STUCK.

Jack Tait has endured another year.  this one went by faster than the last.  another year closer to death.  Jack Tait wants to visit so many places before he dies but he knows that it won’t happen.  a lack of money and a lack of clothes always seem to get in the way.  Jack Tait has long ago given up the notion of finding a woman and settling down.  he has always preferred to fuck girls and drink booze and this has always made him happy contrary to what the peasants have told him .  the peasants pretend they are happy but Jack Tait knows that he is sad.  mad.  horny.  good things come in threes.  he once had a threesome.  he even had a fivesome.  Jack Tait has fucked over one hundred and twenty five girls but hasn’t fucked a girl in over twenty years.  he has one sagging ball.
  Winter is soon approaching and this means darker days.  darker nights.  he hears the coyotes howling off into the distance.  he also hears an ambulance.  Jack Tait wonders if someone is dying.  Jack Tait never wants to die.  his Dad died much too young and he doesn’t want this to happen to him.  he is sixty years old.  he thinks he is thirty.  Jack Tait is a thinker.  a dreamer.  a masturbator.  a visionary.  a psychic.  a poet.  an animal.  a drunk.  a loner.  he wants to be a pilot when he grows up but he is almost at retirement age.  his hair is long and grey.  his beard is long and grey.  his ball sags.  he sits on the shitty couch in his shitty house in the middle of nowhere and stares at the shitty wall.  he reads Bukowski and drinks Jack.  he is naked.  always naked.  both figuratively and literally.  he is STUCK.  he wants to invent the cure for cancer but knows it’s already been invented and the greedy fuckers who run that shitty business will not allow it to be patented.  he doesn’t do movember because he always has a beard.  he also thinks it’s a crock of shit like all other fake fucking fundraisers.  rich raising more money for their boring friends.  fake fluffy fuckers wearing boring suits and sipping boring drinks.  Jack Tait gets up and walks out of his house.  he is still naked and he is still drunk.  he is sweating profusely and his face is red.  he has no idea where he is going but he never knows where he is going.  he is what the peasants would call a “hippie.”  Jack Tait prefers to think of himself as a thinker.  he walks down his long driveway and searches for his blue tricycle.  Jack Tait vaguely remembers riding it home last night but he also remembers some sort of fight.  an altercation with seven Mexicans from Mexico eating Mexican rice and drinking Mexican beer.  Jack Tait wishes he could travel to Acapulco and go to Disco Beach again.  he knows that he can’t.  forty years ago Jack Tait flooded four toilets in Acapulco.  he also fucked ten girls and almost fucked one more.  he almost drowned in the ocean in a drunken stupor too and then he almost found his true love.  Jack Tait looks around and sees nothing.  he begins to walk.  his eyes close.  “SHIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTT!!!  I THINK I AM HAVING A HEART ATTACK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK ME.  HELP.  HELP.  CAN SOMEONE PLEASE HELP???  I AM HAVING A HEART ATTACK!!!”  no one answered Jack’s desperate calls.  they never did.  Jack Tait lay motionless on the ground for twenty two minutes.  the sun was not out.  he was cold.  he eventually opened his eyes and sat up.  nothing.  nowhere.  he wishes he connected with more people when he was young and vibrant.  he didn’t.  he hated people and hated rules.  Jack Tait got up off the ground and walked back into his house.  he wanted to call all of his long lost friends and long lost family but he smashed his phone fifteen years ago when a collection agency came to his house.  so Jack sits and ponders.  “HELL…that is all I got sir.  hell.  I hope it gets better but I know it won’t.  I am getting older.  wrinklier.  even if you wanted me to fuck you I couldn’t.  too tired and too drunk.  I LOVE YOU.” 
  Jack Tait closes his eyes again and falls asleep.  he has a big smile on his face.