The Jack Off

He's drinking double jack and cokes. Everyone is nicely drunk. Not rude or obnoxious, just having a good time. He opens up his briefcase and shows everyone all the different pills he takes, viagra, heart medication, etc. His buddy walks outside and he's alone with his two female friends. "You know what prison taught me? How to jack off. Jacking off saved my life." The women start laughing. "I jack off all the time now. I don't need you girls. I take viagra just so I can jack it a few times. It's less of a hassle. I don't buy my fist drinks, just lotion!" The women are laughing. The friend walks back in. "You telling these girls how you like to jack off?" He said as he sat back down. "Yeah, it keeps me centered."

A little wine drunk.

Decided to get into a wine drunk and read Fante and Schopenhauer...chances are, I'll have to re-read it all again tomorrow. It all makes sense right now. Tomorrow I'll wonder what I did with the time. I have a grey area from about age 23 to 37. 14 years of fucking watching a television with no aerial. Yeah, tonight it's a wine drunk, it's been a long time since I've had one. Lay back and watch politicians fuck us all. Fuck it. Wine drunk...I. Just. Don't. Fucking. Care.
But here's a little story anyway/how.
She comes to the bar and orders two gin and tonics, one for her and one for her. She's going to see Kenny Wayne Sheppard later...strike one...but she's hot and drinks...she keeps ordering drinks and takes them to the rooftop. Later, she emerges with her boyfriend who is stoned. She claims that she can outdrink any man and not the most beautiful girl in the world but with a loser boyfriend who wants to go to a restaurant while she keeps saying "I don't need to eat I just need another drink..." perfection! Of course, you can't have two drunks together for too long...there's no balance, just drinking and sinking. Every time a girl orders a vodka and water, I get weak in the knees. Holy shit, my true drink of choice, well, I don't even need the water. But vodka waters mean either drinking suicide, fuck something up or straight up fucking, or all three in some hot order.
Fuck this wine, trolling for vodka.

Armies of Mes and Hims

Chicago. This goddamned city. I have lived here far too long. I walk past people I knew or fucked all the time. People that I am not facebook friends with...One day I fear that I will run into myself. Maybe on the bus or train that I take hundreds of times a year. There will be some rift in time and I'll run into myself. I'll have forgotten to look in a mirror for a month and not realize that I have put on another ten pounds. That my eyes are sunken and circles beneath them are blacker. My hair is longer and my face unshaven. I'll look at that prick, who is going to work and living a life, some life that he doesn't want to live but secretly does, and I'll say "I won't die today, if a schmuck like that is alive then surely I'll be okay for at least another day." And then I'll walk to work, behind the asshole and he'll cross the street and I'll get the red. I'll randomly turn to my left and see my reflection in a window and whisper "what the fuck." And then I'll walk into traffic and die. The other me will punch in and continue his thoughts, the ones he had on the bus where he thought he saw himself but just assumed that he was hungover and delusional. "What am I fucking doing?" he'll say to himself as he stocks beer and puts fresh bottles of whiskey and vodka on the shelf. He'll look outside and see an ambulance carrying me, a guy who looks like him on a stretcher. He'll visit me in the hospital and eat me, to avoid getting hospital bills...the logic of this fucking guy! He'll go back to my life, his life. Drink and smoke and shit and wonder...and wait. But now he has a new feeling: paranoia. Because there may be another rift and another him. Or worse, an army of hims...and an army of mes.

