Monday, December 13, 2010

Librarymen

I really recommend spending more time in public libraries. Huge ego boost. I’m the only male in the 18-49 demo in this entire building. All of these women -- crazy-eyed Asian MILF gliding through NON-FICTION 92E-92M, the sweats and Uggs-wearing high school girls studying in the Quiet Reading Room -- they are all legitimately gravitating toward me. And who can blame them? There is a biological principle at play here. This is pheromonal. This is science. I just KNOW the blood pumping through my body is being circulated more strongly and efficiently than it is though all these eccentric geezers and leathery-skinned dads. My height is normally a bee’s dick below totally average. Compared to most of the greatest generation fuckers lounging near Periodicals, my height is officially just totally average.

Oh wow, some long, greasy-haired beta Fantasy-reading freak just let out a rip-roaring fart!!! What an aggressive faux pas! Meanwhile, I’m all brand new MacBook Pro and Don Johnson sandpaper stubble. I am so hot! A cunty hipster in a sundress just walked in and shamelessly eyed me. This is paradise, people! Wait a second, what the… fuck. Okay, some Boris Becker in his prime-looking dickbag just sighted... six 0'clock… tell me this isn’t happening... thumbing through the… Chicago Hope Season 2 DVDs of all things. Officially confirmed: the girls in the Quiet Reading Room are now angled toward the DVD and CDs section and are giggling and whispering to each other. It’s…all…over. Thanks to you, Germanic fucker. You wanna show off your athletic frame? We’re a mile away from the Pacific Ocean. Have at it, buddy. You need to score chicks so bad? Try a bar. Not a fucking library.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

September THE Eleventh

YOU TOO can experience the Rohrbach Reach-Around if you just time travel to 2002 and pen a pithy Ariel Sharon hagiography in which you refer to Palestinians as a "rogue cadre of thugs."

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Freaky Tuesday


Sat next to Luke Walton at lunch today at Le Pain Quotidien. That's right. Luke Walton and I -- same afternoon routine! We even had the same order. We're both soft-boiled egg guys! And then I wondered, what would happen if Luke and I switched bodies for the remainder of the day... Could I pass as Luke? If Phil tried to put me in the game against the T-Wolves tonight, would I take advantage of the once in a lifetime opportunity to play alongside Kobe and Pau even though that would mean blowing my cover and destroying Luke's reputation? Or would I just skip the game altogether and try to fuck groupies?

And what about Luke as me? Could he go to my underfunded local library, inwardly bemoan the lack of any newish literary fiction, walk home to my parents' house, send 2 uneventful text messages, nap, eat a Twix left over from Halloween, and half-heartedly watch Conan (East Coast feed) with my mom and dad without revealing whose mind was in my body?! Or would he just be like, fuck the library and Conan, I'm gonna try calling this girl Matt's dating and fuck her. Calling her. Ringing. She's slammed at work tonight? Unavailable? Great. Guess I could fly solo to the new Arclight in El Segundo. Nothing good's playing? Could still see Red or Hereafter and just nap again if I get bored. But I wonder if that would be risky? Would the two 71 year old movie buddy ladies in the front row notice and be like oh dear look at that guy who is minding his own business in the back row. Oh yes, the one politely shielding his iPhone glow whenever he checks an email... he's gently sighing, and, yes, wait, yes, he's starting to get a little heavy-lidded! I can see it! He seems a tad out of sorts! Oh yes! Something duplicitous must be going on there -- identity-wise!

Monday, November 1, 2010

November 3, 1992


Me: "My parents are both voting for Clinton today."

Extremely sensitive savant who's the only other kid in my class with any level of cultural awareness: "Oh, of course. But you know what my mom and I would really relish? A Boxer win!"

A What? A what win? Who the fuck is this Boxer? Was my Clinton reference too broad for you, you snob? Are you trying to one-up me, you always crying math-obsessed troll? Since when are we supposed to follow elections for people running for something that isn't president? We're 9! But don't you try and spin this like I'm some kind of lightweight. Do you know who Paul Tsongas is? Ehh? Ehh? Tsongas ring a bell?! Because it does for me! Oh yeah! And one more thing while we're at it... why are you using "relish" in that way? Look, I realize there's some double meaning or something at play here - I'm not an idiot - but I still don't get it. And all I want to talk about is CLINTON. Not Boxer and fucking relish!

Me: "Yeah, my family loves Boxer!"

Friday, October 22, 2010

Andre Agassi is a better writer than Thoreau


The ultimate coup of an Open -- as opposed to say a Walden -- is that Mr. Agassi, apparently prompted not by his ghostwriter's advice but by that greater guide Instinct, elects to set his book in present times. Are the hairs on your arms standing up yet?

And in doing so, in choosing our own contemporary era out of all the epochs in material history, Mr. Agassi has freed himself up to tell a story not only relevant to him (he can write about his tennis career, his personal relationships, his own inner psychological dramas, etc.) but to us (we too have an intimate understanding of the world in which he's set his book).

So Thoreau's mistake, you see, is not that he neglects to write about feelings of alienation upon visiting Brooke Shields on the set of Friends (though that would have proved interesting). His error is in setting his work in a time when the very act of visiting Brooke Shields on the set of Friends would be impossible.

The unspoken tragedy here is that it is Mr. Thoreau, not Andre Agassi, who is the more original thinker. Both writers explore the notion that a man's meanest jailor is his own conception of himself, but there's a certain poetic profundity to Thoreau's exploration that Agassi's nakedly lacks.

We may one day meet that writer who weds Thoreau's sagacity with Agassi's topical discussion of such matters as "the 2-year rule" (the idea that Andre Agassi, prior to dating and then marrying Stephanie Graf in 2001, felt that all of his relationships with women became stale around the 2 year mark). Until then, we must accept that our greatest writers are, like us, imperfect. Though some (Andre Agassi) are, by the narrowest of margins, better than others (Thoreau).

It must also be noted that Agassi is the better visual artist. His hardcover book features a beautiful high-resolution image of himself staring straight at us. Thoreau's book is paperback and beginning to tatter.

Friday, October 15, 2010

Average Guy with Common Sense who Lives in the Past

chats up easily-impressed TCBY-dispensing Mexican gal.

Guy: You know had I invested in Apple in 2003 like my gut told me to, I'd be a rich man today!

Gal: Oh, meester, you a beeznees man!

Guy: We shouldn't have invaded Iraq. Was all for it at the time. It's turned into a real big mess.

