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I am a liquor & wine salesman. Theoretically, it is my job to go to grocery stores in the dark hours of the morning, schmooze with the lazy eyed manager, & convince him/her to purchase X many cases of alcohol to be displayed at Y location in the store's floor plan. I make the sale by doing free labor around the store for them. Those big displays with dozens of wine cases, the ones where you can just pick up a bottle on a whim, it's a large part of my job to set those up. For every one of those cases on the floor, I make somewhere in the ballpark of 5 dollars/case; this may sound pathetic (it's notĀ notĀ pathetic [notĀ nothingĀ either {50 cases at a single store can net me enough money to buy groceries for a two week period}]), but Iām paid a decent hourly rate & can ostensibly make a good living if I show up consistently, lend a helping hand to the usually decent staff of one of my many stores, etc..Ā
lmao
I don't do any of this, that's the thing. I drive to the first store on my route, I clock in on my work phone & the phone takes a real-time snapshot of the location & time of my clock in. I drive back home. I crawl into bed & I fall asleep. I've been doing this for the better part of a year now. Honestly, for the majority of the time that I've worked at this job I haven't done a single thing. I guess that's not entirely true. I've slept in, gone grocery shopping, gone to the gym, laid in my girlfriendās arms: watched movies, tv, pornography, birds outside my window while my cat would nap in my lap. Cooking, cleaning, it's all so much sweeter, so much healthier when it's on company time. Right now I'm thinking ofĀ reallyĀ tackling Shakespeare. Why not?Ā
I know that one day the jig will be up. Either they'll find me out & demand that I change my ways (something I would never, could never do) or fire me. I hope they fire me. God, how I want my fat milksmelling boss to waddle toward me, his pig face full of condescension, relishing the opportunity to finally cut me down to size. Me, leaning against my convertibleā sunglasses on, cowboy faced, a real Johnny California ready for a full day of surfing. Iād take a long drag & blow cigarette smoke in his face or spit chewing tobacco/ zyn spit in his eye or attack him with a boxcutter & try to take one or both of his eyelids for myself. Maybe all of the above. I'm really not a sadist or a sicko in the head or an edgelord or anything, but the idea of crucifying him on a steel cross, sticking a spear hooked up to a liposuction machine in his side, and draining him of about 450 lbs is hilarious to me. The lard trickling down into a pit beneath him. When he asks for water give him vinegar. & when he's had enough & I've made him beautiful forever, Iād pull the lever & lower him into the boiling vat of his own fat. This makes me laugh a lot.
One of these days itāll end. Iāll start law school or get a real job or get hit by a car & in my post-concussed state somehow be recalbirated to enjoy work. But for now, Iām going back to sleep. Itās 10:53 in the morning for crying out loud
Apr 25, 2024
Related Recs
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Maybe this is played-out in the eyes of anyone whoās spent much time in Lower Manhattan but itās such a classic for me. Kenka is that wacko Japanese basement off St. Marks that serves a wide range of cheap bites and cheaper beverages ā the cheapest prices in the city, for all I fucking know; for an emptywalleted and literally starving type boy such as myself, the prospect of an udon-bowl, a miso soup, a French fry, and an agedashi tofu for about fifteen bucks altogether is so dreamy ā¦ beers are a buck fifty, a pitcher of beers is eight. I used to come here with my best friend, who is a very beautiful girl, to play the Drunk Challenge, which is a sort of game where you challenge yourself to drink a pitcher of beer and become intoxicated ā¦ those were the days ā¦ since her attitude went more-or-less downhill, I mostly just go here by myself now, or sometimes with Patrick. When Iām alone Iāll write out some ideas or reread Tropic of Cancer or another book of that vibrational frequency or get accosted by one of the other drunk men there, which makes me drink faster so I can leave. In fact this is a wonderful thing: the sooner Iām schway, the sooner I can get all impulsive, and at least a few more hours of life are saved from the wasting indecision that has murdered so many of my moments. Cāest la fucking vie.
