Tears of a fucking asshole

I don't know what it is. The dumbest shit makes my eyes fill up with tears. Cell phone commercials, catheter commercials, bad sit coms where shit isn't even supposed to be remotely sad...ALF reruns. But yet I can stone-wall every real emotion I have in the light. I can let love walk away and walk away from love, and maybe cry about it later, but I spontaneously gush under a sheet when I see a commercial about animal abuse. I stifle it and drink it away. But when my human loves or friends are around, I'm dead. Pragmatic and matter o' fact. And if I miss them, I dig up the best and cry over it. Most of my family is dead and it never really affected me. I'm waiting for the emotional time bomb to go off. Something is going to blow. Getting drunk and yelling at the mirror may take away some of the pressure, but not enough. I just wish I knew what I am crying about...seriously, catheters?

Gaping Holes

He comes to the bar every once in a while and I always suspect that he is into fucking dogs. I don't know why. He walks into the bar wearing sandals and a wife-beater, has a bad beard and drinks light beer and shots of well gin. No one really knows him but he acts like he knows everybody and he acts like everyone knows him. He asks people to feel his muscles after a workout. And I guess that's why I think he's into fucking dogs or maybe just a standard rapist. I handed him a beer, he paid and tipped. I've got football on and the Giants score a touchdown. The announcers go off on the defense and say, well, of course he scored, "look at all those gaping holes!" I turn around after the play and see him nodding. "Gaping holes," he whispers, puts his beer down and leaves.

Jose Orders A Pizza

Jose is a regular. A crass motherfucker from Belize but a good guy. I turned him on to Lou Malnati's pizza, so now he comes to the bar, drinks a few Long Islands while waiting for his pizza and then passes out. Last week, he placed another order. "Oh baby, you sound good, sexy," he tells the person on the other end of the line, taking the order. "I'll tell you what I want, you..." he coos into the phone. "Okay, how about I just order a fucking pizza," he says, slightly agitated. He orders his pizza, a large deep dish with pepperoni, black olives, mushrooms and jalapenos. "Dessert? Can I have you for dessert?" he asks and motions with his hand that he needs another Long Island. "Oh, okay, well are you going to deliver the pizza to me personally? I'm here at a hotel. No? Okay, then just send the fucking pizza." Jose hangs up after dropping his credit card information. "She's going to take a shit on that pizza, man," I say. "Eh, whatever," he says and talks about how he quit smoking and how hard it was, then goes outside for a cigarette. An hour and three more Long Islands later, I get a call from the front desk. "Did someone over there order a pizza?" "Yeah, Jose, I'll send him over." I tell Jose that his pizza is at the front desk. "Motherfuckers! I told those bitches that I'd be at the bar." He walks over to the front desk and I can hear him yelling "motherfuckers must not speak English! I'm at the fucking bar! I said come to the fucking bar! Why bothering everyone, just learn motherfuckin English!"
Jose brings his food to the bar where his friend sucking on his vaporizer waits the says: "did they give you any plates?"
"Goddamn motherfuckers!" Jose yells, "man, what up with these bitches? Can't speak English, can't bring me plates, don't want to fuck..." he pulls out his phone and starts calling the number.
"Jose, I have plates and silverware, don't worry about it," I said and produced the wares.
"Hey!" Jose yells into the phone, "remember me? I just ordered a motherfucking pizza and you didn't send any plates or napkins or shit," he looks around the room, listening on the phone. "You're sorry? I fucking said I'm staying in a hotel, why wouldn't you send me some shit to eat this fucking shit with?"
I'm waving plates at Jose and mouthing "relax, man,". He waves me off, smiling.
"Send that fucking driver back with some plates and someone better suck my dick!" he yells and puts his phone down. "It's all good" he smiles and digs into the pizza.
They were the only customers of the night.

Negativioso

There is nobody...nobody that I think would understand this. Perhaps I am underestimating...everyone. I would like to kill myself today. I won't . I wanted to kill myself yesterday. I didn't. I don't want to live tomorrow. I'm sure I will. But I am afraid of these feelings. I'm not sure where they came from. Do I care too much? Or do I care too little? When I am around other people, I ignore most of what they say and struggle with myself. I think "should I kill them? Or should I let them kill me?" while barely listening to the words coming out of their mouths...or maybe I do hear them, the words but just don't care or give a fuck. I'd rather kill myself than kill them...but there I go again...wanting death, but not really. I don't know if this is normal. People laugh and say "ha, ha, I know what you mean..." while I'm biting my lip and tasting blood.

