me get at her pussy. she said it was because she had had to have a chunk taken out of her cervix earlier in the week, to be biopsied for cervical cancer. the doctor said no sex.

what the hell do you say to that? i asked her if she wanted to talk about it. she didn't.

this is going to be every week, now. every week a new episode where i come very, very close to boning a powerfully hot girl and then something weird happens.

Friday, March 17, 2006

a year ago

i was boning a soap opera actress.

at least “soap opera actress” is how i always described her to my friends. specifically, i said she was the maid from PASSIONS, who is actually a completely different person. but i told my friends i was fucking that person.

they were really impressed!

a clarification

look-- when i talk about child porn, i don't mean i'm one of those guys boning an eighteen-month-old on a webcam. i'm talking about looking at fourteen-year-old girls who look like phoebe cates in FAST TIMES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH. or the alluringly chubby jennifer jason leigh from same.

small children always look like disease-ridden pink slugs to me.

some topical-ass shit

a man’s servant was shopping in the marketplace in baghdad, when he turned around and saw death standing behind him. naturally, he was scared shitless and nearly jumped out of his skin. the funny thing is-- death appeared shocked and jumped as well.

the man ran home to his master, and begged him to borrow a donkey. why? “i saw death coming for me in the market! i saw him, and he recognized me— and he seemed startled, which was weird. but anyway, i need to get the fuck out of baghdad. i’m going to take this donkey and flee to samarra!”

the master lent the servant the donkey and the servant got the fuck out of there.

later on, the master himself had an errand to run in the market. he, too, saw death there. he approached death and asked: “my servant was terribly frightened by you earlier. i have to ask— why did you appear startled as well?”

“well,” said death, “i recognized the man. and i was shocked to see him in baghdad when we have an appointment this evening in samarra.”

WHAM-O!!!! you weren’t expecting that one, were ya?

Thursday, March 16, 2006

diary from exactly one year ago

whose date affirms that it has now been one year since i last had sexual intercourse:

So this new chick is preoccupied with STD's. After one (awkward) token session with a condom we've been barebacking it every time, and since the first night she's been asking me: You've been tested for everything, right? You're sure, right? To which I say: yes. Of course. I have not had unprotected sex with anyone but a monogamous girlfriend since the last time I got tested for all STD's.

Which is bullshit. I have never been tested for all STD's. I have been tested for HIV exactly once* and since then I have barebacked not only my ex, who it turns out was a huge whore and took tons of unprotected cock just before/while we were dating, but also this other chick who-- well, she was the kind of girl who not only let me fuck her on the first date but responded to my slipping it in unprotected only with a smile, despite not knowing things like my sexual history or last name. Additionally, I have had sex with four prostitutes since then. And despite my buddy Charlie's sage advice-- "don't push it in too deep, dude, you're not trying to impress her" I invariably did. Who knows if it went just a hair past the condom ring?

I got tested for an STD one other time, when I had an ingrown hair on my penis and thought I must have genital warts. They wrapped my penis in an acid-soaked bandage and shined a UV light on it: warts are supposed to turn white, which it didn't. Still, I wouldn't take no for an answer and went back twice, and then once to another clinic, to have the test replicated. It was physically irritating and psychologically horrific but at the time I was so convinced that I must somehow be punished for boning so many sluts that I knew I had VD.

*Which was such a miserable experience of spending two weeks hellishly convinced that I must have AIDS that I'm never getting tested for it again, ever.

how *you* doin'?

i work at a movie studio, answering some guy’s phone for $30,000 a year with no benefits. but one of the cool things about it is i get an executive parking space. i don’t know why, but i do. it’s right next to fucking matt leblanc’s space and like three spaces down from tommy schlamme, who runs (ran) THE WEST WING. some heady shit.

except that every morning when i arrive, always first in the parking lot, there’s some douchebag studio tour with a bunch of man-pig hybrids from the midwest being driven around on a giant golf cart, and some douchebag failed comedian on a megaphone pointing out leblanc’s parking space and office as an item of interest. no joke- his fucking parking space. and then as i’m creaking and muttering out of my car after an hour-and-a-half workout early in the goddamn morning the tour guide has taken to habitually saying— “and here’s matt leblanc's office; you’ll know him as the star of FRIENDS and JOEY, and" (i get out of my car) “look— there he is now!” followed by great chuckling and mirth at the idea that this hideous cracked-nosed freak could possibly be mistaken for the gorgeous matt leblanc. fucking dick.

look

i know these posts suck but i'm just trying to put something up every day. fucking-- whatever, the funniest shit that happens to me i can't talk about because i stupidly chose "vulkoqq" as my IM name, which i had to reveal to my boss. now if he's ever bored and googles the word to find out what the fuck it means he'll know that i do a lot of coke and occasionally check out child porn.

but he's a great boss! how ya' doin'?

cafe tropical

from what I gather, there wasn’t much to che to begin with other than he looked good on a t-shirt. that and he killed a bunch of people. i read the malick script about him hoping to get some insight but it was basically another malick script—people hung out in the wilderness; there were some trees, and caves— people philosophized in voice-over about being, and god. it was very pleasant to read but i still have no idea who the fuck che was. i just see him on stickers and clothing in hip neighborhoods; basically he’s the new andre the giant.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

monday

one of the good things about having few friends, no drugs in your house, and no girlfriend is that monday isn’t that bad. my weekend is getting up too early, taking a shit, working out like a fucking convict and then sitting on the internet. just like i would on a workday. the only difference is i can’t beat off here, and that’s more than offset by having things that distract me from the fact that I have few friends, no drugs in my house, and no girlfriend.

another good thing about monday is that it’s extremely unlikely that i will come into the office and there will be a ridiculously hot chick here, wanting to get fucked, only I can’t get an erection.

because that would really suck.

