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   I’m sitting in a sauna with a naked man beside me.  WHY?  Doesn’t like shorts I guess.  NAÏVE.  Wants to know what I do for a living.  Had sort of that “gay accent”.  Claimed he was married.  GAY PEOPLE…JUST BE GAY.  You don’t need to put on a show.  And if you do feel the need to ACT do it on stage.  Not on the street.  HEY QUEERS-YOU’RE NOT BORN WITH A LISP!!!  I told him I was an actor.  “Why are there so many more homosexuals in the theatre world?” he asked.  “I don’t know…maybe because they are more open and like to express themselves.  They don’t seem to worry about what mainstream society thinks of them the way the rest of us idiots do”, I replied.  He seemed to get turned on by the bitterness behind my reply.  His dick began to grow.  He then mentioned that he was a MORMON and how he didn’t have sex until he was married.  “WHY THE FUCK DO PEOPLE STOP THEMSELVES FROM ENJOYING THEIR LIVES???”  he then responded with a shocking, “I WACKED OFF A LOT!!!”  I was appalled at this blond hairless naked man.  THAT’S THE WRONG FUCKING WORD…JERKED OFF-JERKED OFF.  CORRECT ENGLISH PLEASE.  American.  Gay perhaps.  Yeah, sure.  Gay for sure.  His dick growing larger by the second.  Nice guy but time to go.  I need a drink or a drunk.  Escape.  AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!! 

   I met my buddies for drinks and mindless chatter at some stupid niteclub where pigs think they are princesses or princess’.  What happens to broads when they go to a niteclub?  It’s like they have put on those special slippers and turned quickly into supermodels.  Pigs talking to me like I’m not important to them.  “LISTEN BITCH, I JUST WANT TO SQUEEZE B Y YOUR FAT ASS TO GET A DRINK AT THE BAR AND DOWN IT AS FAST AS I CAN JUST SO I CAN LOOK AT YOU!!!”  PIG.  But see same girl on street the next day face buried in ground.  Doesn’t want to look up.  TORTURE at the bar.  Men allowing women to feel too important.  OUR FAULT.  AVOID AT ALL COSTS.  DANGER.  Woke up sideways on bed…again.  Lights on.  Door open.  Pants hanging down at my ankles.  Shoes on.  WHAT A MESS.  At least I didn’t shit myself.  Cabby at the ritz, “I shit my pants.  I shit my pants.  Holy shit.  I shit my pants.  AAAHHH I FUCKING SHIT MY PANTS.  I FUCKING SHIT MY PANTS.  FUCK.  GODDAMMT.  AAAHHHHH I SHIT MY PANTS.”

  I vaguely remember driving around in the back of some cab driven by some angry somalian.  Can’t blame him.  Where was I going?  Trying to find LOVE.  Always.  What it all comes down to.  The faggot in the sauna.  The fat pig at the bar.  ME.  HE.  ME.  SHE.  WACKING OFF.  JERKING OFF.  FUCKING.  DRINKING.  JOGGING.  ACTING.  WRITING.  ALL SYNONYMOUS FOR LOVE.  TIME FLIES-PERCEPTION-TRAFFIC JAM-TIME GOES SLOW-SHAKESPEARE EVEN SLOWER.  LOVE GOES QUICKLY.  SO DOES LIFE.  DEATH.  WHY?  EVEN MORE IMPORTANTLY WHEN?

  Even though I hate politics I find myself angry that Rob Ford wins.  FAT FUCKING BASTARD.  The rich get richer.  The poor get poorer.  This is always the case.  In

