My doctor told me, after checking my prostate and confirming what I had told him that it was inflammed, "Are you having sex?"
I said, "Shit, man. What white guy at the age of 46 is having sex?"
He then asked me if I was masturbating. He asked because masturbation is necessary for good prostate health. In other words, a man has got to come to keep from getting prostate cancer, which kills more men over the age of 50 than any other cancer. Meaning, most men in their 50s aren't masturbating and aren't gettin' laid. See, ladies, you're literally killing us by not letting us fuck you silly.
"Shit, man. What white guy at the age of 46 is masturbating? I'm not a member of the United States congress, for chris-fuckin'-sakes, so I don't know how to Instant Message my own dick so how am I supposed to IM me some sex? Besides, when I come home after working 10 fucking hours a day the only thing on my mind is alcohol and t-fucking-v. I'm trying to get my mindnumbing on not a hard-on, motherfucker."
He perscribed me some medication for my inflammed prostate and asked me if I had a girlfriend.
"Shit, man. What white guy at the age of 46, with grey hairs spreading out all over his beer belly body, and the hair on top of his head dying, workin' full-time and lives with a cat, has a motherfuckin' girlfriend? If you could perscribe me a whore, and if my insurance covered it, I'd gladly go down to the nearest titty bar and fill that perscription, niggo. But, you see, doc, this is America. And America don't like people having sex, especially our President, who thinks abstinence is the Holy Grail. So I am fucked beyond reason, if you want my opinion on the matter."
Here's a pic of Lex Anne from when I went to Fred's Texas Cafe a few weeks ago. She waitresses there and Quincy, the night manager, got her to put my Fred Burger W/Cheese women's t-shirt on and model it. She said she used to work at The Smoke Pit, a bar-b-que joint on Belknap east of downtown, where the waitresses all wear bikini tops and on Mondays and Tuesdays they wear bikini tops and bottoms. I asked her if she got propositioned while working there. "All the time." I asked her what was one of the more outrageous offers. "To go with this guy to Germany for $5,000. I asked him if that amount of money meant I had to fuck him and he said, 'Well, yeah.' Then I told him, 'Only if you gave me enough drugs so I could stand to fuck your ugly ass and I really don't think there's enough drugs in the world for that to ever happen.' He didn't appreciate that. I gave it back to him. I'm kind of a smartass."
I told her I liked that in a woman. After taking the pics and bidding adieu, she hugged Anti-Hero Artist and Fred's cook, William Bryan Massey III, who was also leaving because his shift was over, and then, just as we're about to walk out of the patio area and into the parking lot to our cars, she tells me, "I guess I'll give you a hug, too."
Oh, thanks, sweetie. Glad to get something back for giving you a free fucking t-shirt and having all the guys standing around get hard-ons lookin' at you with it on.
God, women find me disgusting. Well, I am. But, who fucking cares anyway? I got a pic of a hot chick to finally put up on the website thanks to Quincy and his smooth talkin' manner.
The subject of the t-shirt came up when I told Patrick, another Fred's waiter, if he wanted one of the Fred Burger W/Cheese t-shirts since he saw me wearing mine and said how cool it looked. So I told him I'd give him one for free. His face brightened up and he said, "Really? COOL!"
I said, "Yeah, man. Be right back with it." So, as me and Bryan walked out to my car to get Patrick his shirt, he mentioned the new waitress, Ms. Lex Anne, and that she was formerly working at The Smoke Pit, which Lex Anne referred to as, "basically a strip joint." It is but they don't do table dances. So I asked Bryan if he thought Lex Anne would want one of the small-sized women's Fred Burger W/Cheese t-shirts. His eyes got big and he said, "Hell, yeah!"
When we brought her the t-shirt Quincy was standing there, this was out on Fred's patio, and he asked her if she'd model it for us guys. "Sure," she said and disappeared behind the patio area to change shirts.
And the rest, as they say, is herstory.
Lex Anne said some guy at Fred's had asked her what her name was the other night and, after telling him what it was, he asked if that was her 'stage' name. She asked him, "Is this a titty bar?"
"No."
"Then it ain't my stage name, honey."
She's got spark to her, a real sassy lassy.
Charles Bukowski described life as non-stop burning down of your soul. Down, he said, "to the nub." Just like when you smoke a cigarette and finish it. Look at what's left. That is your life. He said what drove a man mad wasn't the big castastrophes in his life but the little tragedies, the shoelace breaking when you're late for work, the boss on your ass for not selling enough used cars during the end-of-the-year closeout, the blank faces on fellow humans you see during the day, the lack of humanity and compassion throughout the world, these things, all of them together, over much time, yes, Bukowski felt, that is what makes a man finally go insane.
In fact, Bukowski said, the reason the slasher flicks are so popular is because human beings identify with the the murderous killers, the psychos, the freaks, in those movies because they viewed them as being free from society's grasp. They did whatever they wanted to do. If Freddy Krueger wanted to invade your dreams in order to kill you he could. If Leatherface wanted to slice you up with his Texas chainsaw he could. The audience saw that freedom of the beast and envied the beast and not the hero. The hero was there to keep things status quo. But the film's viewers, secretly, wanted to also take out their frustrations and extract revenge in the same way Michael Myers did on Halloween night.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we ARE in hell. We don't have to wait and see IF we'll be going to hell because we're already there. We've died and ended up here, on a toxic coated ball of dirt spinning endlessly in space, the dark chasm were nothing escapes, that is lit daily by a flamming mass of cosmic guts that shows its face to us everyday, like an eye, an eye of brilliant luminance, a shine so bright that it clearly let's us all see the death and deceit and destruction all around us. Scientifically, if what my high school education taught me, that means we, quite literally, are being burned every day of our existence. Therefore, any questions of life after death have already been answered for you.
Just like me you went straight to Hell.
And Satan welcomes you to the party.
Dirty Howie's short story book,