Sometimes I feel like everything I’m doing and saying is a rude parody of the truth and my reward for this witty satire is being sad.

I work at a bowling alley now. If you’re wondering why, it’s so I can have money. The guy training me is called Grease. Today he taught me that when you assign lanes, you put the attractive women directly behind the desk so you can see them bowl and put the men and kids as far away as possible. I asked Grease why he does this and he told me that he isn’t gay.

Worked with a cool guy named Gammy today. He told me he was a marine sniper for 8 years and that he has 27 confirmed kills and that his first was a 13-year-old boy in Afghanistan. He told me one time he shot a guy during dinner and the guy’s whole family just left him lying on the table and left the house. Gammy’s name reminds me of something you’d call your grandma. He doesn’t remind me of a killer. He reminds me of a Puerto Rican Chris Tucker especially when he says “hellllll no” in a Chris Tucker kind of way. Gammy told me he knew white people were responsible for the Boston bombings as soon as it happened because “white people ruin everything” and I agreed and we laughed. Grease did not work today.

I saw a porn once where the guy was fucking the girl from behind and he kept saying I’m Winning You’re Losing. They had a graphic on the screen called a Cum Counter that kept counting how many times she supposedly came.

Imagine an orgy large enough to render all world governments obsolete.

I spent 17 minutes reading YouTube comments on a video of a guy w/ Bad Opinions (ugh) and shaking my head in disgust (wow) I started an alias gmail account and sent messages to all my old friends telling them what I really think is wrong w/ them. What is wrong w/ me. Jeez, i am overwhelmed w/ Feelings. This is the bad part of my life.

I have caught my parents having sex 84 times this year alone.

When I was 16 I was a sad teen that worked at subway. During my subway tenure, I worked with a dwarf named Steve who had some sort of congenital defect and an ex-con named doug who was very charming and nice to me and used to brag about buying whores and got Steve into whores with him. After work he would ask Steve if he wanted to get some whores with him and Steve would look around sheepishly and say yes and then they’d go get some whores. Steve, doug, and I used to gamble with the quarters from the register. Doug would get very angry when he lost. Once I drove him home because he asked me to. He looked like he lived where whores live.

One time when I was working at Subway with a girl named Stephanie she brought a guy in back when the manager wasn’t there. He got really angry at me for looking like a sad teen. He walked up to me and told me that this job obviously sucked but I needed to Cheer The Fuck Up.

Everyone called Stephanie Subway Slut because she worked at Subway and liked to have sex with different boys. I don’t know how this guy felt about this. I think they had sex in the bathroom. Stephanie was surprised when my friend brad told her that I smoked a lot of weed because she thought that was something only cool people did and she did not think I was very cool.

I still have scars on my left wrist from when I used to cut myself when I worked at subway. I think they are not going to go away I think they are permanent and sometimes people see them if we happen to be laying in bed together. I usually do not mention Subway but maybe I should.

i get dumped a lot. I must be good at being attractive in the short term and then cannot maintain this kind of attractive behavior.

Once I was in the waiting room to get my second colonoscopy (i think i was 22) to get polyps removed from my colon. I was sitting across from a morbidly obese woman. They give you 1 hour to drink 32 ounces of liquid chalk so the doctors can see your insides during the MRI and scrape out your shit glands. We had both gone 24 hours without eating and with about 15 minutes left, she was just making these pained faces and saying Ew Yucky and had barely drunk any of it. She ended up not finishing, she just gave up which felt really tragic because I know it must have been really hard for her not to eat for 24 hours (not being trying to be rude). She didn’t finish. She just gave up and they didn’t let her go through with the operation.

Quick confession: my dad invented the genre of radio commercial where a kid wins a spelling bee by spelling Quality with letters that make up the name of a business and I’m sad about it but in spite of hardship, I’ve had my fair share of innocent thoughts in my life. Here’s one right now: being warm can be fun sometimes but other times not so much.

Ultimately the most important part of your life is being old because that’s the last part. I believe this but I’m not sure if I’m looking forward to it or not.

Imagine if Noam Chomsky would just shut the fuck up and sing like Rihanna.

