The Pussy

Progress Not Perfection

Good morning. Tuesday. Desperately want to not go to work. Don’t want to go to the gym. Don’t want to write. Just want free money and pussy. Just want to impregnate a hundred teens, have everyone else pay for my babies. Worship me as a god. I just want blimps with 800 foot LED pictures of my face a la Blade Runner humming in the airspace over schools telling kids their highest ambition should be to take my seed and clean my stove and be entombed alive in my pyramid. I just want my face stapled to Japanese junior high muff with the long straight jet black toilet brush textured pubes while I’m fed by enema. Never work never pay bills. I’d still find something to complain about.

Last night’s AA meeting. The speaker was hot. Fat young Mexican from Moorpark named Stephanie. We flirted for two seconds after but then I got pulled into a talk with a guy. An alcoholic whose life is falling apart who actually needed help. The purpose of my being there. Talked him off a ledge. I feel no spiritual growth from doing this. I regret not letting him spend his child support money on crack. I regret not horning into a conversation with Stephanie instead. Laying groundwork for when I’d pump her fat bald Mexican Moorpark pussy full of babies. Trap her at home changing diapers and yammering in Spanish to some aunt in Pacoima about how I’m a bad man while I’m out drunk. Cheat on her with a bar waitress, a white one. Come home, give her a black eye when she tries to complain. Bitch, give suck to my kids and make burritos and be grateful. Why can’t I have what I want for once.