Today’s soundtrack: I’m on fire
Today at 12:32am: Sidewalk chatter.


The worst thing about being a kid was when you wanted to do something and your parents said “No” and when you asked why, they were like “Because I said so.” That’s the worst type of refusal because it’s so arbitrary.

That’s why when my kid asks why I refused his request, I’ll be like “Because you’re an asshole.”

I worry I’ll make a terrible father. I should point out I’m not even close to being married or having kids, and I suspect my sperm are mutated. It’s just a new neurosis I’m pioneering.


Poor-father phrases I can picture coming out of my mouth:


- “Boy, take these scissors upstairs. Quickly! RUN!”

- “It’s not that Santa Claus doesn’t exist, it’s just that I killed him in a drunken fistfight.”

- “I’m going to Cuba, be back in late July. Do good in school.”

- “How many times have I told you? After loading the Glock you always load an extra round into the chamber! What if 16 bullets isn’t enough?”

- “Watch Daddy make this State Trooper very, very mad.”

- “I expect you to be a good Korean student and organize some violent protests.”

- “I’m not saying I won’t love you if you do badly in football. I’m just saying you might be adopted.”

- “You lost another fight? What did I tell you? Go for the eyes, goddammit! What are you, some kind of ballerina?”

- “Be a good boy and distract the waitress while Daddy puts this ashtray in his pocket.”

- “I’m going to South America, oh would you stop crying. I’ll be back the first Tuesday after Never.”

I just have to get this stuff out of my system here in this journal so it doesn’t, you know, spill into my real life. Yeah man the girl that bags this fellow is a lucky, lucky lady.

I’m going to die alone.