Gal: Oh, you such a espsanive globeel theenkerrr!

Guy: Life can be real...tricky. You learn a lot from the past. But then you also repeat a lot of the same mistakes.

Gal: Oh, and you pheelosopher like Plahto!

Guy: I'll have a vanilla. Used to get strawberry a whole bunch.

Gal: Weeth mind thass as neembull as oleempic geemnist!

Precocious Four Year Old from the 80s Vs. Rugged Expat

P4yo: I've had sushi. I like the sushi bar. I don't eat the raw fish kind cause not even my dad really does, but I love bbq eel, and almost no kids my age do.

Rugged Expat: I almost died one night during a massive wharf explosion in Kobe. Ended up spending that trembling night in the arms of two kind and rapacious prostitutes.

Rugged Expat wins.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Proudest Moment of My Childhood?

Dragging my kind of selfish 12 y.o. black friend to my appointment with my somewhat inept black doctor and staring at both of them like an eager yenta matchmaker as I thought to myself James! Dr. Hawkins! The two black men who know me best! Aren't I evolved?! Aren't you two both so floored by how unprejudiced I am?!

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

The Child is Father of the Fat Man

You know how after a massive late night meal you'll look at your reflection in a shop window and notice both your protruding stomach and your difficulty breathing and think to yourself, this is so fun, I'm a 20 y.o. skinny kid getting to feel what it's like to be Tony Soprano / Joel Silver for a night.

Actually, you're almost 30 and just a regular fat guy.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Who am I?

I was married to a woman in the 1980s. We frequently kayaked together. My favorite part of marriage was that Kitty's nurturing -- she supported me in every way emotionally while also cheerfully driving me to various hiking locales throughout Northern California -- put me in such a calm place that I was able to more fully appreciate my many wonderful male friends... architects, gurus, attorneys, you name it.

I have a zen meditation sanctuary in my backyard.

I have pesky neck fat despite being in really good shape for my age.

I have a borderline eating disorder. Also known as VEGANISM.

I spent 10 years as a criminal defense attorney. You'd be surprised at what wonderful people most criminals are.

I deem Jane Austen a groundbreaking artist whose only shortcoming was her inability to fully write about extremely graphic non-homosexual male on male sex.

I'm Todd Sheketnberg.

Kidding!

I'm Doug VISTAAAAAAA!

Friday, September 3, 2010

So Here's A Little Update on Where I'm at in Life

I'm in the process of putting together a comprehensive documentary film on Elmore Duke, one of the preeminent glory hole carpenters in the game. Because of the myopic sex-obsessed culture we live in, we're trained to process glory holes as being inherently pornographic, homosexual, or nymphomaniacal. When, in fact, a good glory hole is, at heart, an object of genuine craftsmanship, and when drilled, sanded, and padded with the vanguard vision of an Elmore Duke, a work of -- yes, I will say it -- art.

I'm encouraging friends of the blog as well as my cohorts in the Yahoo! Answers community to pitch in on this project if they're so inclined. And in whatever way most suits them. A donation here, a plug there -- these are the kinds of actions that can help "Glory Days: The Elmore Duke Story" take flight.

Much thanks. And much love,

Doug V.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

guy has issues getting culturally-distended grad student from his kitchen into the bedroom

Guy: Oh God, you're fucking beautiful. Your freckles are like an adorable little constellation.

Grad Student: Umm, I also read "Super Sad True Love Story."

Guy: I'm sorry?

Grad Student: You know exactly what I'm talking about. There's a line suspiciously similar to that in the first chapter from Eunice's perspective.

Guy: What? No, I'm just saying what came to my mind. Jesus. Relax. I haven't even read that book. Never fully got into Absurdistan. He's too broad for me.

Grad Student: Ha! Your feeble defense fucking reeks of a line from one of my least favorite unpublished Martin Amis stories. Just replace "Absurdistan" with Updike's "The Coup." Do you have an original thought in your head?

Guy: You're fucking killing the mood, you know. Do you get how excited I was to see you? Do you know how fucking demonically perfect you look right now in the Sub-Zero light? Grab me a Red Stripe.

Grad Student: Nice. Dig your reference without any hat-tip to Philip-Lorca diCorcia's famous refrigerator-lit portrait of his despondent-looking brother.

Guy: What?! Are you insane?! You're a weird chick, you know that?

Grad Student: Improvised Jeff Daniels on the closing night of "God of Carnage."

Guy: I don't know what to do with you.

Grad Student: Shove me into the fridge like you don't care if my face gets all lacerated and fuck me hard from behind.

Guy: That I can do.

Monday, August 30, 2010

Guy Fails to Talk about Shit He's Interested in

... while attempting to flirt with a girl during a quiet backyard moment at a friend's dinner party.

"I don't follow the weekend box office really. I obviously remember Waterworld being known for tanking. Is that a movie you saw?"

"I wasn't that into Pogs as a kid. Were you? Or were random friends of yours?"

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Matty and Dolores Have a 1st Date at a Comfy Pizza Place

Matty: I'm pretty into radical life extension.

Dolores: Who isn't? Though I kind of fear that's just our generation's new bullshit religion. The amount of rich smart ashkenazi-ish fuckable chill 28 year olds who aren't religious at all has reached some critical mass and so like all these kinda depressed, terrified of their mortality as they start to slowly bald or bloat atheists who know there's no afterlife have collectively and virally spread this "singularity theory" pseudoscience meme in order to give some sort of magic hope to our faithless lives.

Matty: Yeah, on some level I think you're probably right. Though that makes me pretty irredeemably sad.

Dolores: Me too.

Matty: Want to get an ice-cream after this? There's this place I think you'll like. They do the whole salted caramel thing really well. I know that's no longer cutting edge. But I still like it.

Dolores: I really like it too.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

So I just heard a few anekdotes about this guy Rob Lopatrielle

which lead me to conclude that the guy seriously overestimates the social value of sperm motility.

Anekdote #1: Rob has been living at his parents house right up to age 29. Doing nothing. Getting fat. Playing online poker gainst other fat fatties. Being totely financially and emotionally cannibalistic. Women can smell his fear and fungus-riddled scalp. Kay, so the guy buys this (dave) letterman's jacket with the word "motile" on the back and the number infinity, and when he doesn't get laid off of that like by all the mad hot 14 year oldz he used to stalk outside his old high school, he str8 up used a creme blu-ray flame thrower thingy to torture a neighbor's beloved parrot "Maggy" to death.

