Dig it: Halloween 2009

The cliché is that Halloween is when women get to dress up as a "slutty (fill in the blank)."

Personally, I think it’s a good thing. It’s already a pagan holiday. If women want to celebrate it by dressing as a sexual fantasy, that’s all the better. Now if only I could find myself a nice ritualistic orgy…

My hard drive failed yesterday

I bought it three years ago, when my iBook melted and took something near and dear to me. I cried like a baby. And then I bought a hard drive. I filled that little bastard with everything. Every song, picture, porn clip--they were all in there.

Well, when I went in to add more fun to the party, it just looked at me. And then minutes later, starting making the infamous "click of death" noise.

OK, let's see. I get fucking fired. The next day my (redacted) dies. A couple of days later, a big chunk of the last three years of my life virtually disappeared.

FML.

Can't sleep

Fact: Gigolos get lonely too.

My father was a very damaged man. But amongst that wreckage was a stunning work ethic that despite a 4th grade education allowed him to provide quite nicely for his family (however much he may have resented said family).

As such, I'm not very good with downtime. One of dad's favorite little tricks was to burst into my room early in the morning while I was still sleeping to scream at me about some stupid shit. Needless to say, it scared the shit out of me. He was like a fucking Nazi, yelling in his stupid southern accent and bad grammar and I'm all startled and wondering if the house is on fire or something terrible has happened. But no. It was something completely banal, like "Where the fuck is the fucking hubcap on the rear driver side of the car?! Where did you go? What did you do? ARE YOU ON DRUGS?!?!?"

Well father of mine, I wasn't on drugs then, but I am now, fucker. And they're pretty much the only thing that keep me from just driving off a cliff or pulling a DJ AM and seeing how many Oxycontins it takes to reach nirvana (i.e. sweet cloak of death). Well, drugs and porn.


So waking up without a stupid job where I'm overworked and undervalued is actually a bad thing in my life. If I'm not doing 100 things at once (and generating a steady income while doing them) I feel like the worthless bum that "ain't never gonna be shit," as the old man liked to constantly remind me.

At the same time, I've done a fantastic job of alienating myself from the people around me. No matter how hard I try, even my closest friends are a good arm's length away. And it fucking sucks.

I woke up this morning well before dawn. My street can be so quiet before the start of rush hour. I smoke the remnants of last night's joint and turn to you. But you're not there. You eventually left me, too. You're just too young, vital and well-adjusted for the likes of me. Which is especially fucked up, considering that you're quite parentally-damaged like myself. Just not nearly as much.

But...at least I realize it. I'm making strides. You seemed to have a good time at the show on Wednesday night. Even though I could feel the distance you maintained between us, no matter what I did. You let me put my arm around you, but I felt you stiffen against it, ever so slightly.

But I persisted. I smiled and laughed and clapped and paid attention and everything. All of the things you used to say you'd wish I'd do. I got a little teary at towards the end. It was a sad song, and it only emphasized how far away you are from me now. Like, so gone.

So I drove you home. I told you I love you and that I miss you. You said you loved me too. You kissed my cheek and gave me a really tight hug. I asked you out to dinner this weekend, and you said yes.

The next day, I got your email saying dinner would have to be postponed indefinitely. You're just really busy with work, and all of your side gigs. Working hard and making money, you know how it goes.

Oh yes. I know how it goes.

Saturday AM Wake N Bake

Please stand by...

Well then

There I was, all smug with my neat little plan. Folded so perfectly on my sparkling clean desk.

Everything in a row, 1, 2, 3, 4.

And then I saw it. A cockroach. In MY apartment.

There are only a few odd and completely random things that literally terrify me. On that list are fucking cockroaches.

I’ve lived in this place for years now. It’s got ups and downs, like most living situations. One of the biggest pluses was the fact that the house is regularly sprayed for roaches. Hence, I’ve never had to deal with those…things.

Roaches have breached my space here exactly two times. Both times I freaked the fuck out. The first time my gf of the era handled it. The second time, I somehow made it happen.

And then, around 1AM last night, I saw it. It was perched on one of the three living room windowsills. Fuuuuuck me.