Body In Revolt

As I put the glass of wine down in front of the cocksucking business shit man, it hits...it's like I missed a breath and all of a sudden all of the energy is sucked out of me. My eyes feel like they shoot to the back of my head and everything is surreal. I make it back behind the bar but I felt like I was walking through darkness, in full light. A few regulars are hanging out. One of them asks me, "you alright?" He saw the mood swing or my demeanor shift. We were just joking about Iran a minute ago and now I can barely talk. "I don't know, I feel weird, a little short of breath suddenly," I say like I just ran a marathon. "Like a panic attack" he said. "Yeah, I think I'm having a panic attack...or a stroke." "I've been dealing with that for 50 years now. I can't figure it out. I've been living in misery but I'm trying yoga." This guy used to be an alcoholic. When he quit, the panic set in. Maybe that's how this story is going. But I don't want to be an asshole. I try to clean up. The more sober I am, the more I can feel those strange pains you feel when you get older. Twenty years of fucking drinking. I stop for three days and exercise and take vitamins and I feel like I'm having a fucking heart attack. Maybe I never noticed all the shit that was going on inside because I was always drunk or hungover. Maybe I just didn't give a shit. The moment you realize you want to live, something reminds you how close to death you always are. I can tell my blood, my heart, my lungs, don't give out on me today, today I will clean up, exercise, eat right...but your organs don't fucking care about you anymore. Now they are the punks. "We want the whiskey!" they scream. You find a reason to live, you walk outside and find a thousand reasons to die. Then you lay down and feel like your innards are participating in a fucking war. Riots. Fires. Grab the bottle. Grab the pills, make that pain stop. But you don't want to die. You just don't want the pain or the thirst. But the two are connected. You don't want to be miserable, but you're alive, so there is no choice.
Alright, enough of that shit.

Random memory.

I'm walking this dog, a poodle. Not mine, not my friends...a friend of a friends dog. I'm walking around with a bag full of shit and this curly-fur dog. This dog will get laid before me. He knows it, too. fucking dog. My father wants to have lunch, he doesn't care anymore, I can suck cock in prison and he'd be okay...after yelling at me for so many years to make something of myself. I'm nothing and nowhere, happy, father? "But I don't care anymore" he says from somewhere. "shut the door behind you, don't turn back when I yell, "then why the fuck did you...oh nevermind...."

Safe Explosions

I'm walking down aisles of cosmetics...looking for q-tips....why the fuck is this happening to me. I pick up a gallon of bleach and assume that I can drink it all in a gulp. I find the liquor aisle...she says "put it back"...I do and I die...I'm getting very little out of this shopping experience. If it ain't booze or something that will wipe up my blood and vomit...and I don't have a coupon, then forget it. Forget you...I did my duty, loving you...I'm stealing condoms, not so I can use them to fuck, but to stuff with hand-grenades...nope, no point at all...I'm just having another one of those "attacks"...
Someone finds me on the floor, I've got six packs of six packs of socks under my head. She pokes me and says "I like what you have to say..." she smiles, I continue to lay on the ground, re-focusing. I'd be happy if I woke up in "women's lingerie" but I didn't. I passed in a handicapped parking space in the parking lot. The shopping list clutched in my hand says "DIE". "We had a coupon for that..."

Writers

It's a weird feeling when a kid sits at my bar and breaks out a manuscript he is working on. Standing on the opposite side...listening to his ideology and dreams, invoking that "passion". I stop short of saying "I'm a writer, I wrote some shit." I just let him talk. "It's a book for everyone" he says, "It's complicated, emotional, political, philosophical...intrigue..." 'My books were about trying to survive the path from bed to toilet to the job and back, I thought, smoking cigarettes and praying for the sun to go away. I wrote books for nobody, about myself, nobody. Romantic nobody. Another destitute person, maybe trying to survive but more about the process of self destruction. Loneliness. I am genre-less.'So I just said, "Eh, we should talk...not now but sometime, I wrote some shit; Emotional, political, philosophical, no real intrigue though..." His eyes lit up. "I'd love to hear about it, maybe you could help me," he said. I cashed him out and turned out the lights. It won't be long before you realize that you can write, be read, be reviewed and be ignored or be lost among everyone else that writes. Lost in a queue, or on a shelf.
At an early stage, when I told people that I was a writer, they told me the same thing, "live that dream" but dreams don't come with health benefits and this world is poison, and you can't afford poison control.
I turned a life of documenting drinking into just drinking and drinking.
I've sat at many a bar with a manuscript and just gotten wasted. I sat with a dream that swirls away with every shot and every bad song played on the juke.
I pull the manuscript out. I read it.. I put it away. Like so many others.
This time, I light it all on fire.

