Category: writing

problem solving is a lot like squeezing a tube of toothpaste. you got two people: people who squeeze from the middle, and people who squeeze from the end. when you first get a tube of toothpaste, both concepts make sense–you squeeze it one way, you squeeze it another way, and either way you’re getting toothpaste. for some people this is all they need. but others, people like me, we gotta squeeze from the end, because here’s the important part: after a while, you start running out of toothpaste. so halfway through the tube you realize now you have to start pushing from the end to get all that toothpaste that got pushed to the back when you started. meanwhile, i’ve been squeezing from the end the whole time, so i never have to go back. this is my point, for problem solving: squeeze from the end. solve the problems early on, so they don’t pop up toward the end of your toothpaste tube. you get me? because if you spend all your time squeezing from the middle, you’re gonna run into problems that could have been solved from the get go. like right now. like tonight. you squeezed from the middle, and now you’re gonna pay for it, you understand? i’m forcing you to the end of the tube, and i’m gonna roll you up with it. welcome to the rest of your life: problem solving.

acting’s all a farce. it’s fake. it’s fundamentally fake. hell i know some actors that when they go on stage, when they talk to you, they look at your forehead, like in the center of your forehead, just so they won’t look you in the eyes. why? why do that? the whole point of acting is to make this tremendous connection, something palpable to the audience … but it’s all fake. it’s high-brow pretending. and some people can’t do it, they can’t fake it like that and still look you in the eyes. but i’m good at it. i’m damn good at it. i can stare down any son of a bitch i’m with on stage. it’s the only thing that makes me feel anything anymore, really. i do it onstage, i do it off stage. i did it with ex wives and with good friends. that hard, calculated stare, the one that burrows into your soul. i’m damn good at that. so good that it drove people away. it was too much. too harsh. i guess that’s my vice, ted. you drink, i alienate people. that’s why i can’t look at you, not really. cause you know what i’m about. you know what’s going on in these eyes.

(on telephone)
i’m drunk. again. mom. pick up the phone because i need a ride, i’m out, who, i, i don’t know where the fuck i am, it’s like a field, just a big empty field and i woke up and my leg is bleeding. i should call an ambulance but i forgot the number. call an ambulance. pick up the phone. call them. i think, i’m pretty sure i lost a lot of blood, maybe all of it. maybe i’m dead and i’m calling you from the afterlife. i … hope i’m not drunk for eternity though. or maybe the afterlife is perpetual drunkenness. nah. i’m alive. i’m just beat up in a field. what happened? hold on ma i gotta check the camera… (uses camera on phone to look at self) yeah look my face is fine, it’s just my leg. (into phone) yeah i’m just a wreck, mom. that’s it. i’m just a fuckup like always. but, ah, for real though there’s a lot of blood. so if you could come get me, or call the police, i mean, the ambulance, that would be great. okay, bye. (hangs up. looks around the darkness for an exceptionally long amount of time.)

i’m never coming here again, but before i go i want you to know that you are a terrible lay. you’re the worst sex i’ve ever had, and i fucked a nearly dead 80 year old man. yeah. he was better than you. bigger dick, for one, but also, a guy like that knows how to charm a lady, you know what i mean? he knows what’s up. he made love to me, zack, he didn’t just fuck me like you do. he was good at it. slow, but good. i mean the guy would’ve had a heart attack, you know, if he went too fast. but i want you to know this too, this will make you feel better: your dick looks pretty much the same no matter how old you are. it’s like god made sure that little piece of equipment stayed pristine. this 80 year old guy’s dick looked just as good as yours does. though bigger of course. look i’m getting distracted–i’m leaving you. for good this time. i’m sick of coming over here and being disappointed by this sad bachelor pad and your terrible sex. you should get a book or something, get the kama sutra or something. call me when you can master ten poses or whatever. because i’m sick of being disappointed in your dumbass sex. be better at sex!

i’ve been so far removed from love when i read about it it’s clinical, like a scientist, or a historian discovering the past. it feels foreign to me, alien, part of a culture unlike me. this of course is stupid; i am a human being just like you, with the same parts and feelings and drives. i need food and water and shelter, and love. but i have distanced myself from it so as to not feel hurt. i have chosen over the band-aid rip of rejection, the slow smoldering decay of loneliness. why have i accepted this? because when i stand here with you, alone with you, i feel a welling up in my breast the likes of which i haven’t felt for ages. i feel what i must reluctantly call love. the moment i saw you and your bright beaming smile, your kind, honest eyes, your thick dark tangles of hair draped across the sides of your face, i fell in love. seems so foreign in our society, this “head-over-heels” kind of love, and yet here it is, and i am only here to tell you that, to let you know that i would give all of my life for one moment spent with you. that scares the shit out of me, but it’s true. i’m not one of those romantic spaniard types who keeps reams of poems in journals to give to his love. i can only tell you now and hope that you feel some semblance of the same feeling for me. so i am here, heart on my sleeve, ready for your answer, whatever it may be.

danny went to the day-old bread store and got like seven loaves of bread. i told him i said “danny, that bread’s already a day old! it’s gonna go bad!” but he didn’t care. when danny sees something cheap he goes all in, every time. once he bought 20 packs of those squeez-it bottles, you know what i’m talking about?, them juice bottles, he bought ’em with his food stamps because they were being discontinued and he wanted ’em. spent all his food stamp money on squeez-its. so we had squeez-its in the fridge which didn’t have any coldness to it anyway cause we didn’t pay the power bill. and now we have seven loaves of bread, all kinds of bread. white bread, wheat bread, bread with nuts in it, bread with seeds in it. rye. marble rye. pumpernickel. what the hell’s a god damn pumpernickel? how does that word survive past the 18th century? and let me tell you, it was excellent bread the first night. we tried a slice from each one just to taste. pumpernickel is good but marble rye’s my favorite. ended up making a salami sandwich out of it. best sandwich i’ve had in a while, except that the salami was old and i got diarrhea for three days afterward. we really should pay that power bill.