My friends and I took a trip at the home of golf — It’s ten am at Golf Mecca. I meet up with Gary and Tim. We take selfies to start the day — I look like a drug dealer in golf clothes. Unbelievable. It’s as windy as Lucifer’s anus, and I’m at some racetrack without horses. Do they send the horses out when the race starts? I…

The things we do for our craft — I was driving home from a lovely country retreat dodging the endless roadworks and fucknuts in their trucks. And I was god damn determined not to eat junk food since I got paranoid that processed food was turning me into a Nazi spy. But as always, the food in the countryside matched the mentality of the slow-talking National Party voting population. I considered the whiter than white Anus…

Karma works in very mysterious ways — My Grandfather told me that opportunities for charity could come in strange forms. He became a big believer in karma after meeting a Korean Monk in 1957. That same Monk taught him Tonglen, which helped him turn his life around after killing several people during the war. He also told me that karma was a two-way street and that people can get karma…

I’ve unwittingly become a digital fuck ferret. — And look, have I tried posting content every day for three centuries like a good little marketing fuck? Well no. But I’ve tried it for a long time, and very intensely for a few months, and honestly, I feel like I’ve been in an orgy with a gang of randy dementors. And sure, if you believe the inventor of the sandpaper wank, Gary Vaynerchuck, you need to take…

It’s the fucking nitrates — And like absolutely everything, I don’t know why this generation feels compelled to absolutely motherfuckingly insist on renaming everything that has served perfectly well under its own name before now. And NOT WANKING, in my opinion, is a perfectly normal name for what has irritatingly become known as the NOFAP…

It’s the bullet that drags you down, not the target, bitches — “The trouble with dying in an angry state is that the mind doesn’t recognise the subject of the anger. It is anger itself that causes hellish rebirth, regardless of how justified it may seem.” Justine Beaver (22nd-century poet and dancer) Sometimes I fantasise about punching people in the teef It often begins with an exciting road incident where I…

It’s fucking Spring, and I need to write something — I can feel the cold of the worked steel on the base of each hand. It’s what they call a MacBook ‘air’. I decided to work outside as it’s a ‘nice’ day. That’s when I fell headlong into the black square known as the K-key. It lies in the Eastern hemisphere of the keyboard between the galaxies of J and L. …

Sorry to interrupt, but there is a flaw in your plan — We’d eaten chicken for dinner that night And chicken is always a damn risk — especially when you eat those Jurassic Park boney bits with slithers of pink in them, even when cooked. Less than twelve minutes after my last gobful, I ran to the upstairs toilet and ejaculated Willy Wonka liquid cacao from my anus at…

It’s Friday Night, N I’m Grieving again — Grieving for what, Frank? Is it still about Phillip Seymour Hoffman? Well, yeah, a little. I wonder what that beautiful blonde bastard would be doing if he were still here. But it ain’t just that. I gave up coffee — day four of that lark, n I’m pissin’ four times a night like Seabiscuit from the fourteen gallons of Pukka Organic…