Jack is alive and well.

Jack Tait just woke up from a twenty-three day nap and he is both horny and alive.  he wanted to both connect with the world and conquer it.  poor Jack is a walking contradiction.  a big dick with only one ball.  he is both happy and sad.  tired and wired.  Jack Tait is a man of truth.  a man among pussies.  we lost men to the pansification of society years ago and Jack doesn’t see it coming back.  back to the good old days.  days when men were men and women were women.  not an objectification of women.  not a degradation of women.  just an understanding of women.  men are now weak and meek.  Jack sees the tattoos and laughs.  geeks pretending to be cool.  “TATS ARE FOR SUBURBANITES,” Jack screams.  he then plucks sixteen nose hairs from his nose and reads Bukowski’s, Women.  His one ball sitting lonely and sad on the dirty ground.  it is cold and clear.  Jack fucked a girl last night but he forgets her name and she left soon after.  girls have needs too.  Jack wants to connect with people but people judge too much and thus Jack is alone.
  Jack talks to the rabbit beside him but the rabbit doesn’t respond.  he has been reading many “self help” books lately and is prepared to not be scared.  he knows that at sixty life is coming to an end.  “sixty is the new forty” people say but Jack doesn’t buy it.  he wants to listen to sad songs and drink wine while looking at pictures of old loved ones who died in World War Three.  “why do people hurt other people Jesus?  Jack fell back asleep and dreamt of beautiful people and beautiful trees.