everything.  The least talented are the ones that run everything.  The safe.  The safest.  The shit.  The old money giving the new blood their old money to succeed and then looking down on the poor bastards who are trying to do it on their own.  Rich fuckers who get their wealth from their parents who got their wealth from their parents.  It is all fucking bullshit.  Now I know and understand why Travis Bickle went crazy.  FUCKING SCUM.  This guy is just as useless as Dunskie Dame Sarah Palin.  EH?  You fat fucking retard.  It’s all bullshit anyway.  What the fuck is the point?  It all stays the same.  Fucking pathetic humans we are.  Wanting to stay boring and pathetic.  Sad.  Dull.  Angry.  Lonely.  Desperate.  Hungry.  Fat.  Retarded.  Safe.  Complacent.  CHRISTIAN.  Phony.  Closed.  Determined.  Sexless.  Emotionless.  WE ARE A BUNCH OF RETARDED FUCKING PUPPETS.  Then we die.  Great life.  What did you live for?  What is your legacy?  Did you have fun?  Did you go to church?  Did you succeed in the game of life or did you let them win?  Most people let them win without knowing they’re letting them win.  Live your whole life working eight hour days, five days a week.  Paying taxes.  Playing cards.  Watching reality shows.  Playing work soccer.  Fixing the lawn.  Cleaning the garage.  Watching soap opera’s.  Eating fast food.  Going to bed early.  Waking up early to do nothing again.  Not drinking.  Not doing drugs.  Not fucking.  Not jerking.  Putting on aging cream that stops the process of aging?  Dyeing your hair.  Wearing shit clothes.  Why do people from small towns wear weird coloured stretch pants and go to church?  Why follow dumb rules by dumb people only to keep the thinkers in line?

  When are we going to have protests again?  Where are the protesters?  Where is the passion?  Where is the fire?  Reading facebook posts filled with losers telling me about their boring lives.  WHO FUCKING CARES???  YOU ARE ALL BORING FUCKING GEEKS!!!!

 

 

 

 

  Even though I hate politics I find myself angry that Rob Ford wins.  FAT FUCKING BASTARD.  The rich get richer.  The poor get poorer.  This is always the case.  In

everything.  The least talented are the ones that run everything.  The safe.  The safest.  The shit.  The old money giving the new blood their old money to succeed and then looking down on the poor bastards who are trying to do it on their own.  Rich fuckers who get their wealth from their parents who got their wealth from their parents.  It is all fucking bullshit.  Now I know and understand why Travis Bickle went crazy.  FUCKING SCUM.  This guy is just as useless as Dunskie Dame Sarah Palin.  EH?  You fat fucking retard.  It’s all bullshit anyway.  What the fuck is the point?  It all stays the same.  Fucking pathetic humans we are.  Wanting to stay boring and pathetic.  Sad.  Dull.  Angry.  Lonely.  Desperate.  Hungry.  Fat.  Retarded.  Safe.  Complacent.  CHRISTIAN.  Phony.  Closed.  Determined.  Sexless.  Emotionless.  WE ARE A BUNCH OF RETARDED FUCKING PUPPETS.  Then we die.  Great life.  What did you live for?  What is your legacy?  Did you have fun?  Did you go to church?  Did you succeed in the game of life or did you let them win?  Most people let them win without knowing they’re letting them win.  Live your whole life working eight hour days, five days a week.  Paying taxes.  Playing cards.  Watching reality shows.  Playing work soccer.  Fixing the lawn.  Cleaning the garage.  Watching soap opera’s.  Eating fast food.  Going to bed early.  Waking up early to do nothing again.  Not drinking.  Not doing drugs.  Not fucking.  Not jerking.  Putting on aging cream that stops the process of aging?  Dyeing your hair.  Wearing shit clothes.  Why do people from small towns wear weird coloured stretch pants and go to church?  Why follow dumb rules by dumb people only to keep the thinkers in line?

  When are we going to have protests again?  Where are the protesters?  Where is the passion?  Where is the fire?  Reading facebook posts filled with losers telling me about their boring lives.  WHO FUCKING CARES???  YOU ARE ALL BORING FUCKING GEEKS!!!!

 

 

 

 

