I Hate Pussy

Rebecca from Chicago said she'd fly out to New York to see me, even though she has a boyfriend who she loves.

Morgan asked me to sleep at her place in Queens last night but I didn't reply because I was having really good sex with Amy in the back of my van.

Amy lost her virginity to me on Sunday and it felt so good that I put her on a 1 week time-out: “Do not text me for 1 week and when you do it is only to make plans, nothing else. I will not be a part of your life, I will not be your boyfriend.” She said OK.

I'm meeting Rachel on Thursday but I don't know what we'll do—she lives with her parents like most of my female readers, so we have no good place to fuck.

Before that I’m meeting this other little brown-Asian girl at Columbia, she’s 19—I’m going to sit in on her English class and pretend to be a college student instead of a miserable homeless creep.

Last night Amy’s grandma chased us in the van with a flashlight. I was picking her up from her house but didn’t park far enough away. I said WHAT THE FUCK? She said JUST DRIVE!

It was Morgan’s birthday. Morgan wanted to spend her birthday with me but I didn't even reply because we already had sex and I don’t know what else to do with people.

Rebecca really does have a boyfriend—she told him about my blog and he felt unthreatened ("haha thats cursed") and then went back to watching the NBA playoffs. I took that as a challenge and sent her 6 paragraphs of smut.

Elle is flying out to New York City on May 14th and I told her I’d mark my calendar. She sent me a picture of her midsection and it looks like all the other Asian girls’ midsections but I am an addict so I love her anyway.

I am the tallest smartest most attractive person at the laundromat because everyone else here is Mexican. I paid $3 for a solo cup full of powdered bleach. I have $1,800 in my bank account and zero remaining lines of credit.

I am getting really nice messages about the book every single day but it’s getting harder and harder to make myself laugh. Amy is no longer a virgin and we are no longer talking because texting is the death of writing. unless you're a girl I haven’t yet fucked— then texting is perfectly okay and you’re my favorite muse.

Layla has, once again, deleted her Substack account.

Lately I am unsatisfied with everything I write so that means it's either time to add another drug to the daily mix or disappear again to make the second book. I can't figure out how to end this thing so I think I’m going to get back on Weed—the original source of my psycho-sexual retardation from which this whole bizarre adventure undoubtedly began.