November 19, 2008

I told my brother last week that most women didn't turn me on and today I found a friggen Viagra package in my mailbox. Nondescript brown package - obviously a bomb or pills of some kind, and I opened it up hoping maybe one of the druggies around here made his delivery to the wrong box. But nope, it was Viagra and I knew it was my brother. So yeah, most women don't turn me on. They're always talking about their lipstick and their friends children or their mother and the latest pretty boy dipshit selling his looks in Hollywood. Hell I'd do it too if I had the looks, sell my self out and sleep with models just to break up with them and say they were terrible people. Probably suicide, they're all addicted to cocaine and booze and these women love telling each other - AND ME when I'm on the bus next to them - which dipshit picked up the nose candy and which bitch "quit drinking" and was then found binging the next weekend with a new boyfriend, half the time it's some young kid they meet at a club who's gotta be braindead and drunk himself, or maybe they just like fucking famous women to say they did it. Every single one of those Hollywood relationships ends with somebody suing or filing a restraining order or having a public bitching fest in the middle of a mall somewhere, and the damn paparazzi swarms them. I got into a fight with a paparazzi faggot one time, he's sitting at the bar telling me how he always tries to take pictures of the models in this town from "unique angles". I was pissed and high, started throwing hooks and apparently didn't stop until he admitted to being gay and having no family and no friends beyond the women he took pictures of. I do remember the bartender smiling the whole time though. Gave me a free shot when I was there again a month later - I don't like visiting bars for a few weeks after I have a fight there. I always win (it's always against some nancy boy who majored in liberal arts or the jerkoff interns for the Seismic Productions porn studio downtown) - I never fight the real fighters, I've got no wish to see what it's like on the other end. I was there in elementary school until I grew a spine both literally and psychologically, and started beating the crap out of people who looked at me wrong. I couldn't hurt them too much or they'd get bruises and then the teachers would show the bruised bastard to my parents, who'd ask me if I was really taking my medicine or not. That happened a couple times every year. Whenever you have a fight at a bar, everyone else there wants to fight you, no matter if they've never fought, always lose or always win. The guys who have never fought see you beating the shit out of some fucker and want to prove themselves, get some for the night. The guys who have never won think that I can only beat on guys with little muscle and no brains - liberal arts majors and porn interns (they don't actually get to fuck, just do technical work. They used to try talking to the stars though, until Seismic made it illegal for them to by putting it in their contract. The women were always unnerved by these young kids trying out pick-up lines they read on the internet) - these guys think they can take me since I only fight weak people. So I avoid them because I don't like unnecessary fighting and if you fight two days in a row you'll fight three days in a row until someone beats you or the body builder friend of who you pounded corners you in the parking lot and rips half your face off. Then there's the guys who have never lost a fight - and they're ready to prove that they won't lose, they always look straight at me when I'm being escorted out. So I leave a place alone for a month - just long enough that everyone gets bored looking to take me out as the champion bar fighter, or picks a fight with someone else. If I hear about a fight at a place after I've been there, I don't go. Some people take shit way too seriously and get killed over politics and which way they voted last election. Speaking of which, Obama won the latest election but I bet he'll get assassinated by some guy who's never won a fight in his life in order to prove that black people can't take care of themselves so how can they run a country? Course I don't think he can run the country either but I keep my mouth shut about that. Well I took some hydrocodone I stole from a pharmacy three weeks ago, took the box Viagra sent me and replaced my address with my brothers, marked "Wrong Address" on the box. Desperate bastard that he is, I know he'll try it and when he does he and she both are in for a surprise.

My parents called me Jack, everyone else calls me an ass. This is my diary where I write shit because no one else gives a damn except for me myself and my writing hand. Funny, that writing hand. At school in third grade this guy sees me drawing monsters and swipes my pencil when I put it down to admire my creation - a mix between Godzilla and the monster from that horror movie where they shoot it like it's really happening like the Blair Witch, but the other one. He breaks my pencil and says I should quit drawing gay monsters just because my parents were gay monsters. Which is funny because his parents divorced after three years and he lives with his mom and my parents were decent, I just had to fake taking the ADHD pills they started pumping me with at age three and we got along fine. Fifteen years later I started writing about my life and manic depressive nuts who like starships and alien sex - I write science fiction - with dead end jobs and ugly children started buying what I wrote so I've been writing ever since then. Thanks for buying, if you stole this book then you're probably poorer then those nuts who buy my sci-fi - I sell at colleges where the nuts buy my crap and put it next to other science fiction and druggie bullshit, they sell it for $8 a book and I'm on the forty-seventh in the series, those nuts eat it up as long as I put it at least one new alien sex species sex scene and make at least three of the characters batshit insane and in command of large armies or warships. First novel tried only two characters and a quick cock-tease with an alien bitch who looked like a peacock and a rabbit combined and it didn't sell that well so I bumped it up a bit and made the plot more convoluted and now these college jerk offs argue over which religion the newest aliens closely follow and the possibilities of creating alien lifeforms from human genetics - at one college they even started a genetic experiment to splice human genes with a bat but that got shut down damn fast, no dean wants weird shit like that happening in his department. So these diaries are where I write what happens to me and what I think about it and these words are probably the only thing that keeps me from being the next clocktower sniper, picking off those college kids like the spoonfed cattle they are. Enjoy.