That Christian, Christmas spirit

I was pouring him Southern Comfort old fashions and he was asking about the homeless guy across the street on the corner of the alley. "He's there all the time," I said. "Where else would he be?" the man said and then made some weird sourpuss face and said "maybe looking for a job?" Oh shit, it's on. "Well, I don't think he can look for a job, I know that he's a bit crazy." "Well, I don't mind telling you, I'm Christian and I'm just sick of paying for people like that to stay alive." "Well, if it helps any," I said, knowing where this conversation was going, "he's mentally disabled, a Vietnam veteran, released from a hospital that Reagan shut down in the 80s." "Well that just makes it harder to hate him, being a Christian," the man said and took a sip of his old fashion. "But you can still find a way..." I said. The man took another sip..."Oh there's always a way to hate..." I could tell that the old man was getting loopy from the drink and he was a dick anyway. "It just pisses me off that he's not trying to find a job!" He said. "I think he paid his dues...it's called killing people and watching people blow up around you and running for your life in the fucking dark for years...it would drive anyone crazy...what do you do?" I asked. "I'm retired," he said, he sensed the confrontation. "From WHAT?" I asked. "I ran a golf course." You fucking dick, go back to Kansas.

Warm Flesh

It's fucking cold tonight. If you don't have someone's warm flesh to hold onto, light something on fire and dream about new skin.

Green Creme De Cock

These people force me to drink...with lips and teeth covered in green creme de menthe, she got onto her 55 year old knees and started sucking his 25 year old cock. A grandmother, she clutched his ass and gagged, a wife, she took in a breath smiled and continued. He passed out when she started laughing. I saw him weeks later and bluntly asked "do you remember that old lady sucking your cock outside of the office?" He stared at me blankly for a moment then something clicked but he didn't flinch, "that sounds like me," he said and then said "Well I just stopped by to say hello." He walked away as the memory started flushing in. He took a few steps then stopped and turned around. "I was wondering why my dick was green when I woke up." Then he walked away.

California Girl Incinerator

These are the best fucking nights...when the snow is coming down, the booze is flowing and I  remember all my girls that California ate. You can never have a night like this unless you live in Chicago. Leaving work, walking through a desolate city, looking for a taxi. Sometimes I wouldn't mind looking for a taxi with one of those girls. But whatever this is, is better.

There's nothing but shit out there tonight. I go to the grocery store after work to buy whiskey and bologna and there's a homeless guy that stinks of vinegar bent over, like 90 degrees, over a case of packaged fish. He's smelling it all. But how can he smell anything past his stench? Then this woman in black, wearing black sunglasses and dragging a suitcase with a broken wheel keeps yelling "fucking married people!" I thought that maybe I was just hearing part of a conversation and she was talking on her bluetooth. She stops in the middle of the aisle that has pudding in it and pushes her hair behind her ears. No bluetooth. She does some yoga pose and says "why can't they just fuck off". I grab a can of turkey chili and move on. The vinegar guy is now hovering over the hot dogs. He picks up one package and shakes his head in disgust. He puts down that pack of hot dogs and picks up another. He looks at it and then shakes his head in disgust. He does this the entire time that I realize that all I want is alcohol, so I put the turkey chili back and grab a bottle of whiskey. I walk over the self-checkout. The weird woman is standing over a self-checkout register waving her hand over it, back and forth, back and forth, still talking to no one, but this time saying that "Merlin was a dope". I buy my whiskey and before I leave the store, I look over at the lottery scratch off machine. "Maybe all this weirdness is telling you to buy a lottery ticket", I think. Then I think, everyday is fucking weirdness and I never win. There's a man standing behind a display of dying Christmas-themed plants and flowers staring at me.

In some weird way to balance my life, I hate and not so much hate. Somehow it balances out. Soon, I'm going to be the old fuck and if I'm going to exist anywhere, I might need to produce again. Produce writing, anything.
I left work tonight. Crackheads everywhere. Drunks in my bar.  Shitheads everywhere.I don't understand from where they come from. Whatever. Bugs on my walls. Crackhead/methhead....didn't figure out who/the/what...

Assholes and Bullshit and Fuck You Too!