Anekdote #2: Rob's at BestBuy, picking up the latest bullshit Xbox 360 250gb eat a dick iteration. AmEx Card gets declined. So natch he whips out his dicky. Cummmms onto the lil credit card swipe screen. And exclaims, "But them shits is mo-TILE, what's your name, Brandi. Look at that momomotility." Poor black Brandi flipped out, ran away, and Rob ended up just walking threw (misspelled on purpose, bitches!) the parking lot, snapping antennas off the jankiest Hondas he could find cuz he figured he could more acutely hurt poor working class folks who are already sadder & more terrestrial radio-reliant ta begin with.

Anekdote #3: And this one's super sad. So Rob apparently committed suicide a few weeks ago by doing a combo thingy where he ated like 20 vicodins and coke and even meth and shit. Left some email draft on his Samsung Galaxy where he was all "Gone 4eva. Sperm no longer motile in the least. cosmic joke? i like to think so. Also, I hope all homeless people are carted off to death camps. DEXTER 4eva. Love that show. All haterz are herbs. And I love bangin out russian birds. Chicken chicken goose monkey beard tendon piss."


SO what's weirds to me is that like a mad normal reggin (ni**** backwards) like Rob who's all happy and balling and like branded chill by his boys and reverse cowgirlable by bitches from that coast to these coasts and always did the right thing by God and his moms again and again until the very end just chooses to early check out like that and all because he somehow got brain-twisted bout how much sperm motility mattered in startin' to decay but the pussy's still poppin even though the stocks be droppin twenty-ten America.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

It's Impossible to Get a Loan Modification in Los Angeles

I'm white. Have excellent credit. A steady job. A lot of cash on hand. Have never missed a payment. But whenever I walk into a local bank with a jar full of acid and a necklace made of woven rat tails, my loan modification request is summarily rejected.

Has My Ex-Coworker Sapna Sethi Become Much More Discriminating...

... or is my sex-obsessed pathological liar acquaintance Doug Feldman still a sex-obsessed pathological liar?

You be the jury:

Last night -- prompted by a Facebook Message several days ago from Doug Feldman which included the claim that Sapna Sethi, a prim Indian gal I used to work with, was a deviant anal-sex addict who would frequently have anal gang bangs with any and Doug meant any willing participant during lunchtime and then proceed to walk back into the office sans panties but with little droplets of jism running down her leg -- I took Sapna out for drinks at a no-longer hip craft beer bar.

At said drinks, I respectfully waited until the mood was right and then violently grabbed her vagina under the table and asked if she'd like it if I organized a group of guys to rampage her butt senselessly. Sapna threw a pint of hoppy ale in my face, called me a "deranged asshole," and stormed out in tears.

So what's your verdict?

Don Tauber: Investor w/ a Humiliation Fetish

Don: "Say, anyone want to pool some cash together to open up a Baskin-Robbins or a Ben & Jerry's in a gourmet gelato-saturated alt/hipster neighborhood that's becoming more health conscious by the day?"

Don: "Wish eToys would reanimate so I could once again watch my son's college fund shrink to oblivion thanks to a flashy 1.0 insolvent toy purveyor."

Don: "Anyone want to make fun of my tiny dick while I buy shares of an extremely low-risk mutual fund?"

Hipsters in the Holocaust

Hipster: I have a dilemma. I have tix to Sufjan on the same night as my photog opening! What to do?!

Weeping Mother: That is so unfair! I'm also in a jam. The S.S. officer over there is insisting I pick one of the twin babies I'm holding to be shot to death. What's my play here?

Sex is Better than Mad Men

Last night, 2 hours after a steak dinner that had momentarily rendered me too fat to fuck, I was watching 404 with a girl when, noticing our digestion was moving right along, we decided to turn off the 46" LCD and have sex instead. Being inside another mammal proved more stimulating than watching an actor inside an electronic rectangular prism pretending to be a sociopath named Pete pretending to harbor genuine human feeling over his fake actress wife's fake off-screen zygote.

And that's when it hit me. The only reason meticulously crafted shows like Mad Men exist, or cable television in general, or like the totality of human culture itself... is that sometimes guys can't get it up. And sometimes even when they do get it up there's a long 1 hour cable drama refractory period before they can get it up again.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Doug Vista Catches Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory on Basic Cable at 2AM

"My favorite part of this film without question is the beyond beautiful conception of a world rendered edible! What an imaginative catharsis this was for me as a toddler in the late 70s -- the material universe itself becoming a consumable product completely attuned to the emotional rhythms of my young life. I'm not going out on a limb here when I say that the clear adulthood analogue to this -- and most grown men would surely agree with me whether they're ready to admit it or not -- would be a world made entirely of penises. Just imagine, you reach for a door knob, it's an erect male member. You turn on the faucet in a stadium restroom... thick gobs of semen jet out. You know when I was a teenager watching VHS porn for the first time, like most adolescent boys I would take pieces of duct tape and arrange them on my father's television such that all aspects of the image -- the beautiful breasts, the glistening limbs, the quivering lips both facial and vaginal -- such that all aspects save the hard-on proper would be masked by the tape and thus rendered irrelevant. Is there an adult man reading this who can't relate to a similar experience? If you can't, it's time to embrace the zeitgeist. For times they have a-changed, my friends. The old models of sexuality are out. In a recent uncontrolled but very rigorous study out of Thailand, it was found that as much as your average man enjoys taking a woman from behind and giving it to her doggy-style, that male will invariably prefer performing that same exact act on a man. There is just a base universal sexual pleasure associated with taking down the stronger of the two sexes. Some of my friends at colleges and institutes throughout South East Asia at large are telling me that we are on the verge of a radical systematic reevaluation of what it is that specifically constitutes male sexual attraction. The old model -- that men are attracted to young fertile women, certain breast-to-hip ratios, symmetry, female sex pheromones undetectable by the human nose, etc., is simply on its way out. What we're seeing is a paradigm shift toward a new model in which the chief attributes that men seek out in sexual partners are strength, size, power, and masculinity. Does this mean we're headed toward a future in which homosexuality becomes the norm? Absolutely not. In fact, this new model of attraction posits that women are now more than ever almost unbearably desirable to men. For human women are decently sized, relatively strong, have moderate levels of testosterone coursing through their veins and such. In fact in this modern world we all find ourselves inhabiting today, the ONLY thing more carnally desirable to your average adult male than a woman will of course be another man."