My girlfriend says I'm "negative" and I should see a therapist. I'm not so sure about it. Maybe I'm just being honest, and everyone else needs to fucking die...Alright, maybe not. But my girlfriend argues with me about the pointless an absurd. And in the end, I think creates a fictionalized version of me. But maybe not. Maybe I am as horrible as she makes me out and I just don't realize it. Maybe she just doesn't like the truth...maybe I just shit on sunshine. I don't know.

That is the dilemma. You can't have both, I guess. If the sun shines on shit or a corpse, I guess you can ignore it. I can't I only see what the sun shines on. I only smell the rotting while trying to smell life, but it's all polluted around here.

If I walk outside and stretch my arms out, I'll most likely hit someone. And if I apologize, they'll think I am crazy..."who is that person, moving his arms!" They'll say in their heads or into their phones. I just need space...and air, why is that so insane? You walk through revolving doors and get lost...why is it about me?

Sometimes I touch my skin...it feels like a stranger touching me...if I allow myself that pleasure. Nobody else will touch my skin without it being "strange". And I can't seem to touch skin, without it being invasive or criminal. I can't smell skin, and think "that smells pleasant or nice or normal or exciting" without being afraid of being locked up. But all I smell is shit and pollution, anyway, no matter how hard I try to smell something like grass or sand or something natural.

Calling my mother was pointless. I tried to organize a visit to see her, not for her to see me. She made it awful, just the mere conversation. But if I tried to explain it to someone, they would say it was me...me, always turning something into a negative. As if I'm the filter. As if I make crime seem dirty, murder awful, theft and stabbings oh, so terrible...they were all fine until I uttered their existence. "We murdered and laughed until HE told someone...it was legal and amusing and just a part of life, until HE told the story about the men robbing and killing."

I don't know, maybe I am absolutely crazy. I don't think it's normal to listen to this train run through my skull 30 times a day. I don't think it's fine that people walk around in piss and shit stained pants. I don't think it's alright to watch people yell and scream and beg and kill and ignore it all. Maybe I'm the one who is fucked up because I should just accept it. I should accept the death and then watch it all again on television and romanticize the actors and deplore the actions that inspired it all...paychecks and advertizing...like Atlas who now just pushes the world closer to the sun instead of carrying it...kicking it like trash and accepting the punishment.

Why am I to be considered the "negative" person...I didn't kill or harm anybody...I wake up and I feed cats and clean the dishes and say "hello" politely...Why am I the negative person, because I witnessed the crime and told you about how terrible it is and was.

Again, this isn't a letter about suicide, this is a letter about confusion. Why am I considered to be the perpetrator of the crimes because I feel horrified by their existence? Because they make me feel. Should death make me feel happy? Should I ignore it all and shut the paper? Pretend that it is all a fucking lie? Step over the bodies, while walking around with my face in a bucket of sand? Feel nothing? Nothing at all and just move forward, without recognizing all the blood?

So I am the criminal, for walking with open eyes and expressing with mind and mouth. I am more the absurd, not the act, not the perpetrator...me, for acknowledging the blood in the streets.

Then loving with shut eyes is living and accepting not of each other but of the ability to both be blind.

Billy Ocean

Lots of uncomfortable silence, for me at least...She asks about Chicago, her sister is graduating from military school not too far away. She doesn't like the city, doesn't understand it. She says she works at a dive-bar in Monterey Californa. Her name is Billy. She spends her money on rent for a tiny apartment that overlooks the ocean. "It's all I want," she says, "to look at the ocean..." It's all I want too, but I don't tell her that. I don't really tell anyone that. I live near the lake and don't even go there.  I wish there was a black hole nearby, I would move next to that.

Goodnight

She walks in at the end of the night, an old black woman. The lights are out, the liquor has been put away. Before I tell her that we're closed she smiles nervously and says "I know you're closed, I just needed someone to say goodnight to. So, goodnight." She turned around and walked away. Goodnight.