I’m kind of shaking inside. Oh man. I’m squinting so it only appears as a scary, dark blur. I throw a shoe at it. Twice. The third time the roach falls to the floor and makes a break for it. I lose my fucking mind. I start smashing it with a shoe. Somehow, it remains unfazed, and just kind of hops back and forth in front of the window. Ooooh SHIT. I gotta really go in and do this.


The roach leaps onto the wall and I unleash the fucking fury. I’m hammering his roach ass like there is no tomorrow. I see a couple of parts splinter off, and realize it’s finally stopped moving.


I’m breathing like a crazy bastard and my heart is pounding. I have a vague recollection of screaming “DIE YOU FUCKER JUST FUCKING DIE!” a couple of times. I cover the roach’s splattered carcass with the murder weapon: a grey Nike hiking shoe. 

My cell phone rings. It’s the landlord from downstairs.

“Are you OK?” She loud-whispers. “What’s going on up there?” 

I apologize profusely and explain the scenario. She kind of chuckles and says she understands. I guess the guys that spray the house missed a month or something. Says she had ‘a little one’ in her kitchen. I’m like, fuck, OK. Thanks for, um, letting me know.

And then today happened. I guess it wasn’t fully unexpected, especially after the roach. They’re like harbingers of doom. Because the third time a goddamned cockroach got into my space, I woke up and it all kind of…fell over.

It’s funny, because after the whole roach debacle, I accidentally set off one my smoke alarms (which is for some retarded, yes, retarded reason is hooked up to my remote control? Um, hello?). And when it did, I said out loud “It’s all coming apart.”

And then it did some more and for real though.

Thankfully, my karma account seems to be well up to date, because there is a potential jaybeez to the remedy coming together tomorrow afternoon. It was originally scheduled for today, which is even craaaaazier.

I’m telling you, this shit is for real. It’s all for real. I’m excited.

Story of my life

Kanye West and Spike Jonze made a short film together. Kanye posted it on his blog last night. It's fucking amazing, on a multitude of levels.

Of course, anything truly awesome on the internet has a very short shelf-life. Hence, the film has already been taken down for some reason or another.

Surely it'll be released for real at some point, hopefully sooner than later.

In the meantime, Free Kanye and slap the shit out of Chris Brown while you're at it.

Cry for love

It’s the weirdest fucking thing.

It happened on Saturday, at the most inopportune time (during a concert I was really excited to see). Then it hit me again this morning during my drive into work. Both times I was inexplicably struck with a wave of emotion that resulted in me actually crying.

Crying is not something I indulge in very often. Maybe I should. Especially since I was big crier as a child. My mom always said I was sensitive. My dad thought I was a wuss. But I was an emotional kid, and it didn’t take much for me to explode into tears back then.

Of course, over the years I came to realize that it wasn’t very becoming for a boy to cry. You got called names and girls thought you were weird. So like most males, I developed various means and methods to shut down that whole channel of emotion.

But as I dig deeper into my mysterious endeavor that I’m about to undertake, I keep hitting these patches of feeling that have been dormant for years. And I haven’t even gotten to the really heavy lifting yet. Oh boy, this is going to be quite the journey.

What’s become most apparent is the heartbreak of what could have been. That seems to be the crux of this new influx of sadness. It’s part nostalgia, part embarrassment, part lost youth. While I long for the ambitious, emotionally open, eager young man of days gone by, I also can’t believe how stupid and naïve I was. If I’d only been smarter, or a little more prepared, or something. I was so primed to ‘make it happen’ that my scouting for teammates was less than thorough. So there I was, ready to rule the world, surrounded by idiots.

It sounds harsh, but it’s true. Let’s take a look at the suspects, shall we? One went crazy and ended up in prison. Another just kind of gave up the ghost, got hitched, had a kid and now lives a pale imitation of what he initially strove for back in the day.

Not that I’m living like a fucking rock star over here. But I’m still doing it. I’m still here, building this church brick by brick, and by my own hand. I’m humble, but proud. I survived the betrayal, jealously, maliciousness and the rest of it to find the real me deep inside. Together, we’ve stuck it out and made it all the way here. I mean, we’re right here. Nose pressed up to the glass, memorizing every brand of candy so tantalizingly displaying in neat little rows that go on for miles.