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Robotic Russian-American Douche with an Antipathy for Fat Chicks

goes on a walk along the boulevard with his cousin.

Upon seeing a cute teen: "Ima bang her out, bro!!!"

Upon seeing a MILF: "Ima bang her out, bro!!!"

Upon seeing a fat chick: "Ima bang her out, bro!!!"

Cousin: "But, bro bro bro, she's fuckin' stupid heavy. You hate em that way. She's a fattieeeee!"

Upon considering his cousin's objection: "Ima bang her out, bro!!!"

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Down's Style

Have you ever noticed that the vast majority of kids with Down's Syndrome uniformly have artless Asiany bowl haircuts, wear too big polyester-blend Ross-purchased polos, and sport tragically unflattering cargo shirts and thick ill-fitting nerdfag glasses?

This is so fucking wrong. Imagine you're a parent with a child who has a debilitating brain disease. How inhuman can you be to then compound your kid's problem by forcing him to wear the classic Down'sbitch uniform. Buy that lil fucker some expertly crafted casual preppy clothes. Not J. Crew. Splurge for the Steven Alan. Dude's brain is a fucking disaster. He's been fucked in the ass by chance. The very least you can do is give him some stupidly expensive boat shoes, a calf-skin rag & bone messenger bag so classically designed it'll have all the Down's girls wondering if he's gay or just hot, a sense that yes this life is a non-stop grind toward embarrassment and death but we are capable of -- in fact we are obliged to do whatever we can to make this infinite mess endurable and pretty.

Pulling Out

and busting on a girl seems so raw/nasty/dominant/dehumanizing in porn.

IRL it's more like okay I can't get this girl pregnant so I'm going to shoot on her back because I don't want to soil the bed we're about to sleep in and cumming into my own hand would be super messy and beta so here I go wow this feels great but I do wish I were still inside as that would be more physically and psychologically stimulating but wow there's a lot of volume here and now we're both laughing oh shit her back is slightly slanted what if it flows onto the carpet this could be bad she's asking me to get a towel I suppose it's the least I could do so I grab a heartbreakingly soft one from her spotless bathroom, come back, pat her down, check with my hand a few times to make sure her back's not too sticky, say something sweet and awkward exhale walk into the kitchen and grab a Perrier.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Doug Vista: Gay or a Misogynist?

Doug Vista on laughter: "Making women laugh is my oxygen. I'm non-existent without it. Without the power that comes with using one's wit to make a woman fucking convulse. The only thing better, or at least more invigorating, is making men laugh. Men with their more robust, yet harder-to-tickle senses of humor."

Doug Vista on writing: "There is nothing more erotic, more fucking boner-inducing if you don't mind my horribly crude phrasing, than reading the perfectly chosen words of a brilliant female scribe. Nothing except for reading the words of a truly talented man. For there is a universality, a completeness, an adamantine strength (cut with inexorable vulnerability) to the written male perspective that simply transcends everything else in my heart and in this life."

Doug Vista on cock: "Love it!!!"

Monday, July 19, 2010

Love Me. Don't Judge Me.

Keep on getting calls from BofA Fraud Protection whenever I add credits to my LiveJasmin account. Feel so fucking judged each time I have to verify that yes, I indeed paid $15 at 3:31AM and $12 at 3:43AM to watch two different teen-something Eastern European couples fuck while I direct their positions and patronizingly barrage them with questions about Iraqi Parliamentary procedure.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Why I'm an Asshole

I've been using my roommate's Kiehl's Facial Fuel moisturizer without his permission for the last several days. Last night, drunk after attending a wrap party, I grabbed the blue bottle said fuck it and parked it in MY medicine cabinet. This morning, when I didn't see the bottle by the sink, I felt a pang of rage bubble up against my roommate for having the audacity to take back his Kiehl's. And then I remembered I stored it in the cabinet.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Unhelpful 2010 NBA Free Agency Predictions

Lebron James -- Chicago Bulls

The Bulls can give him the max. They offer a big city where the King could thrive yet still stay close to his midwest roots. Miami also a possibility. Speaking of Miami, I watched Scarface the other day with a nice azn girl who'd never seen it before. Shitty, overrated mess. I've had persistent headaches for the last few days. Been eating too many hamburgers. And steaks. I'm rapidly aging. People are going bald all around us every day. We'll never have more hair on our heads than we do right now.

Chris Bosh - Untitled Alex Lehman Pilot

Maybe Bosh will become a TV writer. I haven't legitimately enjoyed sports in over a decade. I file sports under that category of things in life which don't entirely revolve around me. I tend to get bored by such things.

Danny Manning - Me

My BMI is in the healthy range. I am content with my net worth. I like fish tacos and control.

Sunday, June 6, 2010

it was hard for neanderthal writers to fuck actresses a million years ago

Listen, Vanessa, if we had a more organized society with integrated patterns of knowledge, language, and behavior, and like some kind of structured economic system a subset of which included an industry in which people who were in the position to create narratives had the commercial power to employ others to act out those narratives for some kind of profit, I would be able to potentially enhance your lifestyle.

You seem unmoved.

I would tell you I went to Yale were that metaphysically possible.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

In the Year 2000, a Guy Brags via AIM to Misfit Friend after Losing Virginity

Guy (to himself): I just got my dick wet for the first time. Why isn't Brian more happy for me?!

Brian (to himself): I am irredeemably off. I've been rejected by every Ivy I applied to. My bedroom reeks of unlaundered XXL polos and cowardice. I secretly want to fuck my young jappy sister. Which is funny since I'm probably gay. SO CONGRATS, ROB! I'm so fucking happy you're hitting all your developmental milestones!

Sex with a Latina

Pre-act, you expect your interior monologue to go something like this:

I'm fucking a Mexican! A Mexican! Sensuality. Spanish. I'm fucking a Mexican! Light brown sweaty porny nymphomaniacal skin. I miss my doting childhood maid. Sex. Sex. Cater to my every need, you perfect whore. Mexican. Mexican. Vicente Fox. Accent. Porn. Cum.