November 16, 2008

I keep a tape recorder running at home, in case anyone ever breaks in I can hear them swear and take the tape to the police to get a trace on them. Tonight it recorded a damn funny speech on TV so I played it back and typed it on my computer - a news reporter freaking out about her some guy named Richard. Here it is.

"From CNN to Richard, you still have not called me! After all these announcements and titling underlined news with the letters of your last time, speaking ONLY to co-workers whose name begins within only one yes Richard, ONE letter from R. My number is RIGHT THERE covering over the police tip line, the Call Mrs. Sue - she's not really a psychic or a counselor, just an old lady living inside a tent off of Highway 8. I think the Indians give her cactus or something because she's always got that gorgeous look in her eyes WELL HER TOO RICHARD - she said - she said to me! You know what, she said "Your heart will come true" and my heart is on you Richard so call me, please, I'd get fired for this spiel already because the United Shiva Expansion Fraternity is dropping bombs on the Pentagon (run by pagans you know! witches!) but since I'm sleeping with Mr. Rupert Murdoch I can keep my job here no matter what I say dear you've got to call me, I'm *sniff* begging you please baby, I'm sorry about our kid, just call me and let me know.. know.. oh! What you think of McDonalds! What? No yes it's news of course Americans care about internal, emotional - and have you seen Mrs. Sue? spiritual ISSUES such as what my heart is doing! and right now it's just playing somersault with me Richard baby I love you the trans fat is being lowered thanks to a new legislation by well my best friend is sleeping with him baby I can't tell you his name but I'm sure you could huh? Break? Commercial? Oh right, advertising you know babe I was in adver ok fine, cut me off bitch, play that stupid commercial."

I dated her once, the reporter. Fourth date things went pretty badly though, she got a call from someone, friend in college or whatever. She started talking to her, told her she was on a date and then STAYED talking on the phone with her there we are in the middle of Carrabbas eating pizza and she's going on about her job and the hairspray product she pushes on the weekends - she doesn't need the money but is obsessed with helping old people. Feeling guilty for letting her mom die from breast cancer, too afraid to touch her tit and check the lump out, poor lady 97 years old and unable to move herself around and too afraid to think the lump might actually be cancer. So she got into this hairspray shit, prevents dirt from attaching itself she told me once right after her mother died three months ago. Anyways shes on the phone with her friend and this has gone on for about 10 minutes, I've finished my friggen pizza half way through the conversation and I'm just looking at her wondering when she's going to shut the hell up and hear me say I don't want to see her again and she's LOOKING at me but whenever I say anything like "Hey, you're on a date with ME" she would nod and turn her head and wave her hand. We weren't even drinking wine, she's just a natural sociopath, like me I guess but at least I'm more subtle about it. After 10 minutes I'm getting pissed off so I decide to mess with her - already knew I didn't want to see her again - and the CNN station is just down the street from where I live but I never brought her over so she can't find me. Good thing because if she did I'm sure she'd forget about that Richard bastard and be all over me. Well maybe not. Because after 10 minutes I casually stuck my left hand in my pants, kept drinking water with my right, and begin jerking myself while she's talking on the phone. Another 10 minutes passes before she notices and with a stupid little horrified look on her face, like a child seeing a penis for the first time, tells her annoying friend on the phone that her date is "playing with himself and I have to call you back love you bye" - never said love you to me, and I'm glad. So she hangs up and asks me "What the hell are you doing!" and I told her straight-up, I'm jacking off just like you are on the phone and everybody's got needs you take care of yours I take care of mine. She stared at me for a few seconds and then I faked an orgasm (I was meeting friends later that night didn't want a stain on my pants) and pulled my hand out of my pocket. Walked out of the restaurant with my water glass, she got up and went to the bathroom. Wonder who that Richard guy is. She's been talking to him for a month now, he must have fucked her and then realized she's an emotionally dependent child and split as fast as he could. Hope I never meet him, she might be stalking him and see me, probably get drunk and try to take me home. I'd just jack off again, of course, and not hold back.