Now, it’s the young ones that get me. When I see them following in my invisible footsteps towards life on TV, it warms my heart. When they walk around the stupid missteps and run faster in the right direction, it makes me even happier.

But sometimes, when I look it squarely in the eye, I can see that twinge of sadness, of sympathy and of regret. The heartbreak of what could have been. It brings tears to my eyes.

The grocery stores are like cathedrals

I knew it. I just knew it. And I was right.

It took him a couple of weeks to get settled before he was able to finally send me a report from the field.

“The grocery stores are like cathedrals. I can see stars
at night. I live in a pretty big apartment in a complex on the
northeastern part of (redacted). Beyond north campus to a nice
residential area. Tree-lined streets, solid stores, the
works.Lol...there is a bit of Rip Van Winkle factor for me going on
too. Wait, you mean I can get a GPS in my car now? I can buy things at
Target for a third of what I would pay in New York? Wait, I can buy
wine and groceries in the same store? Look at the produce, it's
amazing here! When I first saw the washer and dryer in my apartment, I
started looking for where to put the coins in. I sleep for 7-8 hours a night. And I really sleep.”

Just as I imagined. Back there, back in the real world where I came from, things are different than they are here on the other side of the screen. Where you don’t have to spend nights on your knees and others on your back just for the privilege to spend more nights on your knees and on your back.


The grocery stores are like cathedrals. It’s so true. The aisles are massive, wide enough for a two-lane highway. The shelves are piled high, everything all pristine and neatly in a row. Machines don’t require money to function. They just do.

I dream of rolling hills and seeing stars at night. Instead, I smoke the hills, and see stars at the grocery store. And in the mirror. Sparkling like magic, coolly whispering in my ear.

“fuck me harder, baby. fuck me g
ood.”

Just the beginning

Still spinnin’

Sometimes I feel the guy that still buys CDs. But I can’t help it—I still buy porn DVDs.

The tubes sites just don’t do it for me. All grainy and shit. I mean, they’re nice in a pinch. But given my druthers, I’ll take a DVD every time.

Since I’m also a cheap bastard, I rooted around until I found Adult DVD Marketplace. It’s an ingenious idea—it’s basically an Ebay for porn. You post the ones you want to sell, and can browse the stuff other people are getting away with. It’s pretty sweet, and DVDs can be had for less than a dollar.

Today I received my latest order. I grabbed two this time—“Crazy Insane Blowjob Orgies” and “Roly Poly Gangbang Vol. 9.”

I was checking them out earlier, and both of them are on point. The blowjob disc seems to be a compilation of scenes from various editions of “The American Cocksucking Championships,” which is nice. Lots of babes sucking lots of dicks.

The fattie disc is also hot. It has a scene with my new favorite big girl, Glory Foxxx. But it looks like I’ve found a new friend in a blond named simply “Solsa.” She’s got the kind of big-girl body I like. Big, but not too big. I will get plenty of mileage from both discs.

So that last coke score wasn’t so great. That olive-smelling stuff is kind of rough, and not in a good way. So I went back to the old tried and true tonight, and I’m glad I did. Appreciate what you have, kids.

As such, I’m gonna blow a couple more lines and dig into this blowjob tape. See you later….

Heaven must be like this

When I'm dead, just burn me up and toss half of my ashes over here. I'll let you know what to do with the other half soon enough.

High

I’m remembering why I was such a stoner in college.

I was an uptight, naïve kid that needed to loosen up. Marijuana absolutely did the trick.

There are the fondest of memories inside a tiny bedroom in an attic apartment in a particular Midwestern college town. Sitting in front of a cheap department store stereo, baked out of my mind on the sorriest excuse for weed my stoner roommates could help me score.

I’d sit there and listen to the Smashing Pumpkins and My Bloody Valentine and just bug the fuck out. Drink some cheap beer (usually some Busch Light Draft in cans, God help us all), maybe nom out on some Little Debbie snack cakes from the store on the corner. Life was good.

