Ode to the Head Shop Girl
In my wanderings through the hot blacktopped streets of Memphis, I occasion to visit a local head shop of some renown, a brightly graffitied and darkly interiored joint called “Whatever” that lies just a few blocks away from my pad. Now I do this thing not because I partake of the stickiest of icky, the morning dew bud, the flower of Mary and of Jane, no. I do this because I love me...
How to Fucking Drink
Okay kids, pay attention, because I’m only going to post this once. Most of you, the majority, the 99% of you, don’t fucking know how to drink. Before you dismissively turn away from my pages here, before you sneer at the old guy at the end of the bar and go back to your Natural Light and your Red Bull and Vodka, hear me out. Just two points, just for a second: 1. It’s not...
New World Problems
She stood there in the dim light of my hotel room, naked except for one dirty stocking, and screamed at me. “You are the worst kind of robot, Kurt! A good-for-nothing drunk!” I couldn’t refute that, so I just shrugged and took another pull from the plastic bottle in my hand. It was cheap mix of synthol and lubricant. Went down easy. She continued to rage about my shortcomings...