Motherfucking Pizza

Outside,the white girls entertain him and tell him "we're bored" while their husbands watch football in the hotel lounge. Inside, he buys the girls drinks and says, "ladies, these are on me, because someone has to pay attention to you." The white men are intimidated by this guy from Belize and slowly they put their arms around their women. Protection mode. "Nice move," I tell the guy. "I know women," he says and then passes out. The fat white guys take their bored, attractive wives back to their rooms and pass out. The wives start thinking about the guy from Belize who is now in his room and keeps calling the front desk yelling "I ordered a motherfucking pizza, you know where it is. Stop fucking with me." I'm cashing out, boss.

Don't Tell My Wife

Deviance. Tonight was another episode. A guy with a "I need to either fuck or get fucked" mentality was trolling around the job. After a few rejections from the straight side, he decides to go where he knows he can score. He takes the lingering hooker tranny up on his offer and takes it in the ass. Drama breaks out and it spills into the bar where a woman sees the man who just took it up the ass and says: "That's the guy that offered to fuck me while I was talking to my daughter on the phone!" Management buys him a Coke because his phone was stolen. Another case of "I just don't want my wife to know" comes to an end.

Liquor Store

"Where you gonna be when I get off?" asks the man behind the counter."Nowhere near you" I say then spend 5 minutes and 5 dollars at the lottery machine then I feel the breath of a man desperate, just desperate breathing on my back. "I'm just asking" he says and molests a bag of "Pork Cracklins". "Where you gonna be?" I look at him, 2 black bags of booze in my hand, I curl them up and threaten. "Where you gonna be when you have 18 beers shoved up your ass? Not at my party."

Fuck Tomorrow

I usually don't pour it in a glass. I drink it straight from the bottle. The way it's meant to be, my medicine. But I fucking hate it. It's murdering me. Everything is killing me. That's fine. She walks out the door, I jump off the roof. Ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no valley low enough...ain't no reason strong enough. Night is some blackness that I stay awake with, I pet the cat and stare out the window, wishing night brought peace. But I know the reality, we all do...I just pet the cat and hope to pass out. Fuck tomorrow.

After the Shift

I've seen her piss and shit in the alley. I've watched her eat garbage and throw up. In line, late night, waiting to buy a pint, I watched her smash an ice cream sandwich onto her forehead, she yelled at a Slim Jim, she stroked her neck beard and told the taquitos to "fuck Wesley, Chuckleknocker!" Assholes beating buckets are making dough. She's sweating and shitting. Chicago.

Da Beef

"I paid this whore to suck my dick outside of Al's Beef. I was so hammered I could barely get hard and the smell of the beefs was so good. She sucked me for 30 minutes then her pimp came by. I said, 'okay, buddy, here's 50, I didn't cum.' I sat at the counter of Al's, eating a beef with hooker spit all over my crotch. It was great, just don't tell my wife about the beef, I'm supposed to be on a diet."

The Arrival

"Why are you closing?" she asked, "Because you arrived", I responded.

Just Because

Would you mind if I stirred your vodka-lemonade with a dog turd? Of course you wouldn't, you'll just ask for a discount. How about I just shit down your throat and follow it with some sour mix?

Cuntonnay

"A glass of chardonnay, now". "Now? Don't even get the bottle, open it and pour it,just "now"" "I mean-" "You mean, you're a bitch and you couldn't pay a rock to get near your vagina" 'What?" I poured her a glass. "it's on the house." She came and dripped. "You can take it to your room," I insisted. She threw down money and a tip and hobbled away. Housekeeping arrived and mopped up the discharge, I gave her the tip.

She Has My Attention

Over the course of two days, I poured her 10 bourbons on ice and listened to her talk about her bleeding cancerous asshole and how she lost her house just to pay for the surgeries to cure her and re-enter a jobless world and a husbandless world because he died while she bled. She sat at the bar, wearing a diaper, drinking, afraid, alone. I left the lights on a little later for this one.