I’m sitting in a sauna with a naked man beside me.  WHY?  Doesn’t like shorts I guess.  NAÏVE.  Wants to know what I do for a living.  Had sort of that “gay accent”.  Claimed he was married.  GAY PEOPLE…JUST BE GAY.  You don’t need to put on a show.  And if you do feel the need to ACT do it on stage.  Not on the street.  HEY QUEERS-YOU’RE NOT BORN WITH A LISP!!!  I told him I was an actor.  “Why are there so many more homosexuals in the theatre world?” he asked.  “I don’t know…maybe because they are more open and like to express themselves.  They don’t seem to worry about what mainstream society thinks of them the way the rest of us idiots do”, I replied.  He seemed to get turned on by the bitterness behind my reply.  His dick began to grow.  He then mentioned that he was a MORMON and how he didn’t have sex until he was married.  “WHY THE FUCK DO PEOPLE STOP THEMSELVES FROM ENJOYING THEIR LIVES???”  he then responded with a shocking, “I WACKED OFF A LOT!!!”  I was appalled at this blond hairless naked man.  THAT’S THE WRONG FUCKING WORD…JERKED OFF-JERKED OFF.  CORRECT ENGLISH PLEASE.  American.  Gay perhaps.  Yeah, sure.  Gay for sure.  His dick growing larger by the second.  Nice guy but time to go.  I need a drink or a drunk.  Escape.  AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!! 

   I met my buddies for drinks and mindless chatter at some stupid niteclub where pigs think they are princesses or princess’.  What happens to broads when they go to a niteclub?  It’s like they have put on those special slippers and turned quickly into supermodels.  Pigs talking to me like I’m not important to them.  “LISTEN BITCH, I JUST WANT TO SQUEEZE B Y YOUR FAT ASS TO GET A DRINK AT THE BAR AND DOWN IT AS FAST AS I CAN JUST SO I CAN LOOK AT YOU!!!”  PIG.  But see same girl on street the next day face buried in ground.  Doesn’t want to look up.  TORTURE at the bar.  Men allowing women to feel too important.  OUR FAULT.  AVOID AT ALL COSTS.  DANGER.  Woke up sideways on bed…again.  Lights on.  Door open.  Pants hanging down at my ankles.  Shoes on.  WHAT A MESS.  At least I didn’t shit myself.  Cabby at the ritz, “I shit my pants.  I shit my pants.  Holy shit.  I shit my pants.  AAAHHH I FUCKING SHIT MY PANTS.  I FUCKING SHIT MY PANTS.  FUCK.  GODDAMMT.  AAAHHHHH I SHIT MY PANTS.”

  I vaguely remember driving around in the back of some cab driven by some angry somalian.  Can’t blame him.  Where was I going?  Trying to find LOVE.  Always.  What it all comes down to.  The faggot in the sauna.  The fat pig at the bar.  ME.  HE.  ME.  SHE.  WACKING OFF.  JERKING OFF.  FUCKING.  DRINKING.  JOGGING.  ACTING.  WRITING.  ALL SYNONYMOUS FOR LOVE.  TIME FLIES-PERCEPTION-TRAFFIC JAM-TIME GOES SLOW-SHAKESPEARE EVEN SLOWER.  LOVE GOES QUICKLY.  SO DOES LIFE.  DEATH.  WHY?  EVEN MORE IMPORTANTLY WHEN?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  Nervous.  Shaky.  Clammy.  Sweaty.  Hot.  Fidgety.  Another two day hangover.  Nothing accomplished.  10pm.  I walk out the door.  Friday night.  Excited.  Tired but excited.  Just finished my first beer.  Oatmeal Stout.  Always need to drink one before I leave the house.  Old habits are hard to break.  Jump into the car.  Dizzy.  Edgy.  Put on The National.  Fake Empire.  Crank the music and drive to The Keg.  Excited.  My one night out.  I park the car and walk to The Keg.  Go inside.  Mumble a few words to the host.  Hoping for a hostess.  Getting a gay host instead.  Mumble a few words and then go to the bar.  Sit at the bar.  Say “HI” to the bartender.  The male bartender.  Look around.  See cute girls everywhere.  Waitresses.  Patrons.  Bartenders.  All cute.  All young.  Pull out Bukowski’s “Tales Of Ordinary Madness.”  Let it sit on top of the bar.  Don’t read it.  Just sits there.  Lonely.  All alone.  See Jessie.  Say “HI”.  Smile.  Order a bottle of wine.  Male bartender pours it into a decanter.  Lets me do a taste test.  Give him the nod.  Sweating.  So fucking hot.  Why are restaurants and bars and coffee shops so fucking hot???  He now pours me a full glass.  Grab it.  Grab it and take my first real sip.  Going to be many more.  See Jonah.  See Scott.  See Ang.  See Mischa.  Say “HI” to all of them.  Bukowski still sitting on the bar.  The four seats beside me are empty.  Soon to be filled.  Distractions.  Always distractions.  Four young cute girls enter and take the empty seats beside me.  Young.  Cute.  Bubbly.  All wearing slutty summer dresses.  Teasing.  I can almost see their panties.  Showing leg.  Peak over.  Not getting caught.  Look again.  And again.  So close.  Panties right there.  Cute panties.  Young panties.  Smooth legs.  Cute girls.  Young girls.  Girls half my age.  I could be their Dad.  Still trying to get a glimpse of panty.  Not succeeding.  Trying but failing once again.  Life full of failures.  When will it get better? 