In practice, it's much more like this:

This feels so good! Shit, that didn't last very long.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

one time in toys r us

i was with my rich aunt and she said she was going to buy me a bday present and we went by the video game case and i pointed to a COLOR portable neo geo system that was so expensive i hadn't even asked my parents for it even though i was a diabolical consumerist brat back then and i explained to my aunt how it was COLOR and there was an add-on where you could watch TV on it and she smiled and bought me sonic spinball instead, the worst game ever. i wanted to cry and kill her.

buying an affordable but hip starter home

is slightly less exciting than collecting all of your wrinkled miserable cash, going to toys r us (best buy wasn't invented yet), grabbing that paper slip ticket thing and taking it to the magical but not super happy seeming bro at that special window to claim your brand new mortal kombatish video game. like literally, the $50 video game causes a greater dopamine rush than the $739,501 home. wordsworth was right about childhood and shit.

sometimes i'll be in the middle of having sex with an adult

...and i'll think to myself, how did i get into this scary predicament?! shouldn't i be having a super soaker battle with a chubby best friend or playing the simpsons arcade game while i wait for my mom to pick me up from the movie theater having already 1-800-collected her. but then i remember i'm almost 30.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

dating

You make a good amount of money. so do i. you are pretty good looking. so am i. you went to a great college, i went to a good one. you are slightly more interesting than i am, but i will give you limitless access to a well-kept human vagina as long as you keep introducing me to new relevant experiences. so wanna go out, say i love you, get sick of each other, completely grow apart, and then find someone new?

okay.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Extremely Gifted Korean Masseuse With Self-Esteem And Empathy Issues Imagines What It's Like in Obama's Head

You say "Great. That felt so good." You don't mean it. You judge me. I work 6 day a week. So tired. Don't make enough money. I touch your ear gently and "accidentally" brush against your boys. This my trick. I am legit, but I must keep you coming back. I am hungry for ham and cheese sandwich. Everyone says I am good I am so great thank you so much. One white boy say he considers me Kobe Bryant of masseuse, because of my skill and effort. Same boy say I structure massage so well I tell story with my hands. I miss home. I was in love there. I am so imperfect. I wish I was 20, not 32. I am first black president united states.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Guy Cums on Face of Girl with Exhaustive Knowledge of Negro League Baseball Esoterica

Guy: Ahhhh!!! That was amazing! It's funny. Three days ago we didn't know each other. Now your face is covered in my cum. Sex is weird. I feel so comfortable with you. Why are you smiling so much? Was that really funny what I said about the three days thing?

Girl: No. Not particularly. I'm just picturing this promotional event the Kansas City Monarchs put on in the summer of '32 in which they had a box turtle play third base.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

we are all adults now

Remember when you were a 10 year old with rage issues who was obsessed with saying "pussy" to your shyfat best friend but had a glaring misconception of the precise angular displacement of the actual human pussy. It was your first season of kid pitch. And you had a coach who was WAY younger than your dad but like also older than your sister at Hampshire. A dude who was this vibrant mentoring animal with a dirtyblonde EMT wife he fucked and loved and a Ford Explorer EDDIE BAUER edition in whose cargo area you once spied a case of light domestic beer bearing the promise of a riveting new adult universe entirely alternate to the gentle, teetotaling, incubatory one occupied by your parents. This man with his magical access to all that was fun, deviant, scary, human. But you... still miserably a kid. With spelling tests. And no pubes. You weren't even allowed to throw a curve yet lest you tweak your wee unripe elbow. You were a fucking mess.

So here's the exciting thing... It's been sixteen years. And guess what? You can totally fucking hang out with that guy! Drink a BEER with him! DRIVE to his apartment in YOUR CAR and do ILLEGAL DRUGS together or talk about a girl you both know in a way that reveals YOU UNDERSTAND THE PRECISE PLACEMENT OF VAGINAS ON BODIES. Maybe you'll become sensitive friends who care about each other, and then one night, in his backyard, if you're lucky, he'll fucking tell you about his adult human woman wife who has a real job's MISCARRIAGE. From years ago. Crucial event in homie's life. And he's telling you all about it! She freaked after it happened! Got depressed! Making him feel alienated and undesired. So he kind of wasn't there for her when she needed him most. He ended up cheating on her with a girl who now, on an unrelated note, has breast cancer! And retardedly he admitted it all to his wife. Prompting her to reveal an affair she had had with a sociopathic hugecocked realtor. But they're STILL TOGETHER. Even though they aren't 100% happy! Not even close. They'll never be whole again. And you now know all of this! And are stoned on real pot not oregano to boot! Oh my God! The access! The access to everything! The fucking heartbreaking access!

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Here is a Facebook Picture of a Friend of an Acquaintance


This is a normal person's reaction to the picture: Tasty looking pies! Cute girl. Good cook. Little boobage. Sweet!

This is my reaction: Oh fuck, I can sense this is about to tap into my guilt over failing to develop as a cook. I had SOME interest in cooking when I was 18, more than your average 18 year old, okay, but I've let my skills atrophy in the intervening years, and now I'm at the bottom of my class cooking-wise! You know what, fuck this. Those pies don't even look good! I bet they taste bad. Or the recipe is shit. Handed down from some fat closeted-Lesbian midwestern relative who was a bad cook herself. There are probably some textural failures at play beneath the crust. Even if the pies taste alright, they're boring! A straight apple pie?! Who makes a straight apple pie these days? Boring people, that's who. And you know what else, her kitchen isn't very nice. She's probably poor! So I make more money than her AND appreciate more experimental desserts! And her hair looks thin! I hate her and her shit pies! I hate her pies! I hate her pies!

Monday, April 12, 2010

Love-Starved Pencil Has a Big Day

Oh my God, you're holding me again. After all these years. I like your grip. Yeah, just take me hard and use me to write down an address on the back of a meaningless business card or a fucking Chipotle napkin. Yes. Dominate me. Ruin me. Then if you want, we could go to Big Sur for the weekend. Reenact those times after school when you'd hold me for hours and sketch detailed if unrecognizable tableaux of the Clinton/Bush/Perot debates by the dimming light of day. So precocious then. Still remember the first time you swooped me up and forced me to make those three little graphite squiggles representing both the wrinkles on George H.W. Bush's forehead and, more abstractly, your inchoate sense of time itself.

Wait? You're putting me back in the drawer? Stop it. What are you thinking? I'm too dull?! Fucking sharpen me, you lazy pussy. You didn't even want me in the first place? You're just moving me aside to grab that pill bottle full of weed? I can't believe this! I never even liked you. There. I said it. I wish I was still in Brandon Gordon's Trapper Keeper and you'd never asked to borrow me in the first place! He's a very successful realtor now, Brandon is. You hear that?! Owns a condo in Laguna. Huge cock. Fuck you!!!!