If your pineal gland releases all your DMT-receptor chemicals when you die, then everyone trips out severely. It seems likely that an intensely emotional, highly distorted sensory episode is the last thing humans experience before the end. Consider the consequences of this: what if you die in physical pain or great psychic distress? Seems you would have the Bad Trip of a Lifetime on your way out. Seems like more trouble than most people would ask for, but that’s probably true of many things. Regardless, probably something everyone ought to try to mentally prepare themselves for. I mean, holy shit.

Hot Tip: Everything in life can be quantified positively or negatively.

Your friend says hello to you: +5 pts

Your mom thinks you are mad at her: -10 pts

You watch an episode of Frasier on Netflix with your brother and identify with the main characters because they are also brothers: +10 pts

You don’t have a very close relationship with your adult siblings: -15 pts

You know your dad doesn’t like your music very much: -15 pts

He pretends that it is alright but just not for him: +5 pts

Sometimes I feel like everything I’m doing and saying is a rude parody of the truth and my reward for this witty satire is being sad.

One time a girl put a blanket over my head and said You Are Now Dad but she meant to say Dead and she was embarrassed and then we had sex.

I am afraid of men but I am a smart boy so I intellectualize my fear in the form of Cool Shaming and Tight Blaming. If I’m being honest, I would like to be the Number One Dude. I admire strong guys. I like to watch them play sports. I relate to the idea of a Buff Bro. I like a dude so top heavy I can topple him with a good push. I like to push dudes into pools in the summertime.

But I guess what I most want is to be in actual love with a woman who actually loves me back until we die painless, unexpected deaths simultaneously, but someone told me this was already done in a bad movie. Regardless, I should probably try to be less of a Fucker and more of a Lover if this is what I really want out of life. Its hard when you’re designed to fuck and kill. 2/5 fucker 3/5 lover is the optimal formula for a Good Man, I think, but I’m addicted to being an idiot and it’s a problem.

Imagine if on warm summer nights in the suburbs, the neighborhood dads all hung out on the corners and rough housed and didn’t want to go home.

Accidentally went to http://facebook.cop/ and, guess what, now I’m in prison. It’s kind of cool, actually. They let you sleep as much as u want in here.

Quick role-playing exercise: a tall man wants to be nice to you. What do you do? (You are a beautiful female dog.)

Last night I went to a taping of my roommate’s brother’s rap performance on public access with some friends. They sat us next to the stage and told us to act like we were excited. It was unorganized and no one seemed to know where to look or what to do and the lights were very bright and hot.

At the end they had the whole audience get on stage and dance in a soul train line. I didn’t know what a soul train line was and a large black woman took my hand and said Come Here Honey and showed me where to stand. There was an old man who danced with a girl and his main move was that he would stomp his cane on the ground. They kicked me off stage because i was staring into the camera too long after completing my second soul train line.

When we left some people said Bye Addams Family and we couldn’t figure out if they meant Addams family like the TV show because we were white or if they meant Atom’s family because my roommate’s brother the rapper calls himself Grizzly Atoms.

Incidentally, i can trace the root cause of my disillusionment with the human condition to finding out that all hair is dead.

Less incidentally, it is monday and i am wearing a teal t-shirt. I am hiding in a potted plant at the food court. What if you did something really sexy and the only one who saw was your dog. Would you have to get married? Probably not but it’s fun to think about. You can see a lot of Rare Vids of Young Dudes hanging out at home and doing funny voices if you search Just Chillin on YouTube. Go ahead and try this and maybe then you will learn how to love without needing to receive anything in return.

Go ahead and admire this bear it doesn’t cost you anything

○”⌒○

( ・(ェ)・)

/ ⌒ヽ

人＿__つ_つ

I think people are prone to suicide because we can experience so much joy. It’s a risk reward thing and its treacherous as shit but v profitable. I like to think of my life as a business and I am the CEO. Haha. I think I am making a lot of money all the time.