  Finish my first glass of red.  Drink another.  Order a steak.  Bukowski still there.  Jonah trying to convince me to perform a monologue for his fundraiser.  I HATE FUCKING MONOLOGUES.  Boring chatter by boring actors reading boring monologues.  I say “NO.”  Always say “NO.”  Wait for my steak to arrive.  Drink more wine.  Car still outside alone.  Text Ben.  Invite Ben to come down.  He accepts.  Still trying to get a peak at young panties.  Horny.  Looking up.  Seeing young girls ass in front of my face.  Tight jeans.  Tight ass.  Not flabby yet.  Soon to be flabby.  Always gets flabby.  Old age ruining everything.  Why do we have to get old?  Feeling hot.  Face pulsating.  Thoughts racing.  Steak arriving.  Drink more wine.  Eat steak.  Amazing.  Young girl beside me looks over.  Looks at steak.  Not me.  Wait for Ben.  Eat steak.  Drink wine.  Observe.  Observations.  Panties.  Legs.  Laughs.  Dresses.  Jonah.  Scott.  Jessie.  The guy bartender.  Ben arrives.  Hyper.  Full of energy.  Laughing.  Drinking.  Talking.  Dunksy beside me knocking my leg.  Not saying sorry.  Khaki pants on.  Friends with the young girls.  Gay accent.  Getting drunk.  Me.  Not him.  Always getting drunk.  Still no glimpse of panties.  Torture everywhere.  Married.  Getting old.  Getting drunk.  Young girl beside me gets up to go to the washroom.  Spreads her legs right in front of me.  Need to look.  Need to look.  Need to look.  I can’t.  Look away.  TORTURE.  Sweating.  Another missed opportunity.  Finish my steak.  Finish my bottle.  Drunk.  Order a glass.  Girls leave.  Going to another bar.  Wanting to get laid.  Probably will.  It’s easy for girls to get laid.  Guys will fuck anything.  I would fuck anything tonight.  I’m married.  Drink more.  Think of Laura…my wife.  Think of Taylor…my daughter.  Home.  Sleeping.  Get my bill.  Pay the bill.  Even with my discount I still fork out 100 bucks.  Get one more glass of red.  Chug it.  Teeth red.  Face red.  Eyes red.  Blurry.  Horny.  Walk over to a British Pub.  Order two Guinness’.  Drink them.  Chug them.  Give Kim a story of mine to read.  WANTING HER APPROVAL.  Don’t get it.  Look at her nice tiny tits.  Perky tits.  Tiny tits.  Tiny and perky.  HATE BIG TITS.  “What do you think?”  I ask her.  “It’s just a personal story,”  she replies.  Saying it as if this is a bad thing.  Another follower.  Stuck on the notion that Shakespeare is good.  Society winning the battle.  Forcing opinions on minions.  Top ten books.  Top ten movies.  Top ten plays.  Top ten cars.  Top ten actors.  Top ten cities.  Who makes these lists?  Boring people with boring opinions.  DON’T THINK.  FOLLOW.  FOLLOW.  FOLLOW.  FOLLOW.  SHAKESPEARE?  Does anyone really like Shakespeare?  Drunk.  Rejection from Kim.  Opinions.  Dumb opinions.  Not listening.  Drunk.  Ben still there…I think.  Last call over.  Get the bill.  Pay the bill.  Stumble outside.  Fall into a cab.  Arrive at home.  Not sure how.  Blackout.  Drunk.  Three in the morning…I think.  “WAKE UP…DADA…WAKE UP,”  Taylor whispers in my ear.  She wakes me up.  Six in the morning.  Still drunk.  Taylor not knowing.  I am now up.  Blurry.  Drunk.  Smelling.  Now asleep.  Again.  “WAKE UP…DADA…WAKE UP,” Taylor  tries again to wake me up.  It is now eight thirty in the morning.  I am up again.  Still drunk.  Head pounding.  No coffee.  Eight Tylenol’s.  Laura barking.  Taylor playing.  Sunny outside.  Beautiful day.  Sweating.  Smelling.  Shaking.  Everything still blurry.  Looking for my glasses.  My wallet.  My pants.  My shirt.  My bag.  Everything made it home safely.  Usually does.  Sometimes not.  Pathetic.  When will I learn?  One bottle limit.  One bottle limit.  Waste of night.  Waste of day.  Waste of money.  Waste of opinions.  Waste of time.  Waste of love.  Everything was a waste.  Alcoholic?  Yes.  But I’ll do it again next weekend.  Why?

