You better put your phone away, brother. This is why I don’t touch other peoples’ phones. So, when you ask me to take a picture of you and your daddyuncle and I say no, well, sorry, but stop talking on your phone in public bathrooms. Or playing games. Or checking reddit. Whatever. If it takes you so long to shit that you need an antidote to boredom, then check your diet, homie.
You want to brush your teeth? OK. Weirdo. I get it. I guess. But you really got to brush them for the dentist-recommended time? You can’t just bust out a quick brush to tide you over til you get home? C’mon, man, some people are waiting to pee in the sink.
Doing drugs in the bathroom? Shit, I don’t care as long as it doesn’t smell. Once the stall door is closed, that shit is yours, G. If I don’t like it, I’ll hold it.
Now just chill. There are like 43 OCD rituals I need to complete. Weirdo.
I’m getting a little tired of meeting so many people got shit all figured out – but they don’t agree. I wish I could punch your Mom in the face for every time someone has told me that all my problems can be solved by essential oils, abstinence, or 100% fealty to a made-up sky-person.
Don’t get me started on writers. Please. You know how many sad, emo idiots want to tell me about how they’re writers? If you write you’re a writer. It’s called language. That doesn’t make you Shakespeare. I know hundreds of writers who can write brilliantly but are too embarrassed to identify as a “writer.” Cause of you, turtleneck. You and your pretensions.
I don’t care what your Grandpa said. My Grandpa said dumb shit, too.
I don’t think sugar is going to kill me. I think stress is going to kill me, and you’re generating so much of it. I just want to sit by a stream and read this book and then go play with my kids.
Call me simple-minded.
There is an African boy with no hand, and he sits next to an old, dusty barrel. He is healing, but soon he will be back at work. There is a woman in Los Angeles who is crying because her boyfriend cheaped out. He didn’t embrace his love debt.
There is a thief on the balcony. He will kill you if he has to.
There is a manufacturing plant where they make drill bits that can cut through anything. There is a curse on the house that houses hope.
There is a teenager destroying his teeth for more flash when he smiles. There is another scratching herself gently with her ring until the warm blood drips from her fingertips. Her Dad will buy her a necklace to make her happy.
The necklace won’t make her happy. She will die wondering how she could be such a mystery to the people who claim to love her. Their distance will push her away and away. Nevermore.
There is a guilt trip and a dream. There are false idols. We have so many pedestals, and many of them shine like diamonds.
When it’s cold enough outside, you don’t feel cold. It just hurts. Your skin aches and your tears freeze on your eyelashes and everything becomes pain. If you don’t acknowledge the pain, it doesn’t hurt as much. But that’s a questionable lesson to learn.
I’m a wimp. I’ve lived in California half my life. Over half my life. I’m cold when it’s sixty degrees. I don’t leave the freezer door open when I’m scooping ice cream.
I like the cold warriors. Like: It’s gonna be forty below! Want to go camping? I don’t understand how this became your measuring stick. I guess I’m not much of a man; I like being warm and comfortable. My penis is just penis sized.
Dead bodies are cold. So, I’ll be cold enough eventually. In the meantime, I’ll keep sitting in the sun and smiling.
We did good this weekend. We? Who’s we? The Niners? That’s them. Didn’t see your uniform, pal. Must not be paying y’all too well because you look like a human wet fart and you smell like an amusement park. Or a cheap carnival. Beer, cigarettes, and vomit. The trifecta.
The coaches are idiots when they lose, but you’re always right. Commentating in hindsight is a pretty slick con.
Those fans? They’re not fans. They didn’t grow up on this shit. Not like you. Niner faithful. Wonder how many Heisman trophy winners will be at your funeral?
Me? I’m gonna be at an under twelve soccer game. They don’t flop. They don’t fuck with the clock. They play. And that’s all I want to see.
She is a pain in the chest and panic. She smells like toffee candies and pipe smoke. She is sitting beside you and you can’t breathe. Can’t move. Her foot touches yours and you throw up a little. The beads of sweat tap dance on your forehead. Your brain is screaming, but it is screaming too many things. Talk to her! Shut the fuck up! Don’t move, you’ll fucking ruin it.
She is calm and put together. You are dying. You are fucking dying and you will be dead on the schoolbus and she will lead them in their mocking cries. Died embarrassed with a hard on hastily hidden under a transformer backpack. This is what they will put on your tombstone.
You will sit and quiver. She will not notice. She will get off at her stop. You will spend the next thirty years of your life wondering what you could have done differently. But at least you didn’t die.
I am under the table, and I am staying here. The tablecloth’s cascade will protect me. I have no use for you and your living rooms. Your bedrooms. This, this here, this space under the table. This is all I will ever need. As long as these cookies last…
I’ve never understood it. Like, I really don’t get it – it makes absolutely no sense to me. I’m a teacher. Dig it. I don’t get much money so I don’t spend much money. I have lots of friends make lots of money and I don’t even know what they do. Real Estate. Tech. Like that’s supposed to explain how you literally spend your life between meals, sleep, and shitting.
Nurses make jack-shit, but Jeff Bezos has more money that I can even think about. What does he do between shits? Honestly, I really want to know.
Trump is the poorest rich man I’ve ever seen and now he’s president.
Jesus was poor. They crucified that fool. Mitch McConnel is rich, and I don’t see anyone building crosses.
I don’t understand it, so I won’t worry about it. I’ve lived with it, and I’ve lived without it. The most satisfied with life I’ve ever been? The most sense it all made? I had zero money and slept on the beach. The world hasn’t made so much sense since.