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Neurotic, Misanthropic Nine Year Old Flips Out

when parents decide to host family friend's 50th birthday party in a room with newly redone hardwood floors.

NMNYO: Can we at least lay down a blue tarp?! Mom, this is insane. The floors are going to get scuffed!!!!

During party, as a couple dozen middle aged people joyfully dance and celebrate:

NMNYO: WAHHHHHHH!

Later on, pretending to be nice to the birthday girl...

NMNYO: Happy birthday! (inwardly: you thoughtless fucking floor scratcher!!! You've taken advantage of my parents and our family room!)

Afterward, assessing the damage...

NMNYO: Look at those scratches, dad. I warned you!

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Guy Calls Mom, Girl He Fucked Several Months Ago, and Agent on Drive Home from Work

Stalking Makes Sense

I have an affinity for the institution. Have never come close to stalking anyone myself. Don't quite have the psychological makeup for it. But obsession, the past, and dysfunction are three of my favorite things to think about, and the idea that there are people out there taking bold, insane action in the name of all three brings me great joy. I think that if I were a little less dead inside, prideful, and apathetic, I'd be a great stalker.

Just imagine the mental freedom. It's like, I can worry about my family, career, sex-life, friends, money, health, twenty-six years of accumulated shortcomings, insecurities, and pathologies... or... I can focus the entirety of my mental energy on that white girl I barely know whose vagina I jizzed in once back before anyone knew who Simon Monjack was.

Intense Daddy Long Legs Therapy Sesh

Daddy Long Legs: I have this persistent delusion, almost every morning, that a naked, wet, pale, sensitive 20-something animal is trying to push me down a big dark hole using a large overhead metallic device that shoots down multiple jets of scalding, pressurized water.

Therapist: While you acknowledge the absurdity of this fear from an intellectual perspective, I can imagine that, emotionally, it's still rather devastating.

Daddy Long Legs: Yes. Totally fucking devastating. I lost a leg this morning. Have like third degree burns all over. I feel like shit... emotionally.

Therapist: I also think that your brief, though charged, relationship with that woman which ended only a couple weeks ago and your mother's lingering illness may be a factor in these strange hot water fantasies you've been having... and on that note, we are out of time.

Daddy Long Legs: Here's a check for $300. Thanks for your help. See you next week.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

20-Something Guy Severely Cuts into his Net Worth, Buys a $56,432 Audi S4

The elegantly-designed cockpit and its state of the art instrumentation put him in such a good headspace that he's able to cajole the sweet, insecure woman he's squiring into fellating him in the car as opposed to his apartment.

3 Horses Kick Back In A Trailer En Route To Wyoming

Horse 1: I was the fastest 3 year old in the world just a year ago. Quit at my peak Barry Sanders style. Getting into the stud fee game now. Figure why not embrace the whole fuck young, top shelf horse pussy all day long until I die trajectory, right? Let you guys know how that goes.

Horse 2: I'm going to be the beloved, nearly fetishized object of a dementedly entitled 10 year old JAP whose dad, Ken Silverman, owns the largest liquor distributor in the state of Nevada. I am going to be pampered! And apparently Ken's youngest daughter is jonesing for a horse too. Potential BFF sitch. Plus, tons of well educated, wealthy male horses living on the adjacent properties. Could totes find a soul mate here.

Horse 3: I despise horses. I dislike horse culture. The dated western mythology, the worship of aesthetics above all else, the fucking forced outdoorsiness. I hate ranches, stables, sawdust, dirt, fields, flowers, galloping. And I hate how shamelessly positive and self-promoting horses are. You're beautiful, you're fast, you're wild, yeah... I get it. I wish this trailer would turn the fuck around and take me to the Santa Monica Farmer's Market on Main Street. Sometimes they have miniature ponies walking around in a circle there. Hipsterdads put their toddlers on top of them. The ponies walk around for a couple hours. That shit is mindless and easy in the best way. I figure I'm pretty undersized. I could pass for a pony. It's a good life. Grub on some blue corn tamales during a break. Buy a little fresh local produce at a discount. Meet some off-beat creative free spirit type chilling in the grass with her friends. Grow a beard. Buy a starter home. Host barbecues and invite other pretty good looking, intelligent non mainstreamers into your backyard where you grow your own kale. Have a baby. Buy expensive organic baby toys that your cool friends confirm are extremely in and thoughtful. Be a little less obsessive and helicoptery than your own parents. Yeah. There is a simple dignity to that. It isn't unique, but it's endurable. Might even thrive at it.

Horse 1: Ahh, shit, that feels good.

Horse 3: What?

Horse 1: Horse 2 is blowing me right now.

Horse 3: Oh. Sweet.

Monday, March 29, 2010

Bitter, Misogynistic Mouse Has Antipathy For Costco

Mouse: Costco is an incredibly aggravating experience for me. I wanted to get my girlfriend like a $5,000 kirkland signature tennis bracelet the other day. Tacky as fuck, I know. But there's something delicious about spending some real fuckin dough on a girl -- proving you have the financial juice to own / take care of her -- while simultaneously shitting all over her face by getting her something you know she doesn't want. Fuck her. Problem with Costco is, as a mouse, I'm very short. I'm completely incapable of manipulating any of the objects most people in Costco use to procure items. You think I can wheel around one of those big masculine orange cart things? Of course not. It's torture. All I want to do is flex a little and emotionally annihilate my girlfriend, and Costco rapes me on both fronts.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

How Music, Laziness, and Technology Can Result in a Pathological Sex Life

En route to wine bar, your slightly thick, fertile-looking, hyper-insecure slutty passenger notices Reality Bites soundtrack in center console.

You're honest with her. Explain it's your mom's CD. After all, your mom used to drive your car. When you were in college. Five years ago.

Manage to get the girl back to your place.

Open bottle of wine.

Turn on Pioneer 7.1. Channel iPhone-Enabled Audio Receiver.

Select Shuffle.

Receive oral.

Minutes into bj, audiobook of Noam Chomsky's Hegemony or Survival begins playing.

The girl's enthusiasm wanes. The mood is dying. You're not particularly enjoying yourself. But you're far too comfortable to get up and hit Next.

So you just lie there. Knowing it's probably not going to happen. Finally giving her the tap at the thirty minute mark.

She leaves.

You watch internet porn.

And sleep.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Black Barmaid on Vacation in Vegas

quite likes when a young attorney has unprotected sex with her at 5AM in her Stallone-themed room at Planet Hollywood.