Riding my girlfriend’s purple bike across campus late at night, imagining all of the brilliant and amazing things we were going to do together. Our babies would be so beautiful she would laugh in that tinkly laugh that would never fail to make my insides flutter. I was young, brash, so very ready to rule my corner of the world with this gorgeous woman next to me, making me better just by her presence.

Of course none of it came to pass. I just saw pictures of her first baby on Facebook. Another man’s child, so innocent and sweet, unknowing of the twist inside my gut at the sight of him.

When it was all said and done, the only thing left was me, a duffel bag and an eighth of marijuana in an SRO hotel in Chicago.

I haven’t thought of the Chicago years in forever. Not really. That was such a severe time. There was a period where I was living in the Ambassador East hotel on somebody else’s dime, for fuck’s sake. What? How did any of that ever happen is so beyond me now.

To have made it through all of that to get here now is why I’m doing what I’m about to do. I didn’t survive all of THAT only to just kind of drift away. The plan was set a long time ago. I’ve just been taking my time about putting it into effect now that we’re here.

When I burn through yet another bowl of this designer marijuana that I now have delivered to my door, it somehow connects me to that dork in college trying so desperately to fit in, and get laid, and build something that would last forever. Two out of three ain’t bad.

I should have been there

I’m perpetually amazed at my lust for the big women.

I’m review this new DVD I got in the mail today: “Dirty Horny Orgies.” It’s got scenes from various orgy flicks produced by the Evasive Angles company. Good stuff.

One of the scenes is from “Big Phat Wet Ass Orgy.” During the introduction, we meet the bevy of big-bootied babes that are about to get boned by a bunch of big black dicks. It’s the usual selection of black and white hoes with nice asses. 

Then they pan over to a nearby Jacuzzi, where one of the dudes is chilling with these two super-fine white girls. One is just thick, maybe on the chubby side: Kimmie Lee. 

But the other is this large and in charge hunk of sexual dynamite called Glory Foxxx. She’s got massive tits and an equally big smile. And to me, she’s the hottest of the bunch.

So it kind of pisses me off that she’s barely in the scene. I mean, she gets some screen time. But not nearly enough for me. The worst is that there’s a long stretch leading up the scene-ending cum shots where she’s alone on the end of a couch, diddling her clit and pinching her own nipple.

But if I was there, woo boy. I’d have been all up in that chunky goodness like there was no tomorrow. I love me some Glory Foxxx. Between her and Kimmie Lee, forget about it. Toss in a hotel room and an 8-ball of cocaine, and we're talking one hell of a fun lost weekend.

So much so that I just ordered a copy of “Roly Poly Gangbang #9,” which promises a bevy of big-bellied white girls (including my beloved Glory Foxx) getting black dick from all sorts of angles. I can’t fucking wait.

Still choppin

Work hard, play hard.

Those words have begun to rule my life.


The past month has been a frantic blur of deadlines, freelance assignments, added responsibility at the office—it feels like I’ve been working three jobs. At least. Somewhere, my father is loving this.

Oh, but we haven’t forgotten the play hard part of the equation. I’ve been burning through cocaine like Lindsay Lohan. Take the gram I scored last night, that was supposed to last me the weekend. I polished that off over an hour ago. Which is why I drove a half-hour to meet up with Mr. Dependable, my old tried and true coke dealer from back in the day.

For one, I just couldn’t hit up my current guy twice in two days. That’s just too cracky. A guy’s gotta keep up some appearances, anyway. 

But I also feel like his bags have been kinda light lately, and I’m pretty sure that shit’s mad diluted. I mean, I know I’m a cokehead and all, but I should not be able to snort through a gram that quickly. Famous last words, right?

*Excuse me while I do a line…

Oh yeah, that’s that craaaaazy shit. The stuff that smells faintly of olives. Fuck, just one rail of that shit and I’m vibrating over here. Nice.

*OK, here goes line number two…

Whew. But fuck it. I’ve been working like a mad person. I’ve been out every night this week. The weekend is here, and I’m not committed to shit. Except getting fucked up and watching “Orgy World Vol. 9,” which showed up in the post today. Good times.

Pets

Sex in outer space

I imagine finding these two waiting for me at the top of Cocaine Mountain on Planet XxX. Everything, everything.