soft shock

I hate feeling like I’m too nice.

Because I am. In real life, anyway.

I did an old acquaintance a favor last night. It was kind of weird and didn’t make any sense, but I did it anyway. I think more than anything, he just needed a friend.

He bought me dinner. We talked about life and work and aging and how the world has become like a crazy sci-fi movie where robots take over. Except in this movie, the robots are passive-aggressive, and just sit there while we run around in smaller and smaller circles until we’re just orange blurs of light that will power the machines until the end of time.

After dinner we went to see a rock band. His girlfriend came to meet us. I got almost hysterically angry from the moment I saw her.

Tall, slender, and fucking gorgeous. I couldn’t tell if she was black or ‘mixed.’ Her skin was the color of Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal. Her eyes, a light green. She walked up to my friend and gave him a sweet kiss.

“We are in love forever,” he sighed.

“Yes, we are,” she sighed back.

And I just wanted to scream and cry and destroy everything I touched.

Why do I have to always be stuck watching the things I really want pressed up to my face like a bully taunting a helpless child? Why did I waste my time on this ‘business meeting’ where I impart oceans of wisdom and knowledge all for a plate of rubber chicken at another shitty L.A. restaurant?

Obviously it was so I could see what I’m missing.

This is my life.

I work and work and work and work. I only date women that approach me first. I’m never happy with them. They hound me and love me and beg me to marry them and father their babies. But I don’t. Instead I live a secret private life of drugs and porn and whores and $80 blowjobs on top of the parking structure of Ralph’s grocery store. I sit and imagine all of the things I could be doing with my life.

Instead, I’m planning elaborate hook-ups across state line with big sexy babes that I don’t even really know but know enough to fuck on a long weekend out of town.

CocaineCocaineCocaine.

I smoked a big bowl before going to work this morning. But I do that every day.

I don’t want to be this person anymore. He’s just too fucked up.

So—who to be now?

If you were reading this, maybe you would tell me. But you’re not. So you won’t. Fine. Fuck you too.

Worst Taco Bell run ever

I mean seriously?

My ex had this whole riff about how I have a tendency to victimize myself.

“You act like the world is actively trying to resist you or something,” she lamented, giving me sad face.

First, that’s kind of the very definition of paranoia, so no.

However.

I have a riff of my own. It’s that most human beings fucking suck. They are worthless sacks of endlessly consuming, perpetually wanting flesh. They are completely self-involved cretins that live like they are the center of the universe.

So it’s not that world is against me. It’s that I’m in the world, and the world is fucked the fuck up. People move through the world looking to take your pound of flesh to add to their own, predatory like sharks with opposable thumbs.

Take tonight’s innocuous trip to Taco Bell.

I’d gone out with some friends tonight in L.A. We went from the Cat and Fiddle on Sunset (where there was this fucking hot Amazonian waitress in a short plaid skirt that got my dick hard. I smiled at her a couple of times, but she gave me nothing. I got one tight half-smile at one point, which is universal for ‘move the fuck on, buddy’) to the Drawing Room with some dinner in between.

I didn’t eat at dinner though. I did a pretty big bump of blow before going into the restaurant, which effectively shut down my appetite.


When it was all said and done I found myself at home around 1:30. I watched some of “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” for what has to be like the 30th time I’ve seen it (I looooove me some Mila Kunis. Jesus that ass!). But soon I realized that I was kind of starving. Fuck it—it’s Friday night, I’ll get some Taco Bell.

By the time I get there, a long-ass line of cars had already had the same idea. I got in line behind some obnoxious SUV. Then a couple of Latino teen boys wedged in behind me.

A few minutes later, the reverse lights on the SUV come on, like it’s trying to back up. But there’s this car wedged right behind me. I can’t back up at all.

I look back at the dudes behind me like, ‘yo, back up, this chick up here is tripping.’

But they just stare at me blankly.

A good five minutes later, and a spindly black woman gets out of the SUV and starts yelling at me to “Back the fuck up!”

I scream back at her “Don’t you see the car behind me?! Where the fuck am I supposed to go!”

She squints her eyes and looked. She sees the car behind me (duh).

“Y’all needs to back the hell up! I’m trying to get outta here!”

Again, the boys stare blankly.

I lay on my horn and put my car in reverse. The car behind me clumsily lurches back once, and then twice.

I’m able to maneuver my way out so the SUV could move. But in doing so, I had effectively lost my place in line. The woman in the SUV swore at me again and sped off.

Red. Red lights blood Ohmyfuckingfuck I’m going to kill this bitch.

I speed up behind her and lay on the horn. I follow her out of the parking lot and pull up next to her at the light.

“Fuck you! Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyouyoufuckingbitch!”

I scream out the window. She looks at me shocked. I speed off in a huff. I swing back around to get in line again. I order food, take it home, and it just sucks. I throw most of it away. I sit down and write this tripe. And I’m done. All I want to do is fuck a chick in the ass right now. Is that so wrong?