The first guy that showed up at the bar last night was some guy from Canada en route to DesMoines. Dez Moynzz. I ignored everything he said, including "can I have another?" He fell asleep at the bar and I had him hauled away. Fuck you.
I'm wasted as I write this. I took a final and passed it. I don't know what I'm doing.
Last night a crackhead approached me and my friend. I wasn't afraid because he was clearly insane. But maybe I should have been afraid. Maybe I just want to be murdered. Or close to it. Like I have said, I need to feel the pain to satisfy my imagining of the pain. I'm always thinking about getting hit by a truck.I throw myself out of a low window and embellish in the impact. Ah, now I can put that pain in my imagination to sleep.
Put the pain in my imagination to sleep...that's life right there.

Just Another Sunday Night

There are flies on the television screen that is broadcasting the news. I can barely hear the jabber as it is being filtered through buzzing, outside music and sirens. The cat sleeps at my feet, snoring.  I have trained my ear to hear that snoring sound through all the other noise because it is a comforting sound. He is a paranoid cat and I know that if he is sleeping, I can relax. But I can never relax because there is always noise and light. I have this grand ability to throw myself to the ground by just thinking about falling. I can mentally push myself down the stairs. I can imagine dumping a beer on my head with such detail that I go crazy and can't settle down until I dump a beer on my head, satisfying the desire, then sit on the couch and feel cold suds drip down my face while I watch flies eat the news. Some days I want to throw myself into traffic because I can image what it feels like to get hit by a car but that itch beneath my skin, in my bones won't leave me alone until I feel that steel break my spine, my head breaking that windshield...I don't know how to fake that feeling. Punching myself and running into walls doesn't cut it.
Sometimes I don't want to leave my apartment because I might have to walk past another human being. If I see someone three blocks away on one side of the street, I cross and walk on the other side of the street. When there is a line at the convenience store to buy lottery tickets and all I want is some beef jerky, I fall into a trance staring at all the canned beans. Then someone yells at me "next!" and I forget why I was in line, so I buy lottery tickets.
I walk to the bus stop and wait. I stand next to an automobile body repair shop. I breathe in fumes and listen to the cheap FM radio that seems to be programmed to the "Steve Winwood" channel. Whatever channel that is. But I've heard "Valerie" and "Higher Love" too many times while standing on that corner waiting for a bus to take me to work.
Once I stood on the corner with 20 Indian people, each with a child. It seemed strange. Why here? I mean there are worse places but why this random corner. Then I realize that while I was dreaming, the world moved in.
It took him awhile but eventually after three beers and two Long Islands he exposed himself, no, not his cock, why he was here or anywhere. He was a tough looking black guy, had a twisted beard that went down for about a foot. Built. He could kill me. But I've been in this business for long enough to know, that I want to die.
"Been a long day," he says and buys another Heinekein. "Yeah, doing what?" I ask. "Working on a screenplay," he says. "Well, learning how to sell one, actually."
He tells me about his movie ideas and I understand why he's alone and looking for some blow and a hooker.
He starts talking to this guy at the bar who managed to con his way into enough conversations garnering him enough free drinks that he's had several Glenlivets, period. Now the screenplay guy is face to face with this cheap asshole guy and as it turns out, they were both in the armed services. One in the Navy, one in the Army. And they trade stories about wanting to fuck women in foreign countries but you know they both have the newspaper articles in the drawer somewhere, the tiny headline is the same "American Rapes..." Take away the "n"...America rapes...
And so an old friend walks into the bar and tells me that this guy we both know has been sharing heroin needles and "has it all"and "he thought losing his hair was a problem, he'll be dead in a week."
"You need a drink? " I ask, "Dan, I'm so fucking high I've hit the bottom side of the sidewalk six times tonight. I just came in to tell you that your friend is going to die soon." She left.
I turned out the lights.
"Who is going to sell cigarettes and gas at that time of night?" I thought about my friend. "There are plenty of dumb assholes," I thought, "Don't worry."
"No last call?!" everyone yelled.
"Last call," I whispered and poured Sunday night final vodka tonics and scotches on ice and "I won't call it because you'll charge me more" well bourbon and gingers. I opened up a few more bottles of beers and got invited to the grand party that only exists in the minds of those that had too many.
I've had...several, in my time.
"Thanks, but I can't party here." I responded politely.
"Where are you going?" he asked. Damn. I saw him put his wedding ring in his pocket and he looked like he was panting.
"Away." I said and he got it quickly, thankfully.
I cleared the room and shut out the lights. I watched the donut shop across the street. Drunk assholes. Homeless assholes. Hungry assholes. Assholes, everyone.
I started to cash out. I opened my register. Outside, a fat girl lifted her shirt up and pressed her waterbag tits up against the glass. Then she motioned to the money in my hand and pointed to her vagina. "Stick it in!" I could barely hear her through the glass.
I didn't flinch. I just needed to get out. I dropped the money, took mine, bought some beer from the convenience store and and got a cab to take me home.
I got home and turned on the TV. It woke up the flies. They started buzzing again and eating the news channel. I couldn't find the remote control so I just kept popping beers and staring at the flies.
The cat was snoring and in my ears I could hear air raid sirens. I could feel the walls explode and bash my skull and tear at my skin. I could feel the heat. I could feel it, it was so real that my heart pumped and I sweat. I could feel glass explode behind me and tear at my scalp and shoot it forward and pin it on the wall before everything burst into flames.
Then I grabbed another beer and the cat snored and the world wasn't scorched.
Because it was so real in my mind, I felt let down, in some way. I passed out and nightmared about punching in. Here, there, anywhere. There is and will never be any comfort in my mind.