Friday, March 10, 2006

as i was passing out

after she had gone home, i was laying in bed and i got all horny and started getting wood.

and i almost punched my dick. i was like: *now* you want to get hard?

whatever— this was not the first time this has happened. as a former cocaine addict, it’s more like the 10,000th time. but still.

roasting a chicken

for years people used to tell me about that whole technique where you roast a chicken breast side *down* until the last twenty minutes, then crank the heat up and flip it over. i was like “yeah, yeah— bullshit.”

but i’m here to tell you that it fucking *works!* that chicken was juicy as hell *and* had crispy skin.

i just cannot believe-- i could have fucked the hottest chick ever and i couldn’t get it up. oh my fucking god dude.

and there you have it

so yeah, basically, i had the opportunity to have sex with an incredibly gorgeous girl over whom i’d been obsessing for days, and then could not get an erection.

i am still having trouble wrapping my mind around this.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

trees

fuck. trees.

fuck fuck fuck. goddammit, I really fucking need to get laid. how are you going to get me laid, trees? with your bark, and your sap—how are these things—will you come to life, trees, and fuck me? will I be able to take my tree-woman around town, showing her off to all my friends? will I go into the forest and it turns into a writhing sea of hoes, all clamoring for my love, but then I wake up naked and my genitals are raw from bark-scraping and the whole thing was just a hallucination?

trees! of what use are trees, and their oxygen-making? if it’s not pussy I don’t want to hear about it.

Monday, March 06, 2006

wrath of the kraken: someone tell that kraken to chill the fuck out

it keeps boiling up out of the water, latching onto our ships and just shaking the shit out of them for no reason, cracking them in half... why? seriously, by weight these ships are about 95% wood and 5% food. whereas in the deep ocean, its *natural habitat,* you can’t throw a rock without hitting six delicious whales or groupers or whale sharks or some other shit that Jacques Cousteau would describe as “a serene, peaceful emperor of the sea...” meaning it can’t even *fight back.* eating a ship would be like trying to make an entire dinner out of a brazil nut. but you know-- you just can't *reason* with this kraken.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

indiana jones and the temple of fuck you

Is it like this for other people, too? Is it like building the fucking pyramids just to get out of bed in the goddamn morning? Is every little- like, is not being able to take a shit properly and on time a concern of such hideous consequence that you’re emotionally shattered if you don’t excrete enough mass to bring your weight down to the rosiest possible representation on the scale? Yeah, is it like this for everybody else— in which case every single human being on the planet is so miserable over the tinest most mundane things at all times that they have to seriously contemplate suicide several times per hour? Or am I the only one? Either way, it's mind-blowing.

nuttier than squirrel shit # 3

I still think people can read my thoughts. I still think, I mean, I used to have this problem that I would feel like people could read— not thoughts that *I * was having per se but things this “other” being would kind of project in *my* mental voice, and then other people would be able to hear those things, and think that I thought them. of course they would be the most offensive, hurtful things possible, and then I would imagine and get this pang of pain over the person’s reaction, their hurt feelings... thinking I had thought those things. It would happen constantly.

Friday, March 03, 2006

on the farm

it would suck to do cocaine on a farm. because at that exact moment when the sun was coming up, and you realized that you'd stayed up too long having the same bullshit conversation, that your weekend was fucked and your life was going nowhere... at that exact moment, the fucking rooster would go off, compounding your angst.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

diary 3/2/06

so, I just walked by what must have been that chick (name omitted)... and she was *hot*, and she was lugging this big bin of recycling out; and I should have stopped to help her. but I didn’t. I should have helped her and introduced myself as I have visualized doing countless times ever since I found out she was hot but I fucking didn’t, and now the struggle is to stop kicking myself in the ass over not introducing myself to her. some other chick that she seemed to know came up and helped her.

but fuck—I mean, I just looked like a fucking dick, since she was dragging the fucking – you know, that waddle-drag when you’re trying to “walk” some tall, heavy cubic object—or fucking rhomboidal or whatever—but clearly, if I had thought about it—not if I had thought about t—if it had *occurred* to me, because thought is passive… but anyway, I would have realized that she was clearly walking toward the copy room with it.—but fuck so basically I just looked like a dick for not helping her. fuck.so not only did I not get to introduce myself to a hot chick but also I came off as a dick. I was thinking—or was this something that occurred after the fact—that you know, a man, helping a woman—a woman would never see that shit and help a man. but I’,m just a dick. or I came off as a dick.


but yeah, now the struggle—it’s like the belt—if only I had done *this,* I would have met a beautiful girl with the advantage of having spoken to her on the phone before and she - she works like a right—a few offices down and she would have gotten to know me and eventually fucked me many, many times, but instead I didn’t—and it wasn’t like I willfully made a decision not to, except I guess I *kind of * did , who knows, if I had =-- I was lost in dark morning ruminations you know, if I had if I had if I had—fuck, the struggle now is to fucking get over it.

yeah, now that I didn’t talk to her I’ll never find a woman, she would have been the perfect woman. because it exists, it’s out there, just out of my grasp, but eludes me by way of my making just the wrong choice at the wrong time in a way I can’t really help.

the way she said sorry when she was backing into me, I just continued up the stairs—I’m such a dick.

yeah, I imagine the whole dialogue—she would have found my unusual candor so incredibly charming…

fuck.

yeah—she has a boyfriend. this -- *this* is where my cynicism helps me. of fucking *course* a good looking chick in Hollywood, in show business, working for goddamn (enormously famous producer of television and film) has a fucking boyfriend, so I better just chill the fuck out--. these missed opportunities weren’t there to begin with—plus my hair looks fucking stupid and I have a fucking nostril hair hanging out and I would have come off like a tool.

yeah, look at me for christ’s sake…