It feels better raw, she's happy that this with-it seeming white guy assumes she's clean (she is), and she seems to be enjoying herself far more than her co-worker who's with some Jew in the other bed.

Latina Barmaid on Vacation in Vegas

doesn't particularly enjoy when a young Jewish man, in lieu of sex, simply inserts a dry finger into her butt at 5AM in her Stallone-themed room at Planet Hollywood.

But she doesn't insist he remove the digit. It's a novel experience for her, she's kind of bored, and any human contact feels good at this hour and in this life.

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Sociopathic Hipster Wakes Up And Wants Coffee

No mugs in the cabinet. Check dishwasher. Six clean ones. Know my wife is going to want coffee too, so the normal thing to do would be to take out two mugs at the very least -- and even this would be a lil niggardly. But the thing is, I only need one mug. And if I just help myself and everyone else is totally on their own, I win. And what does it even feel like for another human being who isn't me to want ready access to a coffee mug? More importantly, what does it matter? So I reach to take just one mug. That's right. One -- and only one -- mug. But shit, wife's coming into the kitchen. Eyes me. So I remove all six. Neatly place them in the cabinet in a little row. Smile at wife. Say something supportive. Cheerfully mask a galaxy of rage.

Friday, February 19, 2010

Waiting at the Airport

Gate C. Flight 97 to Vegas. Bored. Degenerately prepared airport tacos on your breath. Just finished John Hughes profile in Vanity Fair. Motherfucker wrote Sixteen Candles over one weekend. You feel vaguely inspired to start writing something rapidly yourself, but instead you Facebook stalk your ex and your ex's boyfriend and your ex's boyfriend's grotesque midwestern relatives who live in sad little suffocating boxes yet look happier than you. But there is hope in your heart. For you relish the fact that you can connect to the internet in an airport! There must be something redemptive about technological advancement. It's the only thing that does advance. But you realize your excitement over airport wifi also means you're getting old and there will soon be / already is a generation of fresher-brained digital natives eager to gently and seamlessly annihilate you forever -- a generation to whom the idea of an offline airport terminal is something quaint and nearly sepia toned. Or not sepia toned... for you don't even know through what cinematic filters these affable young beasts imagine your past. Does all of this bother you? Are you afraid of losing your cultural leverage? Of becoming irrelevant? Or do you not give a shit and just want to get on this plane, pop a Xanax, arrive in Vegas, get heated, have idiotic unprotected sex with someone damaged and beautiful but get away with it, come home, get married, have kids, and die?

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Guy Fixated on New Warren Beatty Biography Botches Expensive Date

Phone Love

Automated Female Voice: ...press "1" and the pound key. Thank you for calling Bank of America. Good Bye.

Guy With Unusual Activity On His Credit Card: Wait. No. Don't go. You seemed so nice. And supportive. There was a distinct emotional intelligence to your voice. Wanna talk about art or books? I'm free the rest of the afternoon. Are you into hiking? Trails might be a bit muddy after all the rains, but that could sort of have its own appeal, you know? Brunch after? I want to hear all about your dreams and insecurities and past relationships. How'd you first get into banking and stuff? We should take a road trip up the coast sometime. Oh, so my dad's in town for a medical conference. Do you feel ready to meet him yet? What do you think? Hello? Umm, hello? Are you there? Where the fuck did you go? Hello??????? CUNT.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Chatroulette! with 17 year old self

> Connected, feel free to talk now

Stranger: Hey there.

You: Hello.

Stranger: So our dick still looks the same.

You: Yeah. Pretty much... Uhh.... black dude's President.

Stranger: Great.

> Your partner disconnected. Press "Next" to find a new person!

Friday, February 12, 2010

Ineffectual American Psycho

I'd be on blow if this were a few years ago, but now it's just a couple $6 cups of coffee from Lamill because I find being in control more ecstatic than being in ecstasy when I dismantle women.

Lucy, I'm going to retrieve a corkscrew but instead of opening up a $249 bottle of Bonnes Mares Grand Cru like I do every other night, I'm going to open up you. And fuck your ass. And artfully bludgeon your face with my Kindle DX as skin, tooth, and brain besmirch my heather grey reverse seam Steven Alan shirt...

Hold on one sec. Don't go anywhere. Well, you're tied up, so I guess you can't.

Back. Umm, so I couldn't find a corkscrew. Have you seen it? Fuck.

Umm. What about that Leatherman your brother gave me for Hanukkah last year? That has a corkscrew feature. No idea where it is? Ughhh, why do I fucking lose everything?!

Maybe we should just have rough sex. I'm feeling kinda low energy right now anyway.

I'm going to untie you. There.

Are you in the mood?

How was work?

Talked to my sister today. She's getting yet another rescue dog. So irresponsible, right? Oh God, I'm doing it again. Worrying about other people to avoid tackling my own problems.

Hold me.

Please. Hold Me. But not because I said so. I want you to want to hold me.

You're so beautiful.

Wait, do we still have chocolate cake in the fridge from last night? We do?! Yay! Let's eat in bed and watch Crimes and Misdemeanors. I feel content right now.

It's nice having someone to bear this fucking world with.

I love you, Lucy.

Want to wake up early and hike? I'll set the alarm.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Jay Radulavic, Uninspired Time Traveler

"Got a nice package on a real cheap round trip to The Good Guys! on Westwood and Pico circa 2000. Forgot how pushy those tie-wearing salesman were. Highlight of my stay: bought a 9-inch portable DVD player for $1400 before tax. Which was only 8% in CA back then. It's 8.25 now."

"Just booked my first trip using an online time travel agent. Went back to UCLA circa 04. Somehow the trip got a little screwy date-wise and I ended up arriving the night after I got dumped by this girl I'd been seeing for a year or so. Needless to say, I was depressed the whole trip. Couldn't eat. Lost 6 pounds and my skin got super dry. On the upside, got to relive a conversation with my sociopathic ex-roommate in which I sort of predicted - with a few major caveats - the iPod Touch. Also, my grams hadn't died of cancer just quite yet, so I got to sort of redo the whole visiting her in hospice thing."