From 23-25, I lived with a girl I was deeply dedicated to. It didn’t work out, she left me for a guy who used to teach at my high school and tried to sleep with a lot of the freshman girls (he got fired.) People in my social circle and from my hometown, students my age he had pursued while teaching them, would tell me stories about him and I would feel increasingly humiliated. I remember feeling an intense sense of dissociation from myself for extended periods of time, not being able to sense my own body or remember my thoughts. I am convinced that in a certain sense, I died, although I am not sure how this works, to die and keep on living. I moved back in with my parents and started spending 14 hours a day on the internet. I didn’t look for a job and instead would exercise intensely for hours on end, swimming and running, eating a diet of protein shakes and vegetables. I had a new body and couldn’t really feel it. I didn’t have sex with anyone and kept in contact with one close friend from high school who was in his first year of teaching, about to get married, living his life with hope and joy. We would go for long walks and bike rides and talk about everything we thought mattered. We would share stories with the aim of solving problems. I would go home and sit on the computer alone in my room and try to do the same with strangers. People seemed to appreciate it. I certainly did.

After a year in the womb, I gave myself permission to start living my life in the real world again. I feel like I have grown years in months, making up for lost time. I am living with old friends, spending my time with them, having conversations, living to the point of exhaustion because it feels necessary. I am working a part-time job and learning how the resale hustle works with my neighbor so I can supplement my income and have some degree of economic freedom. Buying people’s old shit and selling it on the internet seems like the only way a person can live off the land in an urban environment anymore. I guess you could sell drugs too, but I digress. I believe the Marxist idea, that people are alienated from their work and that this has severe consequences, is true and describes our present condition accurately. People were probably only designed by evolution to live in tribal societies, but it seems amazing that we are figuring out how to live in this world that our innate urge to take advantage has helped us build. When I think about people like this, I cannot help but respect us so deeply, and I can only imagine how many problems we will solve in the future.

Sometimes think I deserve to be treated like Shit by a Beautiful Woman. I’m jogging 4-5 times a week now, getting fit for this crucial life experience. Incidentally, there actually are full sized alligators in the sewers of New York City and I know because I had sex with one of them.

If a meteor can take the dinosaurs away it can bring them back.

My grandmother is dating a 90-year-old man with three brown teeth named Carl. She and my grandfather met him at either the church or a swimming facility when grandpa was still alive. I’m not implying that Carl killed him, this isn’t that kind of story, but he did move in pretty quickly after he had passed. I guess grandma didn’t know what to do without having someone to take care of. She is from a farm in southern Illinois and once showed me a picture of her family from the 40s. Her father and brothers were all wearing overalls without shoes. She told me she had made the dress she was wearing with a sewing machine she had saved up to buy. Carl was hiding out in Mexico during the 40s to avoid the draft upon his father’s advice. Toward the end of the war, Carl got worked up and came back with the intent to register for service, but the war ended while he was on the bus.

Carl is a man who is always burning to discuss the Big Issues. I visited my grandma’s the other day after work and had a talk with Carl on the back porch. He greeted me by asking me “what’s important?” A life-long Marxist, he says he doesn’t associate with the communists anymore because he is an “independent thinker,” but my dad says he just doesn’t go to the meetings anymore because they stopped picking him up. My dad thinks it’s because Carl is irritating, but that may have something to do with the fact that Carl is sleeping with his mother and refuses to pay for rent or utilities. My grandma insists he doesn’t have to. That is not the point of Carl.

After a moment’s thought, I tell Carl that I Am Important. “Let’s talk about you then,” he says with a smile and his three brown teeth make an appearance. They smell and I find it endearing for reasons I have yet to investigate. I tell Carl that I am considering going to law school. He gets excited, his white eyebrows twitch, and he exclaims “Ah! Law! Your ticket to power!” I wait while he raises a finger before gathering his thoughts to make his point. “Being a doctor–that’s a lot of prestige, little power,” he continues. “A teacher–a little prestige, no power. A lawyer–lots of power, no prestige. Well, at least in my opinion.” He tells me he suspects I am “money hungry” and I assure him that I’m not, just tired of working at a bowling alley and writing on the internet and looking for a challenge. He says to me, “When I was your age, I was handsome. But I wasn’t as handsome as you. Now that’s power.” I laugh and suspect he is buttering me up so that I’ll keep talking to him.

Carl loves to talk and it can be challenging to listen to him because of 1.) bad breath 2.) he is virtually deaf and you have to shout and speak slowly so he can read your lips 3.) no one likes him because he doesn’t pay any bills even though he has money. I ask Carl what I should do with my power. He says, “well, I wouldn’t cheat.”

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