Hollywood
Another fucking saturday night in party land. Ugh! Culture shock. Liquor and drugs and irrelevent gringo sheeple chatter. I know the game long and well and it has finally lost all promise of glamor, romance and thrill for me once and for all now at last.
How sad, I think. I do rather long at times for the desperate longing that used to be such an integral part of my being that it’s almost easy to feel lost without it as I suddenly find myself these days.
Longing to be longing! Shit! It’s almost like a sick man missing the disease he has been cured of after a long and painful convelescence. Like missing a festering goiter or a lover who has betrayed you with your friends and other longing dogs on your bed and sold your most cherished posessions for crack money.
Sometimes I really do miss my illusions and my own desperate longing to just believe in the Big Lie.
Even as I write these words I am watching a chubby Mexican-American looking suburban bitch from hell puke her dinner into the gutter outside the Burgundy Room on Cahuenga. Cahuenga. Shit! What a name for a street! It sounds like the sound effects of a fucking car crash.
CAHUENGAAA!!!
I used to like to sit out here on Cahuenga late at night when taking a break from writing to watch the nightly Running of the Drunks before they all got in their cars to smash them into each other. CAHUENGAAA!!
This fat drunken cow goes about her gak-fest beside a parked SUV just as casually and gracelessly as she must have wolfed down her Burger King Whopper before going out to spend more money than a good Mexican laborer like her daddy earns in a week on her pig’s ration of watered-down piss-drink bar whiskey. Disgusting overfed American Chola pig!
Just as I finish writing the last words, I catch a whiff of her bocal excrement from upwind. Just then, another chubby failure with a cunt tipsily approaches me sitting curbside on the bike and asks me for a ride. Hah! Not fucking likely! I tell her I would rather stick my dick in a garbage disposal than continue to look at her goofy mug and she smiles and blinks as if I was just kidding. I am not.
Finally she gets it and waddles across the street toward the Beauty Bar, a place where niggers far more desperate than I am tonight will gladly pay attention to her maddening white bitch prattle in exchange for a boozy blow job in the parking lot. Wonder if they like it when these drunk bitches barf on their Jimmy. Wonder if they got a name for that shit in ghetto-ese.
The Beauty Bar. Fuck! Where do they get a name like that for such a pimply fat butt cattle-fest? Eyes of the beholder, I guess. And isn’t that why god invented booze in the first place? So that fat charmless Armenien secretaries can get knocked up and reproduce more of the same? Where is a Nucular Holocost when ya need one?
I wanna go home now at this stage of the ugly preceedings, but my ass is glued to this motorcycle seat like a rubbernecking commuter watching a 10 car pile-up with hamburger all over the highway. CAHUENGAAA!!! Shit. A grey mist decsends over the whole pathetic mess and I sit here praying for an earthquake of devastating magnitude to justify my being out here on these eye-bleeding streets of Hollywood once again. Waiting for the Apocalypse. Waiting for The Big Cahuenga!!! May it come soon to this pathetic parking lot of lost souls. Good night, Ladies.
We’re not completely out of resources– we still get to bitch about all kinds of stuff.