Wednesday

He was in and out of his own head, swaying, "what do you want?" I asked "Pooossseeeee" he said and then gripped his face. "Mother! I want your pussy!" his friends laughed, I called security but he was sleeping on concrete before security showed up. "Not my problem" said the badge as we watched the body wake up and roll over into the street then rub it's crotch on the sewer while the taxis honked and went by...

Douched Their Assholes?

I walked into the office, the head of maintenance was talking: "It wasn't bed bugs, those guys douched their assholes and shit on the bed" "Douched their assholes? You mean enema?" I said."Yeah, I asked one of them, he said the blood was from his pee pee. They were all fucked up" I looked at the punch clock and thought "should I even bother?"

No One Wins

In line to buy a lottery ticket, he knocks into me, drunk. "Oh sorry pal," he's an urban redneck, gap toothed, cigar-skin-stained...he's wavering. "I just wanna win!" he holds a dollar up and his buddy holds him up and whispers "shut up!" in his ear. I ask the dude, "Whaddya gonna do if you win?" "I'll stop sucking dick! Yep!" Then he belches and passes out. His buddy drags him out of the store. Not a winner.

Bugs Prevail

Jokingly, I point out to the woman at the counter at the liquor store that either no one ever buys a condom out of the jar placed next to summer sausage or you keep refilling it, which is it. "You know how most of these people are," she puts my bottle in the bag and hands me change, "they either already got the bug or don't care, most of them just die." "The bugs?" "No, honey, our customers!"

Bukkake

I believe that the group comprised of 8 men and 1 woman that sat in the corner all night is currently engaged in Bukkake.

Free

A free....a free glass of wine, a free dick in the face, a free shit down the throat, a free towel to wipe up your oozing genitals....textbook assholes.

Vodka Dawn

Hookers slashing Johns, Johns crying foul until sobering dawn when wife texts "where are you?" Detroit "ladies" frustrated, pounding Long Islands and White Zin, Girlz making sure every cock in the house is taken care of, weird women marrying weird men and NY born asshole pretends to be Zen-injected intelligent but can't stray from being uneducated fuck.Vodka makes more sense than cereal.

Seriously?

"I video taped my cocker-spaniel humping my cat one night. A week later, the cat died, I thought it was hilarious. I wanted to send the cat-rape tape to "America's Funniest Home Videos" but I couldn't find it. I caught my husband masturbating to it, hence the divorce!" She laughed and looked at me. "Another?" she said and pointed at her empty glass. "Get out?" I pointed to the door.

Bartending

People have asked me: "As a bartender, what's the most fucked up thing you've ever had to deal with?" Hmmm, I think: Drugs, hookers, fights, crying, couples fighting, dying, assholes, old ladies sucking dick, vomiting, suicides, bums, shitting on walls...what's the most fucked up thing I've ever had to deal with? Punching in.

Go Away

"We'll be here all week!" he said with a beer, spit and chips mouth geyser. "Grand," I thought and loaded another chamber into the answer gun. Then I loaded another chamber. "It's going to be me or him." He was a human jellyfish ready to die. I'm just making martinis.

Oh, Hulk

Bus: Sit down next to a guy, tells me he wants to be the Hulk. Can't tell if the whiskey smell is coming off of me or him. "Do you believe in angels?" he asks. I pull the "Stop Requested" cord. "I don't believe in angels," I say and walk to the exit door.He stands up and yells "Hulk Smash!" and comes after me. "Seriously?" I run to work. Later, same guy is in a suit and asks for a glass of Cabernet.

Die, when you die, when you die you're going to die!

She is dyed blonde and present and pleasant...Her parents wonder about her...I point to the sidewalk and they run, recognizing the body...they pick her up and then someone falls off the roof I say "If this is a constant, let me name a martini after it" but really I just say fuck off...I punch out and exhale..."die, when you die, when you die you're gonna die!!!"

St.Mouthdickrape

He said "I have to tell you this: The last night I was in Italy with my church choir we all got drunk.I shared a room with a new guy.He passed out and I don't know what came over me but I started sucking him off. He woke up, I've got his dick in my mouth! I said 'do you want me to stop'? he said 'no just don't tell my wife.' so I kept going until he gushed. "What church do you belong to? St.Mouthdickrape?"