Drop the Rock
From Savage Spear of the Unicorn
Can’t meet a girl until I quit my job. Can’t quit my job until I have a hundred grand. Can’t get a hundred grand because I spend it on girls. I crashed my car. I crashed into the back of a Salvadoran couple who were clearly uninjured but the guy started holding his back with the subtlety of the evil priest in the telenovelas they play at the laundromat. Motherfucker. Now I’m getting called into work on a Sunday. Exactly like fucking Office Space. How did this happen. It’s always been like this. I listened to my AA sponsor. I was grateful to be of service and now I’m alone working my ass off with nothing for nothing and I’m horribly aware that my problems don’t exist and they’re all in my own head. I do have a hundred grand. Some of it’s a retirement account. I’d pay taxes if I withdrew it. So suddenly it doesn’t count. This time two years ago it was fifty grand to quit and it’ll just go up and up to whatever amount is close but not quite there. It was six months of cash then a year now two then two plus what if I get someone pregnant, like anyone’s keeping my fucking baby. Like I’d want them to at my Los Angeles public schools level of income. I need an abundance mentality. I could crash into a hundred Salvadorans and still be in the black. I could Farmers Market it through the Salvadoran Heritage Festival. A hundred kids with a hundred whores– what the fuck are they gonna do to me.
I took a girl on a second date. To sushi. It was $120 and afterward she wanted to go into a nearby crystal shop where I bought her a citrine that she said had good energy. I bought myself an opalite. Entrancing to look at. Good energy, she said. And I was so horny I thought: maybe she’s right, as I looked into its depths. Like the moon through dirty yellow clouds. In the morning, after she’d barely kiss me and gave me autistic instructions about how to touch her, I looked again into the stone. Its stratus clouds in nuclear sunset glow. And I felt it.
Later I crashed my car. Now I’m getting called into work. After my main work project this week was to avoid the come in Sunday call I knew I was doomed to. An imposition I can’t even blog about. Because they did it in Office Space. That rock is evil. It’s bad luck. I need to cast it into the sea. Shatter it on the very forge of the gods. Citrine is a special stone, she explained. It doesn’t hold negative energy. You don’t have to e.g. purify with sage if it absorbs bad vibrations. Bitch why didn’t you tell me that opalite is not this kind of stone. It’s an evil car crashing weekend working stone and why won’t you let me eat your pussy.
I ate a Seeking Arrangement girl’s pussy instead. I pay the girls $100 to give me backrubs and about 60% of the time we hook up. They get horny touching my chiseled back and listening to me be a genius. She was magnificent. Filipina with the Thai temple tits and an ass like a Nicaraguan and she pretended to be impressed when I stuttered nakaka intindi ka ba naung Tagalog? You know, my books are well known in the Philippines. Readers there tell me they’re happy someone’s telling it like it really is. Why yes, I interviewed sex workers, I explained. It was her first Seeking Arrangement date. She doesn’t know yet that guys exactly like me but three inches shorter will instantly offer to buy any Asian woman a house.
She’d been to school in Utah. Told me about a Mormon practice called soaking where you fully penetrate your girlfriend before marriage but don’t move. After she left I came twice furiously. Smelling my hands thinking about soaking her into an unwanted pregnancy.
All week I knew I’d be working Sunday. But they couldn’t fucking ask in advance. On Friday afternoon I started thinking I was off the hook. Do I have to cancel my date. She’s white. 33. A woman ten years younger than me, too old to date. She’d never fuck me and if she did she’d give me AIDS because of this fucking Twilight Zone pebble. My back hurts from the car wreck. And I have to do laundry, Jesus Christ.