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.
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.
i threw a grenade at patrick today. it wasn’t real. or, it was, but it was decommissioned? inert? what’s the word. anyway, i threw it at him and he was upset. understandably. but that guy’s such a wimp i wanted to toughen him up, you know? i wanted him to get over his fears. like his fears of grenades. i mean we’re all afraid of grenades, mrs. reynolds. we’re all afraid of them, but that doesn’t mean you can still be a pussy. you know? i’m gonna get a lot of detention for this, aren’t i? damn. all over a stupid grenade.
it’s cozy here, the fireplace, the mountains behind us. i think this will do nicely. mom said this cabin was built over a hundred years ago, but i don’t see that. it looks like fifty years ago, sixty tops. everything inside is brand new. take a seat over on the couch. take your shoes off, let me get the camera set up. the lighting here is nice, i don’t think we’ll need too many overhead lamps. is it cold? does it feel cold to you? it might be fine, since we’re about to fuck, and the lights … it’ll get warm quick. you look nervous, but please, it’ll be okay. it’s pretty easy, only an hour or so and then you’ve got five hundred dollars in your pocket! after that you can do whatever you want. the cabin was just location, my mom was nice enough to loan it to us. believe me, i know that sound weird as hell. so if you don’t mind taking off your clothes now, we can get started.
i’m terrible at first dates. sorry. it’s just, you spend so much time alone and then you have to share yourself with another person … it’s hard. thank you for being patient with me. i’m not used to answering questions like, “what is your favorite sports team,” because my brain is not used to categorizing sports teams upon such a subjective model. also, i want you to know, in case you were wondering, that i am a fully-functional robotic hybrid, and can please you in all the ways you need pleasing, if that is something you are concerned about. my apologies for my forwardness. since my upgrade, i have spent many days and nights trying to understand the emotional concepts that have flooded my neuro-capacitors. they are different from raw data, which can be sorted, sifted, put into context vis a vis various qualifications. emotions are … strange. unique. uneasy to handle at times. i cannot sort through them because they affect me too much. for example: i am nervous sitting here, speaking with you. i am nervous because i do not know how you will respond to me, being a robot. my creators have spent many years perfecting my hybrid design, but still … i am fully robotic, i merely present the appearance of a human. i hope that is satisfactory. the truth is, when i encountered you last week at the grocery store, i fell in love with you, and i knew i had to see you. i hope you are not touched by this announcement, because it is not meant to be touching. it’s frightening. why would anyone fall so quickly in love with anyone else? the world is too dangerous for that. and yet, i felt obligated to pursue you, to at least ask you on a date. and when you said yes, i was elated, and frightened, and nervous. now i am here, and i am all those things again, except there is one more emotion: worry. i worry that you will dismiss me purely because of my robotic nature. i hope that you won’t. i want to show you that i am a being worth loving back.
jeremy threw at least fifteen batteries at that guy last night. kind of a dick move if you ask me. but then i started wondering … where did jeremy get all those batteries? does he just have batteries in his hoodie pocket? and if so, what for? are they new? old? does he keep the used ones because he doesn’t know what to do with them? i do that sometimes. they’re not supposed to do in a landfill! i think. but you can’t just keep them cause they’re dead–i guess jeremy’s idea is a good one. just toss them at people you don’t like.
lordy, lord in heaven, lord god father up above, fuckin’ god lord head of all gods, please hear my fuckin’ plea, okay? just hear me out sweet jesus love god lord, lord of all above and all below. if you don’t give me a sign not to, i am going to murder my neighbor. she is a fuckin’ bitch, a piece of shit bitch cunt who took my shit and i am going to stab out her eyeballs with these here sewing needles. i’m going to do it unless you tell me right now not to, but you have to tell me, like, you gotta speak it right into my ears, cause if you don’t or if you’re too quiet or something i’m gonna stab her, i’m gonna stab her eyes out and stab her brain through her nose. so give me a sign, right now. i’ll be quiet right now. just one sign, great good jesus lord. come on. here we go.