Thursday, October 25, 2007

Hit and Run

Tonight I see a girl dying in the street.

A pretty Asian girl in a black dress. Not too much makeup. Big round eyes wide open. She lies crumpled on Cahuenga Boulevard behind Club Ivar. Fire trucks and police cars all around her. I think she's dead until a police officer asks her a question. She gives a little nod. The rest of her body is motionless.

On the other side of the wall, people get drunk and dance to "Lets Hear It for the Boys". The song is loud and carries into the night, above the sirens and helicopters and covered mouths.

Three friends videotape. They can sell her last breaths.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Quick one

This city is turning me into Travis Bickle. My tolerance for its people has mutated into a glaring contempt. Patience has worn thin. I should be inured, desensitized, but instead I’m even more annoyed. The homeless, the drug dealers, the winos, the party sluts, the V-neck mafia, the hipsters, the asshole film students – all cut from the same cloth. And yet I still catch myself saying please and thank you. Why? Nobody gives a fuck.

I want a real rain to come and wash all the scum off the streets.

Do I sound crazy? Because I promise I’m not.

As much as I complain, at the same, I like having shit to complain about. I like telling people I get paid eight dollars an hour and I’m poor and share a room and sleep on an air mattress and ride the bus and reuse the same Jack In The Box cup. There’s a certain romance to it all, as shitty as it is.

These have also been some trying times for my dick. 24-years-old and good-enough-looking and I haven’t been laid for months. I work with attractive girls who like to flirt and be playful. I give them hugs often like a pervy Little League coach who goes home and masturbates to the team photos. I couldn’t fuck them if I wanted to. Not because it’s an impossible sexual feat for me – although it’s close (these girls are fucking smoking) – but because they know I have a girlfriend and refuse to participate in anything other than light flirting. They love dangling the steak in front of the lion. And as much as I tug and pull on the chain, it won’t break. Goddammit.

I had my own personal 9/11 a few weeks ago when I accidentally deleted all of my porn. When I realized what was happening, it was already too late. And then the towers crumbled. But I’m rebuilding, kind of like a post-Katrina New Orleans. Little by little, MILFs are coming home. Bang Bros. sluts are re-opening. Things will be better.

Still, I’ve grown kind of bored with pornography. Timing my ejaculations to simultaneously explode with the monster-cocked facial-givers isn’t what it used to be.

So I’ve turned to Craigslist.

No, I’m not whoring myself out to benefactors. I’m not bottoming for Tina. I’ve just been masturbating to the Casual Encounters want ads. It’s a psychological turn on – real, local women fiending for cock. Possibly mine. You know that D&D free 34 yo shaved white female who needs hard cock for her tight wet pussy? Well she lives down the street from me. It’s comforting and arousing to know that there are so many horny women all around me, mostly 420-friendly BBWs from the Valley or Long Beach who need to keep things “discrete”.

In my head, they blow me while I’m doing bong rips.

Somewhere Seth Rogen is actually doing this, but with much better weed and a model.

Thursday, October 4, 2007

What's new?

And I finished the first draft of my urban comedy. And a pilot.

Does creativity hurt or help when you're trying to break into the biz? What do you guys think? I'm thinking a creative concept helps, but with very familiar execution. And I'm not just talking fucking story structure -- I'm talking groin shots, which I will not write. I guess I'm doomed.

We'll see.