When I finish this dumb book I’m writing, I’m going to be a jerk and buy a leather jacket and go to Tokyo for three weeks because what the hell else would I possibly do
This cat is gigantic
I don’t know about you guys, but for me jerking off is a totally joyless thing you do once every two weeks while standing over a toilet at three in the morning
You look down at that stupid thing attached to your body and you look at the toilet and you say to both of them: “OK boys, let’s get this thing over with already because this is absolutely horrible“
Listen, you jerks
Just listen to me:
Love is stupid as hell
It’s not even real
Just go ahead and stare at the sun and hope that it kills you before someone else does
Man it would be so cool to rip my clothes off and run into a forest and let out a horrifyingly loud prehistoric scream that doesn’t end until my heart explodes inside my chest
I should just go ahead and do that sometime soon
It sure does sound a heck of a lot better than attempting to co-exist with the rest of these shelled-out feel-nothing mouth-breathers whose very existence literally and figuratively pollutes and rots this poor cursed ball of garbage we’re strapped to whether we want to be or not
“All Four Wheels”
by ryan starsailor
Daddy took the truck this morning
And with it my bag of 3D Doritos®
Which I had purchased
From some shit-ass dump-hole gas station
Just outside
Denton, Texas.
I fuckin’ loved that truck
With the broken taillight
And the twisted frame
From all those wild fuckin’ nights
When we’d take it to the river
Ridin’ over rusted oil drums
And big-ass stupid rocks.
Regina and I had fucked
Right there in the bed of that
God damn stupid machine—
Me telling her,
“Babe I think I fuckin’ love you”
And her throwing up
A loaded baked potato
All over my favorite
Flannel shirt.
Some nights I would ride it wild
Playin’ that music real loud
Through the cornfields
And down windy-ass roads
Talkin’ shit on my CB radio
Fartin’ into the seats
Never thinkin’ ’bout no “where” or “why”—
But the truck is gone now,
Daddy drove that bitch away
All four wheels
And the seats and windows too
And with it my bag of 3D Doritos®
Which were so crunchy
And so full of life.
At work I referred to myself as a “26-year-old man” and a guy on the other side of the bar reached across the space dividing us and pinched my cheek.
“Aw, that’s adorable. He called himself a ‘man’.”
To which I said, “Well, jesus, I didn’t know else to call myself.”
“You’re a boy,” he said.
Later I looked in the mirror and decided that maybe that jerk was right. I don’t look at all like an adult. I just look like a severely worn-down teenager who hasn’t slept or seen the sun in weeks.
Last night it rained, and I thought that was very unusual because it almost never rains, and I was thinking about something I had seen long ago—maybe a decade ago now . . . some warped, foggy, thrice-photocopied Chinese knockoff facsimile of a memory. And for once the confusion lifted, and my brain wasn’t quite so scrambled, and I almost missed what I had seen in my head. And what was it? I haven’t the slightest damn clue . . . a smeary vision of my father’s face, maybe, when he was younger. Before I could hold onto it my brain surged with a white-hot solar flare, wiping out everything in its path, and instantly I returned to my usual status as a dead-empty time-rotten creature with the emotional complexity of a rained-on duffel bag full of vampire feces.
The squares and the sociopaths will eventually succeed in killing off the thinkers and the feelers and then I guess they’ll finally be able turn this planet into a fishbowl filled with flaming dog shit
Bones in a god damn wooden box