Shithole Night

Outside, beneath the window to this room that I sit in, lays a man. He's passed out drunk. A few days ago I saw him passed out beneath the Coors Light billboard on Ashland. The sign said "Frio!" and a finger pointed to a couple of blue mountains on a beer bottle label. Who fucking cares. There's a garage on the other side of the alley of this building. All day and night that fucking door opens and car pulls in and out. I've walked all around that property and have never seen anyone, not even the driver of that vehicle that goes in and out. So all I can imagine is a car with a new dead body. And in the basement of the house across the alley, is a man or a woman, hacking up a body, fucking it and eating it. Well, maybe not hacking it up. But definitely fucking it and eating it. I'm not bored. I should either be sleeping or working on homework. Instead, I am drinking. I'll have one more, make it an even 13 beers.

Fuck the Sun

Exit from me this night
This night of nightmares
Like any other night
I wake
As cold as corpse
Shivering
The vodka shivers
Slightly out of my
Skull
A fresh foot
Out of my flesh

Who needs more
Than three hours
Of pass out
Before they are
Refreshed

Coffee brewing
Whiskey
Waiting
And
Gone
Down

Forget
Struggling
With sleep
On a useless
Night
Be awake
And write

Coffee down
Brain up

I dread the sun
Already
I look forward
To sleeping through
The bright eye
Of judgement

Don't shine
On me today
Don't you dare
Shine on me
Today

Unless I walk
Out that door
And pass out
On my stairs
Knowing that
I will sleep
Through you
With a belt
Of whiskey
In my blood

Don't shine
On me

Hell In His Eyes

I was on the train, heading West. The women were talking. Or rather, one woman was talking and the other one just kept nodding and saying "Mmm Hmm, that ain't right". I was ignoring everything but I kept hearing this woman. "He had KIDS in the backseat! While he had this knife, like THIS big!" she had her two pointer fingers measuring almost a foot. "Well why did you get near the car?" the other woman formed a sentence. "Cuz I thought it was a cab, I was looking for a cab! And this man, he had HELL in his eyes. HELL IN HIS EYES!!" she yelled. And we kept heading West, past "god saves you" written on a rooftop and New Drift Liquors. "I got away and prayed! He started driving after me! Following me!" "Mmm Hmm". "He was gonna fucking kill me! And he had kids in the back seat! Was they gonna watch him kill me, with HELL in his eyes?" "Mmm Hmm." "I don't believe in fate, I believe in God and God sent a po-lice officer down the street to save me!" "Mmm Hmm".
The train stopped. And the one woman got up to get off.
"Mmm Hmm, girl what's your number?"
"Oh you know, it's got a lot of 8s in it."
"Mmm Hmm, 8s, I'll call you." She got off the train and we continued West.
"Hell in his eyes," the woman grumbled, her own eyes looking like they were going to blow out of her head. She looked up and saw two mexican children crawling all over their mother.
"Aw, they so cute," she said, but I could see her vision of her terror still haunting her. She lived it and I eavesdropped on her tragedy but I've got a sick mind. In my version, she's dead. And in reality, the haunting is so bad, she wishes she was dead.

