Really? (A rambling about realness, kinda)

Really? (A rambling about realness, kinda)

I’m over saying that my posts will not be Safe in a Work environment. They aren’t and they will continue to not be. If you have a problem take it up with my manager. If you can find him…
No, seriously he owes me money…
No, seriously seriously you think someone put me up to this? Ha! I waste my time on my own accord

I’ve realized something as I transfer the weird shit that flows through my mind onto the pages of my journal. I realize that, nowadays, the success of my generation (the godforFUCKINGsaken MILLENNIAL GENERATION) [millennial: a word I would probably never ever spell correctly if it weren’t for SpellCheck] is based on how much attention one can accrue on the interwebs. LITERALLY (used as ‘literally’ and not a ‘figuratively’…cuz my generation FUCKED that up too) winning popularity contests on an interface where people only see the projection that YOU want them to see is a way to make a stupid amount of money…which, I guess is all anyone cares about.

It sucks. It fuckin’ sucks.
But it is what it is. And I try to accept that.
While I’m convinced that the internet will fail society at one point or another in the future and the whole of everything will crumple into crumbly ashes and there will be a mass panic because EVERYTHING will be solely dependent upon the functioning of an online world.
It is not this day, and (unfortunately) I believe I will be gone from this world before that ever happens.
But there will be a day when someone with a machete is going to fight someone with a sharpened piece of industrial rebar for a can of Bush’s Smoked Baked Beans in a world riddled with nuclear fallout and fuckin’ giant ants ‘n shit.

We’re getting off topic (is there a topic?)

No. No, there isn’t.

There’s this weird thing that happens within the realm of online dating (speaking of interfaces that suck) where, as a guy, I run into these fake profiles. Now, I don’t know if this happens to girls (it shouldn’t cuz they shouldn’t have to put up with something like this considering the shit they ALREADY have to put up with from guys who don’t know how to be a humanfuckingbeing) but these fake profiles have pictures of girls that are either ACTUALLY the girl who is talking or have been stolen (cuz hey, everything on the internet is free, right?) I will express my interest through a ‘like’ a match will occur, and wouldn’t ya fuckin believe it, she’ll message me first.

Red flag, cuz most girls don’t do that. I dunno, something about pretending not be interested and playing a game called “to get hard” or some shit. (props to those who get that joke. Even MORE props to the people who experienced a spurt of dyslexia and actually read it as “hard to get”)

This cute girl will say something utterly intoxicating…like, “Hi.” the smart ones will anyway. (The dumb ones will, kick it off with something like “Hey I’m in town for two days here’s my hotel and my number, I’m horny. [they’re not. they’re not horny])  Then I’ll respond with something clever and dashing like “Hello.” Then we’ll jump right into the stimulating meat of the conversation and she’ll make a move by asking “What are you looking for on here?” and I’ll give her an answer about how I actually like dating girls and hooking-up, while fun sometimes, (can’t lie) is just to fill a fix and is ultimately unfulfilling…like a bag of pop-rocks.

That’s when she comes on strong with something like “I need you to help me blahblahblahblah my boyfriend has erectile dysfunction and I still love him but we can’t fuck so I need someone to fuck me blahblahblahblah discreetly blahblah tinder is giving my phone a virus and I don’t want him to find out here’s my email blahblahblah or better yet visit my website blahblah (some opposite-of-low-key cam-girl website that will destroy my computer’s hard drive with a flick of its daddy issues [sorry, that was kinda mean {I’m not}]). I’m sitting there like “What kind of a poor, insecure, shell of some flabby, oxford-wearing, sweat-stained, rolling-rock drinking, fantasy-football playing, 40-something, still living in his parent’s basement mother-FUCKER do you think I am?
how FUCKING stupid, do you think I am?

stoopid…sometimes I am, but when it comes to common sense, I’ve gotta pretty stable cheshire cat’s head on my shoulders…get it?

But, fuck man, I’m not a sucker.And if there’s ANYTHING that ACTUALLY grinds my gears, it’s when people TRY to pull a tactless fast-one on me. Whether or not these cam girls are real, I can appreciate their persistence in “the hustle,” but you’re dealing with the wrong shmuck and you’re too fuckin’ pretty to get paid to be treated like you may or may not be.

but what the fuck do I know?

cheers, beautiful people,


The Adventures of Captain Save-A-Ho vol. I

The Adventures of Captain Save-A-Ho vol. I

I think (I think) every decent man has had to play this role AT LEAST once in his young manhood. There’s something very primal that is programmed in the good ones that pounds his chest and speaks in a gravely tone “urgh, female need help, I have ability to help, I HELP FEMALE, BE HERO OF NIGHT!…ALL WILL TREMBLE AT HEROCITY!”

This role I affectionately refer to as Captain Save-A-Ho.

I can’t take credit for coining the term but I will most definitely take credit for making use of the title and contributing to its character. It’s a role I’ve had to play on more than one occasion. Not saying that I like playing the role or even that I hate it. I see it as a necessity. A time to act and to take action! to preserve the life and to remedy poor decision making for Hos far and wide! Mostly it’s just a waste of time but if I don’t at least offer to help, I will be going against everything I believe in. And GAWD FORBID my STARK MORAL CODE is compromised! Whatever shall I do?