  Life and Love.  I love you Laura and Taylor.

  Drinking a glass of red wine.  Watching Laura watch “The Tori Spelling Show.”  What a joke!!!  Who fucking cares about Tori Spelling?  Who is Tori Spelling?  Watching thousands of people line up to get Tori’s autograph at a book signing.  Celebrity bullshit.  What fucking sad individuals.  Crying.  Screaming.  Yelling.  BOOK TOUR.  TORI SPELLING.  WHAT FUCKING PATHETIC PUTZ BUYS A TORI SPELLING BOOK?  Who cares about Tori and Dean?  Dean McDermott, Tori’s putzy husband.  SHIT ACTOR.  SHIT PERSONALITY.  GOLD DIGGER.  NO TALENT…BOTH OF THEM.  Watching the line at this useless book signing.  Watching fat people cry.  FAT BORING UGLY PEOPLE WAITING TO GET TORI SPELLING TO SIGN THEIR USELESS BOOK.

  Our society is pathetic.  ZERO INDIVIDUALISM.  FOLLOWERS.  LOWEST COMMON DENOMINATOR.  A book about nothing.  Nothing interesting.  Nothing unique.  Same old boring shit.  Loser fans driving days to see a useless puppet.  HOW FUCKING SAD.  WHY DON’T THESE FATSO’S WRITE THEIR OWN USELESS BOOK?  ACT IN SOME USELESS SHOW?  MARRY SOME USELESS PUTZ?  I need to drink a magnum of wine to get through this shit.  One hour of shit television.  I am at my boiling point.  I picture myself throwing the tv out the window.  Hopefully killing someone’s yappy dog.  Or killing a dog owner.  WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO SOCIETY???  Mediocrity everywhere.  Too many assholes get too much credit for mediocre work.  DUMB PEOPLE LEADING OUR COUNTRY.  THE DUMBER YOU ARE THE BETTER.  Dean McDermott is going to get a baseball thrown at him.  Through the tv.  I am sweating.  Boiling.  Drinking.  Pondering.  Gagging.  Laughing.  Choking.  CHEESE.  ALL FUCKING CHEESE.  FUCKING PHONIES.  FUCKING EVERYWHERE.  WHERE HAVE ALL THE REAL PEOPLE GONE???  Why does mediocrity get rewarded?  WHY???  WHY???  WHY???

  Frustrations all making sense.

  Drinking all making sense.

  Sleeplessness all making sense.

  Firings all making sense.

  Criminal record all making sense.

  Intermittent Explosive Behaviour Disorder all making sense.

  Narcississm all making sense.

  Everything is making sense thanks to Tori and Dean and Laura watching this shitty fucking show.

  I used to jerk off to Tori Spelling but now I would like to jerk off in her fucking face.  HER AND DEAN.

  WHAT TWO USELESS TITS!!!

  NOW SHE WANTS TO WRITE A CHILDREN’S BOOK.  WHAT A FUCKING CUNT.

  FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  I wake up at 6am.  Taste the pasty taste in my mouth.  Wine from the night before.  Lay still.  Look at the ceiling.  Alone.  In Rylee’s bed.  My four year old daughter’s bed.  Rylee in Mommy’s and Daddy’s bed.  Slowly slip out of bed.  Do not want to wake Rylee up.  Everything wakes her up.  She is a fireball.  Non-stop energy.  Full of life.  Full of hope.  Full of fun.  Full of happiness.  Full of sadness.  Full of anxiety.  SHE IS REAL.  Not like the rest of our pathetic lifeless society.  Bingo scratch cards.  Shitty reality tv shows.  Pathetic celebrity magazines.  Everybody wasting life away.  Closer and closer to death.  Don’t want to die.  Don’t want to get old.  Wrinkles.  Restless.  Useless.  Painful.  Forgetful.  Sad.  Alone.  Seeing old ladies at the coffee shop.  Skinny.  Wrinkled.  Fidgety.  Timid.  All alone.  Soon to die.  Getting in people’s way.  She can’t sit still.  This old lady with her red hat.  Red scarf.  Red sweater.  Who dressed her today?  Do old people look closely in the mirror?  Do they look at old pictures of themselves?  Pictures when they were young.  Young and pretty.  Healthy.  Full of hope.  Full of life.  Sadness creeping in.  Walking into Mom’s room and finding old love letters hidden under her pillow.  Twenty years ago I found a dildo under her pillow now I find old love letters.  Watching my Mom trying to keep busy.  Trying to feel useful.  Dog sitting.  Cat sitting.  Gardening.  Weeding.  Housesitting.  All useless jobs.  Meaningless jobs.  IRRELEVANT JOBS.  Jobs that are given to my Mom to make her feel useful.  Jobs that are taken by my Mom to make her feel useful.  My Mom getting old.  Trying to hang on.  Colouring her hair.  Wearing tacky glitzy clothes to make her feel younger.  Driving her old beat up smelly white Toyota Corolla.  Filled with cigarette buts.  Buried in the right lane.  Two hands on the wheel.  Driving down to see Rylee.  Hoping Rylee will like her.  She brings down a donut for Rylee.  Brings down a toy.  Mind racing.  Always racing.  One second closer to death.  So am I.  Hate getting old.  More rules.  More responsibilities.  More wrinkles.  More fat.  More aches.  Less fun.  Less sex.  Less hope.  Less excitement.  Less life.  My 6am coffee at Second Cup is my big excitement for the day.  Listening to old beat up construction workers talk about how shit their jobs are.  Scratching bingo cards.  Hoping for a way out.  A way out of their shitty lives.  Day after dreary day.  Waking up at 5am.  Shit coffee.  Take a shit.  Eat some toast.  Make a shit lunch.  Leave their suburban house.  Drive to shit job site.  Shoot the shit with other miserable construction workers.  Start working.  Hammering.  Pounding.  Digging.  Tugging.  Pushing.  Sweating.  Doing everything but thinking.  Twelve hour day ends.  6pm.  Job ends.  Pack up.  Dirty as shit.  Smelly as shit.  Driving home in shitty traffic.  Same shit radio.  Everything shit except their car.  Nice car.  Fast car.  Fancy car.  FUCKING IDIOTS.  Wasting all of their money on “souping up” their shit car.  Whole shitty existence.  Shitty life.  Boring life.  Hard life.  All of this to have a nice car.  Arrive at home.  Dead tired.  Smelly.  Dirty.  Need shower but too tired to move.  Too sore to play.  Plop smelly ass on couch.  Flick shitty tv channels.  Grab a Molson Canadian.  Mumble a few words to fat wife.  Bark a few orders to lazy kids.  Then fall asleep.  Sleep for six hours.  Wake up.  Go through same old shitty routine.  Next day same thing.  Next day same thing.  On and on it goes.  The boredom.  The pain.  The torture.  Day after dreary day.  Just hoping for that Bingo card win.  That Bingo card win that will get them out of their miserable shitty lives.  Not knowing that nobody wins in stupid fucking phony Bingo cards.  THEY ARE ALL FAKE.  ALL PHONY.  ALL LOSERS.  NO WINNERS.  LIFE FULL OF PHONY LOSERS.  PATHETIC.  SAD.  LIFE FULL OF CHASING.  HOPING.  WASTING.  TALKING.  JUDGING.  WORKING.  BARKING.  PANICKING.  DYING.  WE ARE ALL DYING.