God needs a drink

Settle down assholes...fuck God. Just eat it. Nobody likes your child-like suck God's dick behavior. God is drinking a scotch, lighting up and yelling: "I should just blow you all up. Single malt saved you."

sum of scum

void post-buttered...it owns a reputation damn near "I can't believe it's not cannibalism."...on a warm day...teeth and the "meat", blood on the drug-store tiara

Yeah, that's what I was going to post on a wall of a friend...would've been too dickish.
Ah, good. I can speak here.
Anyone just want to talk and not fuck?

Wife Fucker/ Love Doctor

Jake never thought that he would be 71 years old, but he was. He never thought he'd be alive and married at 71. But he was. Like every night, he sat behind the monitor and considered writing a book.
"Take out the fucking trash, will ya!" she said from beneath the covers, a thousand folds of flesh and bag of Yim Yams.
"I'm busy!" Jake yelled and flipped through an old picture book. Photos of Jake and his dead family. Photos of when he was happy and when Doris wasn't a fat fucking bitch-monster.
"Take out the MOTHERFUCKING trash, now!" she yelled.
Jake shut his eyes, took a breath and walked into the room where the "woman" wobbled on the bed.
"Did you hear me?!" Doris yelled.
"Fucking Jupiter heard you,"Jake said and gripped the handle of his cane. In his mind, he was beating Doris to a pulp, a fucking pulp.
"Why do I need to take the trash out now? Right NOW. Why the FUCK NOW!?" he stared at Doris. Doris didn't flinch.
"Because if you don't," Doris inhaled and then exhaled, "I'll tell them about you," she whispered and placed a finger on her nipple.
"Tell, em, it'd be better than this shit," Jake whispered and lowered his head.
Jake limped over to the garbage can and began to tie off the ends.
"Don't forget to throw out all the shit in the fridge, okay, hon?" she screeched, gargled, said...
"Fucking shit," Jake opened the refrigerator and saw all the blood bags hanging there. Abortions in the crisper, testicles not even wrapped.
"You let everything go bad," he yelled, "why didn't you eat this shit?"
"The neighbors came over, you remember, silly. You FUCKING SILLY!"
"No more neighbors," Jake said and dumped container after container of neighbor into the trash.
When Jake was done, he tied off the trash bag and tried to pull it out of the can.
"Fucking heavy," he whispered.
"You say something, hon?" Doris said while mutilating.
"It's just that the garbage is fucking heavy," Jake yanked the bag out of the can, then grabbed his can and walked out the door.
Jake dragged the bag, a hole was forming, a hole that dripped neighbor.
He dragged the bag around the corner and considered leaving the bag next to one of the dumpsters.
"Well, you ain't gonna leave that bag out in the open, are, ya?" came a voice from behind the telephone pole in the alley.
"Why the fuck not and who the fuck is talking?" Jake raised his cane and peered into the dark.
"I'm the leach," said the voice. "You know, the leach!" a six foot black worm emerged from behind the telephone pole.
"Fuck off leach, I don't need any..." Jake said, annoyed, then picked up the bag and pushed it into the garbage can.
"You don't fuck your wife anymore, Jake," said the Leach.
"Oh yeah," Jake tensed his grip on his cane. "I don't recall it being any of your business."
"Fucking is my business," said the Leach.
"If you want to make fucking my wife your business, then you fuck my wife," Jake said and walked toward the exit of the alley. "Fuck my wife, please," Jake whispered to the Leach.
"Oh Jake, Jakey!" the Leach called out.
Jake turned around.
"What?"
"Look, old man" began the Leach, "It's a goddamned unfortunate thing, the radiation, the mutation, the hunger for flesh, the weight gain and all. But I can guarantee you a place in Hell, if you fuck that monstrosity just one more time."
"What's in it for you?" Jake asked.
"Oh, just jollies!" said the Leach.
"And what's in it for me?" Jake stroked his beard.
"Just a little thing I like to call life in hell."
"Deal." Jake said. "get me out of this world."
"Ah, glorious!" said the Leach.
"Do either one of us have to cum?" Jake asked.
"Just stick your dick in, Jake, that'll be enough for me."
"How do I know that you'll kill me, that I'll live my life in hell?"
"If you can't trust the Leach, then who can you trust?" said the Leach.
Jake walked back into his apartment, drank half a bottle of scotch, shot his dick up with heroin and then said "I need to fuck you, so I can burn in hell."
Doris rolled over and said: "You ain't sticking that weird shit in me, pal, nuh, uh." and then rolled over again. Jake looked up, the Leach was in the alley, masturbating and mouthing the words "do it."
Jake mouthed the words "does raping her ass count?"
The Leach gave Jake the "thumbs up" motion and then continued to stroke himself.
"Just sit still," Jake's mind was a fury with porno. He thought so hard about fucking when finally the heroin took effect. First he beat his dick against the wall then stuck it up against the shield of the fan.
"This is going in you," he held it, shook it and then threw up on himself.
"Lubricant," he whispered and started stroking.
Doris took a shit and babies crawled out of the feces, stood up and walked away.
"This is not how I expected my morning to begin!" Jake yelled.
Doris unleashed her tentacles and said, "I am not going to be your fuck escape to hell.
The Leach continued to masturbate outside the window.
"Look, I've got a plan," Jake said as Doris's tentacles grabbed him by the throat.
"Just let me fuck you, drag me into your cunt, I'll hold onto you and pull you into your own vagina and we can burn in hell together!"
The Leach started to cum beetles.
"Why would you do that for me, after all the shit I put you through?" Doris asked and shit.
Jake punched his dick and said, "If I'm going to burn in hell, I'd like to do it with you. In your asshole, in THE asshole of the galaxy. I've been a lucky man thus far.
The Leach stopped masturbating and was enveloped by his own beetle cum.
"Let's go to hell," Jake said, while crawling into her vagina and holding her hand.
"Don't let go," Doris said as her flesh started to drag into her own vagina.
"I can see the end!" Jake said, "I can feel the burn!" Jake laughed and came and shit in his pants.
Doris's brain dragged into her own vagina and emitted a lightning bolt.