"Was contemplating either a trip back to the time of homo sapien / neanderthal co-habitation or a jaunt to the Globe Theatre circa 1610 to catch a live performance of Lear, but then my brother-in-law who's a real avid snowboarder (surfer too) reminded me that Ralphs used to offer 50% off coupons to the local Los Angeles ski resorts that you could cut right out of the shopping bags. So we ended up going back to do just that and then took a 2-hour road trip to Mountain High circa 1992. Unfortunately, snowboards were banned on the mountain back then. My brother-in-law was very agitated about this. In fact, he more or less took out his anger on me which I did not appreciate. Not one ounce. So anyway, we rented skis. On one of the lifts, I met a shy, balding thirty-something violin teacher named Paul. I ended up getting his number, the idea being that I would maybe take violin lessons from him at a later date. This would result in a rip in the fabric of space-time whereby instead of directing a failed short film my senior year of high school, I focused solely on music before realizing I didn't have enough natural ability and giving up on the violin summer before college. Also, my brother-in-law and I got in a minor fender-bender on the way home from the mountain. He sort of blamed me for the accident even though he was the one driving."

Monday, February 1, 2010

Augmented Reality Contact Lenses Will Change Everything

The year 2020...

A guy wearing augmented reality contact lenses is skull fucking a girl in her apartment. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Blake Bailey's Cheever biography. A text overlay gives him the book's price, ISBN, and date of publication.

He concludes skull fucking. Proceeds to eat girl out. Makes her cum.

Sleeps over.

Wakes up. Drinks juice. Says something abusive but playful on his way out.

Stops by farmer's market on way home. A text overlay informs him that an unattractive, introverted alt girl in line at the pupusa stand is friends with an insufferable Asian guy he sort of knew freshman year of college. He does not approach the girl.

Continues driving home. While nearing major intersection, he notices billboard for a new HBO comedy series. This is the last image he sees before a cobalt blue BMW 335i piloted by a dark eyed 17 year old girl plows into him and careens into a city bus, throwing her still beautiful, still beautiful, but shit it sure is dispiriting what metal and glass can do to human flesh okay no longer at all beautiful and in fact horribly disfigured this is fucking awful omg this is so sad body into the middle of the street.

A text overlay on her vehicle confirms that it is in fact cobalt blue.

Sunday, January 31, 2010

Five Moments in the Life of an 11 Year Old

1. Zone out at school on a tedious sciencey Benjamin Franklin-branded computer game you're not even that good at so as to numb any feelings of existential ennui.

2. Believe deeply that you are one top tier pair of Rollerblades away from forever banishing that feeling of ennui. Also, if mom agrees to elaborate plan to either a) install an ice rink and house a penguin in sister's old room or b) add a Pepsi machine to your own room... you will likely be a content person for the rest of your life.

3. Silently judge any children whose moms packed them worse lunches. Or better lunches.

4. Have sweet, chubby best friend call hot, anti-intellectual, well-developing half-black classmate. Listen in on other phone. Hear it confirmed that she thinks you're sort of cute. Take her to Johnny Rockets with best friend as third wheel. Order a grilled cheese because she does. Throw olives at a parked cable company van because she does. Wildly embellish story of your aggressively mediocre Halloween the night before. Watch her smile. Feel like you took a risk and fucking won. Experience dopamine and endorphin levels the heights of which you won't again reach in your life until you fall in love, nearly die in a spectacular freeway accident, find professional success.

5. Ruthlessly negotiate a minor allowance raise with two thoughtful, striving caucasian human animals who were then just 20 years older than you are now and upon which you once projected all the faith and love your immaculate little heart could beat out.

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Awkward Ice Breaker with Attractive Co-Worker

So, back at work again, huh? How was your hiatus? So like what were you for Halloween and stuff?

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Lawyers, Moms, and Money

me: something about singularity theory.
entertainment lawyer: fascinating! you're wonderful, give me 5% of your future earnings.

me: something about singularity theory.
white girl: fascinating! you're wonderful, take care of me and fill my gaping emotional wounds and perhaps eventually give me 50% of your income.

me: something about singularity theory.
mom: yes, you mentioned this the last time you came over. i get it. here's some sticky toffee pudding i just baked for you.

Friday, January 15, 2010

Persian Guy in his mid 30s

who's either the son of some rich monster or a success himself or a fuck-up playing near the sun on the verge of imploding with a bald spot that mocks him and me driving some smallish shitty bubbly new expensive but not truly baller gunmetal grey Ferrari due north on La Cienega toward the Hills at 10pm: I'm happy. I like what vaginas feel like. 50% of human beings have vaginas. Delightful. I guess I'll fuck 12 more of them kind of randomly drunkenly have good stories in the morningly and then get married and cheat a few times but that's all. I'm not a sex addict. I'm ultimately loyal. I just like feeling needed and revered and attractive. This is the best car I'll ever have. This is the smallest my bald spot will ever naturally be. My eyes look sunken. I'm going to text $300 to Haiti so this bitch in my passenger seat will notice and want to fuck me a little more tonight after I inundate her with omakase and effort and lies.

Friday, January 1, 2010

Scenes from a Small Town Snack Stand

Gruff About To Begin The Process Of Dying Relatively Soon Owner Of Small Rural Oregon Snack Stand Organism: I'm going to talk about eating bear with a confidence and cadence that make me interesting and magnetic and then brutally rib Paul, the 40something Half-Dead Beta Wifeless Small Town Construction Worker Organism poorly fixing a pothole outside of my snack stand in this misty littoral community I will never leave.

Just Traveling Through Town 20something Won't Be Dead For A While Hipster Performatively Imbibing Cowboy Coffee Even Though He Prefers Milk And Sugar Organism: I'm going to enjoy gruff owner guy and his racist jokes because he's funny and beautifully grotesque and there's something about people so culturally off-point and idiotic and yet so much like me in every other sense -- something about them which reminds me that culture is flimsy and insubstantial. That the totality of human ideation is like a tourist trap trinket shop, our great artists and thinkers just #creepyfatpoorsweet Mexicanlady shopkeepers hawking their shitty wares. The only thing that is at all real is dying, crying, fucking, and being a piece of pink consciousnessmeat locked in the badbacked bodies of these slow, can't jump very high our knees hurt herd animals.

Autistic Eleven Year Old Local Not A Fag Just Lonely And Weird Boy On His Laptop Playing A Shitty Online Game While He Waits For A BLT Organism: Before my body perishes, the entirety of my brain will be mapped and preserved, including whatever layers of complexity additively form consciousness. Hence, it is possible my generation will be the first that, put simply, lives forever. I will never die. I will never fucking die. God, I am so sad and bored and don't even like computer games that much.