I dunno, I guess I’ll just keep on or whatthefuckever.

As always, this post will Not be Safe For Work

Ugh…so THIS bitch…

Ok, lemme start over. Context is needed

I’m an Uber driver as well as a bouncer because when I’m not getting paid to write, I GUESS I need to make money one way or another so I can be self-sufficient ‘n shit.

I usually do my driving at night. Living in L.A. provides daily tests of one’s patience with regards to traffic. And more people need rides at night and the early morning. That PLUS no sun? I’m stoked. Anyways, I’m cruising around Midcity when I get the call. I show up to my location and as I’m waiting for my pick-up, I get a call from the orderer of the Uber.

Not the person’s address I’ve arrived at. Oh. Good?

The guy tells me that he’s ordered this ride for a girl who should be coming out in a second and asks me to ask her to call him when they’re on the way.

Fantastic. It’s 3:30am I am now the booty call mediator. I’m feeling SUPER excited about this ride now. NOT ONLY am I NOT having sex, but I am explicitly aware of someone who is…which is a pointless thing to think about if you take into account the amount of people in the world and how many of them are bangin’ at any given moment…think about it.

ok stop. I’m telling a story.

So the girl in question comes bouncing down her driveway, presumably incredibly excited about getting laid in the wee hours of the morning, and hops in the front seat. And She’s adorable. So not only am I the booty call mediator…but some dude is going to get to see this little breath of fresh air naked…and I don’t…*sigh* sometimes it’s not fair. We exchange names and she says she’s ready to go

Yeah, no, I can’t remember her name.

We start off on our merry way and, I shit you not, at the end of her street she says to me, “wait, what the fuck am I doing?”

This, friends, is what addicts refer to as a “moment of clarity.”

She says she’s still relatively fucked-up and shows me the spiderweb of a crack that splinters the entire screen of a phone that she allegedly bought 2 days prior. She also says she has no idea who this dude is or when she met him or how he got her number. Much less her address.

I fill her in on her situation and tell her that I’m still going to drive the trip (it’s only 10 minutes) but whether or not she gets out is up to her. I also tell her, after she’s filled me in on just how unfamiliar she is with this dude, that there is ONLY one thing that ANY guy who’s still awake at 3:30am wants.


SEX, people, c’mon! The prospect of literally being INSIDE a woman’s body.

And she doesn’t believe me. Trust me, I was surprised at how much convincing it took to convince her that all this dude wanted to do was fuck. Which should’ve been my (1..2..3..4..) like, FIFTH red flag that this ride was doomed to begin with.

She makes the decision that she is NOT going to to go over to this dude’s house and I’m like “aight, we’re goin’ back…hungry?” she’s like “yaaaasssss, let’s get jack in the box”

So we do, on the drive to Jack and then back to her house she receives text after text after text from this dude asking her where she is, when she’s getting there in the form of “hey-I reallyreallyreallyreallyreally wanna bang” desperation messages. Until he starts calling.

This is where it starts to suck.

I finish the trip and complete it on my app like I said I would so she had time to make a decision and the poor shmuck wasn’t paying too much. Not 2 minutes after we turn around does she get a call from him asking her where she is.

“blahblahblah honey, baby, blah we’re 10 minutes away”

wait, what?

Another call: “blahblahblahblah sweetheart, honey, blah we’re actually lost.”

wait…oh my gawd that’s so mean. She’s openly fucking with this dude, and, I’ll admit, after the first couple calls I started to feel sorry for him…but then he. kept. calling.

She kept saying she was lost and on the way, and the cycle continued until we got back to the address I picked her up at. AND GUESS FUCKING WHAT. She’s locked herself out. No keys. No clue. No dignity.


Captain Save-A-Ho takes over (guys, it’s totally me) and recognizes this lost soul so he offers his roof and his couch to this girl. Long. story. short. I won’t bother with petty details. She stayed on my couch left before I woke up and I’m probably never going to see her again.

Totally ok with that.

Moral of this Captain Save-A-Ho episode is this:
Ladies, don’t be fuckin’ mean and lead dudes on, ESPECIALLY if they’re drunk and lookin’ to get laid. They’ll get over it. They’ll go home, feel lonely, jerk-off, feel INSTANTLY better, then pass out.
Gentlemen, DON”T BE A FUCKIN’ IDIOT, I KNOW IT”S DIFFICULT but unless you’re both drunk together going to the same place. AT THE SAME TIME. She’s NOT gonna come find you, her bed is more comfortable than you and ODDS ARE she’s too smart for you anyway. If, by some GAWDFORSAKEN MIRACLE she ACTUALLY wants you to order her an Uber or Lyft to pick her up and take you to her place, THERE”S SOMETHING CALLED GPS WE HAVE NOW IN THIS TECHNOLOGICAL AGE. GETTING LOST GOING FROM POINT A to POINT B is DAMN. NEAR. IMPOSSIBLE.
She’s not lost. You’re just stoopid. Stop calling. You’re not gonna get laid tonight. You’ll live.

I need a drink.

Cheers, beautiful people,