I don’t give a shit about your money, job or car. But you may give a shit about my money, job and car. I have no money, a shitty job, and my car is worth $800. It’s primer colored, and the seat belt, windows, sunroof and A/C are all broken. Or rather, the A/C works but only when it’s not hot. And someone jacked my stereo. And the car is older than you. You have to be younger than my car.
Gazing at the once-fierce heads of my hunting trophies leering in the firelight, I recount harrowing tales of adventures in the veldt-- the time a rogue wildebeest charged on N!xho, my Khoisan guide, goring him lethally-- a man I loved as a brother...
Observation and deduction.
Beer can arts and crafts.
Bein' a sunuvabitch.
Paradise Lost, I Am Legend, I,Lucifer, Letters from Earth, Notes from Underground, The Stranger, The Antichrist, Trainspotting, Porno, Narcissus and Goldmund. Requiem for a Dream, Johnny Got His Gun, The Sun Also Rises. East of Eden. Helter Skelter, In Cold Blood, 1984, Anthem, Slaughterhouse-Five, While Mortals Sleep.
Citizen Kane, Trainspotting, High Fidelity, A Few Good Men, Fullmetal Jacket, Apocalypse Now, Solaris, The Shining, 2001: A Space Odyssey, A Clockwork Orange, Blue Valentine, Enter The Void, Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind, Y Tu Mama Tambien, Amores Perros, Babel, Se7en, 12 Monkeys, Pulp Fiction, The Godfather, Un Chien Andalou, This Is England.
Fleetwood Mac, Kool Keith, TNGHT, Johnny Cash, John Denver, Aesop Rock, ASAP Rocky, Waka Flocka, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Ella Fitzgerald, Curtis Mayfield, Bill Withers, Neil Young, Marvin Gaye, Bob Dylan, David Bowie, Joy Division, Joey Bada$$, Flying Lotus, Nujabes, Force Of Nature, Shing0, Dabrye, J Dilla, Hitboy, Richboy, Gucci Mane, John Denver, Queen, Damu The Fudgemunk, DdayOne, Bullion, Wu Tang Clan, xxyyxx, Sbtrkt and many more.
My big ass notepad
A motherfucker to piss off.
A motherfucker to vent to.
A motherfuckin' partner :(
Otherwise, scoot. Go find yourself a nice gentleman caller to listen to you bitch about your shitty work friends, buy you milkshakes, kiss your hand goodnight. Knock yourself out. But I ain't that.
Not a romantic type, but I know how to do a thing or two.
What I want is for you to be special enough that I don’t just use you for sex. And I need you to prove that to me just about instantly, on our first meeting. I need you to be so funny and sweet and thought-provoking that I abandon my plan to have you drive me up the hill from the bar and get you into my squalid apartment and pour cheap red wine down your gullet while a youtube clip of Claude Debussy plays through my tinny computer speakers, and then I carry you into the bedroom and after a couple fake girlish objections on your part I give you the raw meatpipe. I need you to make me think: Jesus, I really want to spend more time with this person. Maybe I ought to ease up and let shit happen at a more civilized pace. None of you can do this. Or a couple of you have; those are the girls who take care of me now. I can’t fuck them anymore because I can’t stay interested in sex with the same person more than ten times. I need you to make me interested in sex with you more than ten times.