May 10, 2023
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I do this for my east coast early risersā¢ļø. I offer you a real time vision into authentic west coast desperation. Rejoice! You will never know me. I am too far away, and too far lost for my words to reach the best of you. The Sun rises over your ocean & sets over mine. That which shines & sings on you will, within the hour, spite me & spit upon me. And I will sleep sweetly through it, soaked in the excrement of Amun Ra. His holy semen will glue my eyelids shut & grant me safe passage through the underworld.
Aug 17, 2024
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Okay so word on the street is that my piece for liminal mischief is dropping soon so keep an eye out
And I was in fact a wee bit sloshed in the course of writing it and was going to post a rec about writing drunk like Hemingway. but I discovered in the course of my preliminary factcheck that this may not even be true and Hemingway may in fact have only only been a recreational alcoholic.
But I leave you with these words from Gore Vidal, professional hater, my literal kin and most favorite alcoholic of all time:
āWell, almost all American male writers are alcoholic, and as a result of the alcohol they become less capable sexually as they get older. They also become confused about which is their penis, which is their pen. Think of all those clones of Hemingway, drinking and worrying - fortunately they write very little.ā
Jun 17, 2024
Top Recs from @steelyfan1998
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sometimes you just need to read some real shit straight from the realest person you know .
Feb 24, 2025
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This is a confession post, not a recommendation, not even much of an anti-recommendation. Tbh it reads like a humilation ritual. Honestly just keep scrolling; it's not worth reading. I'm just posting it because I think I had a point when I first started writing this, one which I lost pretty wuickly. But I spent a good couple of minutes typing this all out, so I'll post it anyway. Thank God I'm anon. If you do read it, please forgive me.
My friend Tyler brought a joint to the super bowl party last night. He handed it to me & told me about how it had weed diamonds in it while I smoked, he told me that it was some good shit and that I wouldn't have to smoke so much of it since I've got such a low tolerance & all, but I could also smoke as much as I liked, seeing as he had a bunch more & that it was the super bowl & we had a bunch of wings on the way anyway, so might as well smoke some more weed so you know what? yeah, i smoked some more weed since what's the harm anyway it's just weed after all.
I've been a mess all day. I've been slow & stupid & disgustingly horny since I woke up this morning; but really honestly since I smoked the weed. If you're one of those types that "actually becomes more functional when you're smoking weed" & that I should "just let people enjoy things" I don't know what to say to you. I'm going to be weird for 4 weeks now and it's all my fault. This happens every time.
Even when it doesn't turn me into a non-verbal paranoiac nutcase, even when it's enjoyable to me in that moment-- I become something lower than a beast. I stand over the platter of chicken wings & gorge until I am sick and then I gorge even more. My stomach becomes distended & my face and fingers are covered in thai curry buffalo chicken fat goo. I waddle around & fart & I find this very funny. I confuse the sound of my own voice with that of my younger sisters & this is incredibly disqueting to me. Do I really sound like that? I become a big confused overgrown fat baby.
I'm going to be be weird for four weeks now. Slow. I was supposed to meet up with my friends to watch Luka's debut for the Lakers. I'm stitting at my desk typing this up; procrastinating going to the gym (which I can NOT neglect [especially after my evening of spiritual obesity]) & the game starts in 5 minutes. Stupid. Typing out this confession right now is painfully difficult. Every word that I type has the appearance of a whitehead that can't be popped to me. This textbox full of blemishes so infuriatingly, stubbornly, immutably DISGUSTING. I feel sick just reading back what I'm writing here. Once again, if you've made it this far, forgive me. This is a confession, not a recommendation. Disgustingly horny. This one I won't elaborate on. Forgive me.
It's not because I smoked weed. The smoking of the weed was just the first movement in a sequence that had already begun before I'd even accepted the joint from Tyler. My own spiritual weakness is the mantle upon which all of these failings hang. I'm not this way because I smoked weed, I'm this way because I'm the type of guy that smokes weed even though I know what it will do to me. There are 999,999,999 other weeds in my life that I am all too willing to permit myself. I haven't eaten anything but bread & butter all day. The lakers game is starting soon. Off to the gym I go.
Feb 11, 2025
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Mar 4, 2025