"Why the fuck are you masturbating on your garbage," the man said to Jake.
Jake looked around.
He was back in his alley. A warm summer night. A bag of neighbor. A hand full of cock.
Jake looked over his shoulder at the man and said "Just checking the oil, okay?"
The man walked away and Jake came. Jake came flames, blood and vengeance.
"Goddamn, if I'm going to stay sane, I'm going to kill my wife."

Raul & His Cocaine Problem

He showed me his ID when I carded him. I'm pretty sure it was fake but I did believe that he was over 21 and I was in that mood, that mood that I didn't give a fuck. Have a goddamn beer, the world isn't going to end if you're fucking legal or not. I don't know how we got on the topic but he started talking about panic attacks. I was like "shit, I have panic attacks all the time". "Yeah, bro," he said, "I was doing like a bottle of vodka a day and some coke, not much just like five or six lines a night".
I was beat. I could fight anyone on alcohol consumption but powder was just not my fix.
"I was at home, I woke up and my heart was going crazy. I was having a panic attack. I crawled up the stairs and banged on my brother's door, I could barely say "ambulance!" he told me to fuck off but I wouldn't stop punching the floor, I couldn't catch my breath."
"The ambulance showed up and the next thing I know bro, is that I'm alive. They said I shouldn't be, OD and all that shit. I saw a shrink and they wanted to put me on drugs. I said "no" no more drugs. But then I just did little bumpers of coke. Not big lines, just a little here and there and now I'm okay, holmes. I'm okay. Did I tell you the story about how I parked my car on the roof of an apartment building?"
"No, man," I said and watched him sweat. He needed another bump. He plunked down some money and left. Another storm set in. And just when I thought my night was over, some asshole asks if I'm still serving. "No," I say and shut off the lights. He walks away and I look down the alley and watch the homeless people dance in the rain and soap up. Goddamn this fucking place.