Delicious Tacos - The Pussy

I have to piss. Ask the Irish girl, will you do me a favor.

… maybe.

Flirtatious. I am getting somewhere. I ask her: if someone steals my computer will you yell at them?

Yes.

Great. Thank you.

I piss. But first I fix my hair. After, I think of what I’m gonna say. When I go back she will tell me that Huns tried to take my 2007 Acer Aspire. She fought them off. Stay in the can till it comes to me. Yeah, I could tell you have a touch of Charles Bronson going on. Good. Head back.

I come out and thank her. She just makes a don’t talk to me face.

Sic transit gloria mundi.

‘Cuz a lot of my friends are really into like sculpture right now, the fat little blonde is saying. She talks like a sparrow. I’m putting together a zine panel at Headspace. Colleen McTits has to get up. She does not ask me to watch her computer. Tries hard to get up in her short dress without giving me a panty shot. Fails. They are black.

Check my phone. Lena Dunham favorited my twitter picture. Her with Nicolas Cage’s head. This delights me. I have been noticed by someone famous. I’m in an Echo Park coffee shop drinking a tea called “Spring Jasmine.” Grinning uncontrollably because Lena fucking Dunham knows I exist. I prayed for castration. God said: granted. Giggling at my own shit like a little girl being tickled. Colleen sees it. Can’t help laughing too. Looks up from her book. I’m just trying to concentrate on my work, she says.

It’s impossible, I tell her, to see someone laughing stupidly and not laugh stupidly yourself. You should only feel bad if your book is about the holocaust.

No, it’s about the mutiny on the Bounty.

Was that a book before it was 15 movies?

Well it was a historical incident.

But no, I mean is that book about the Bounty, or–

It’s about six of the sailors who weren’t the original, you know, the main guy, who just took women and sailed away.

Yeah, with like a breadfruit plant.

Right.

But Mel Gibson played someone in one of those movies. So it is tangentially related to the holocaust.

Ha ha, yeah. Very tangentially.

And it dies again. But I’ve taken it somewhere. Now it’s awkward if I don’t ask her out. I don’t want to. She doesn’t want me to. She would have kept it alive. Still. If I don’t ask her out it is a cruel indictment of her humanity and bone structure. She is wearing plastic sandals the color of band aids.

Lena Dunham knows I exist. Ha. Take that, with your stupid schoolwork. I called her show a trifle but now I’m thinking about her movie, which I loved. That movie was genius because she favorited my tweet. Fuck you, you Captain Bligh studying motherfucker. You should have kept the ball in the air. Instead she is clearly nervous I’ll speak again. She just wants to finish her paper and go home to her boyfriend.

Now I’m laughing again and I don’t want her to think I’m laughing because of her. I’m hiding my face with my hands to make it clear I’m not watching her unbraid her hair and put it in a bun. Who fucking cares dude. Let it go. Norman Greenbaum’s ”Spirit in the Sky “ comes on the radio. The blonde says she’s had internships where they didn’t know what to do with me, it’s silly. She is 21 years old. When she was born I was already a fully formed human being and now what.

Colleen has finished with her hair. Looks back at the book. She smirks at something in it. I say nothing and leave.

I woke up and I was taking her from behind like a savage. She was black, dark black. Tattoos. I popped into consciousness out of blackness and my dick was pushing into her tight pussy and she was moaning. Eat your heart out, Quantum Leap.

She had flaked on our date. I showed up at the bar on time. Ten minutes later got the text that she forgot. Before that another girl “had her car towed” 20 minutes before our date. Before that a Manic Pixie Dream Girl emailed me 15 minutes before our date: her friends were throwing her a surprise party. But she forgot to put the “o” in “.com” so I showed up and sat there forever like a jerkoff. Manic Pixie Dream Cunt.

She forgot. She was at a happy hour in Hollywood. It was implied that I might join her. But the sun had been down for a few hours so my BAC was at felony level. I needed to draw her back. I needed a miracle. I needed cocaine. My dealer had been deported to Honduras. There to be ventilated by death squads no doubt. Sorry Manny.

On a scale of 1 to 10, I texted, how good is your coke dealer.

11, she said.

Thirty minutes later I was walking two miles down Normandie from the 4 bus with my rent money in my pocket. She was cute. We got high. Stocked up at the liquor store. We coke talked about the state of race relations in America. Listened to Band of Horses youtube videos. Her laundry hamper was in the living room. Every time she went to take a piss I dug for her dirty panties. Sniffed them like they were an oxygen mask and I was trapped in the rubble of the World Trade Center. We’re not going to have sex, she said, as we smoked out the bathroom window. Fine. But I kept pawing at her. Pulling up her shirt and pulling down her pajama pants to look at her ass. Magnificent.

She had pills too. Percocets. The pills and wine won their battle with the coke when I was smearing tangerine scented massage oil in her ass crack. I woke up and I was fucking her. She got on top of me and she could move. The state of race relations in America was improving. Next date we’ll have dinner.

I accidentally saved you to my favorites. I say accidentally, because I didn’t know that little thing down there did that.

I hope you don’t take that as an insult. If you did, get over yourself. I don’t despise you near enough, at this point, for my favoriting you to not be ironic.

Your profile inspired me to write that. Have a nice day

Only a few people despise me nearly as much as I deserve.

You want to get a drink some night?

Possibly… We should maybe chat a bit and know each others names first, though

I’m Jess btw

Give me a topic and I’ll write something about it.

The topic is – “you”

Go!

Here’s the thing with me. I want to find a nice girl. But I also want to get you hammered in my filthy silverfish infested jack shack and rawdog you in the second hour of our first date. I’ll pull out. But maybe the one wild drop squirts in you and gets you pregnant and thinking about this is getting me hard on the train. This is not a proposition. I am not saying “hey let’s fuck.” You can’t do that. You have to pretend your conversation is about absolutely anything else. Your job, your TV, whatever. But what I am thinking is: hey let’s fuck. Then I can find out if you’re a nice girl. After. But until you fuck her you have no idea. All you’re thinking is will I fuck her can I fuck her God if I give her one more glass of wine she’ll fuck me. I hope I’m not blowing it I can’t afford this wine but I just need that ass so bad. One date, three, a year of friendship, whatever. Until you fuck you can’t turn that off.

And then you fuck. And it occurs to you that she’s boring. She laughs at your shit but never says shit that makes you laugh. She’s “feisty” and adversarial and you mistook that for a sense of humor when your ball sac was burning white hot through your bluejeans. But now she’s just a pain in the ass. You are probably one of these girls. All but maybe five of them have been. Nothing against you though. My definition of boring is most people’s definition of a happy, successful life. I do not have a happy, successful life. I want you to be a sad broke drunk like me but secretly think you’re some genius with a biting wit so having no money is OK. Compulsively tearing up meaningless pussy (or cock, in your case) on OKCupid is OK. Debasing people is OK, dehumanizing people is OK. Debasing and dehumanizing yourself. Because you’re a secret genius. Better than everyone else. And maybe the world will never know but you know and people can see it in your eyes. I want you to be like this. Then it will be us against the world .