THE PATH TO HELL

Why do women think their pussies are gold mines? If they walked the streets, they would be lucky to get $100 for their precious treasures after two or three passes around the block.

Pussies are bottomless pits. They're nothing but problems, pregnancies and diseases the most common consequences. Men should enter a woman's cave with the same precaution he would enter a bear's den. A pussy is a trap; a pussy is trouble.

For a man, there is nothing special about a particular pussy. A man will fuck anyone or anything. He will fuck his mother, his sisters, his cousins, other men, animals, cadavers, donuts, even a roll of toilet paper.

He would fuck a tire if reality were as big as his imagination. Like a horse that keeps running until it drops dead, a man would keep fucking an assembly line of pussy until his dick dropped off.

Pussy is pussy, the only important difference being whether it's new or old for the man looking for a fresh source of moisture with his divining rod. New pussy is good; old pussy is bad.

But why do women continue to insist that their pussies are special? How can there be anything special about pussy when more than half the population own one. Pussies aren't dogs. Though they may try to act like a man's best friend, they generally prove to be his worst enemy.

Pussy comes and pussy goes, but ultimately pussy is little more than a slimy, black hole that leads nowhere but down.

ODE TO SPANKINGS

I have raised six children. Four of my children I have never touched. My two oldest boys didn't escape unscathed. There were about five and three when we went to a liquor store. I was looking for something to drink while they wandered about the store. Then I heard a loud crash.

The two had been horsing around in front of a large wine display and the pyramid of bottles came tumbling down. It was a scene. I whacked the shit out of their little asses, not so much as to discipline them but to convince the individual in charge that I was completely innocent of the mishap and not hold me financially responsible. The strategy worked to perfection; I gave my sons a tongue lashing that was second to none once we were in the car.

Joaquin, the younger of the two, had an instinctual problem. We would be in a parking
lot. As soon as I opened the door, he would dash out of the vehicle and start running. He paid no attention to the traffic. I would track him down, grab him firmly by the arm and whack the shit out of him.

"Stop your running!" I would scream at him. "You could get yourself killed!"

Growing up, my father took the belt to me on a few occasions, but I was deserving of the punishment and I accepted my fate. These whippings left no scars and served to curb certain behaviors. In those days, fathers hit their kids because I'm sure their fathers had been equally strict with them.

Back to Joaquin. This madness continued and I would have to resort to tanning his butt red. Like I said: His running was an instinctual reaction that could only be cured in the same fashion that one disciplines a recalcitrant animal. Joaquin was too young to comprehend reason.

I cannot remember the exact circumstances, but we had stopped and he was going to cross a median that divided traffic out of the mall parking lot. I believe his mother was waiting for him in front of a restaurant. He saw her and opened the door. He acted so quickly that I didn't have a chance to detain him. He started in his usual sprint.

I looked back and there was a car approaching that would intersect with him. Panic froze me. There was nothing I could do but watch helplessly. To my shocking relief, he stopped on the median and the vehicle sped by. I dropped my head on the steering wheel and sighed with satisfaction. The spankings had served their purpose. My baby boy was alive and well.

ODE TO ROMANCE

She charges him $50 for a massage, but they end up screwing. He has promised to marry her, but he doesn't want a ceremony, rings and a honeymoon. He wants to continue to live alone and she can stay with her kids.

"I'm used to my solitude," he says. "I would go crazy with those kids around me. I would go crazy if I were with you all the time. You will have your life and I will have my life. We'll get together two or three times a week to fuck and eat. I can live with that arrangement."

"You're not going to help me financially?"

"I'm barely surviving financially. You're the one who insists on matrimony. I'm fine with our present circumstances, but if marriage is so important to you, I'm willing to compromise. We can go to the county, fill out the papers and we'll be husband and wife."

"Are you going to pay me for the massages?"

"Are you turning into a prostitute? We'll be a couple. I'm willing to marry you because I'll have a clean and safe piece of ass. Why would I want to pay for your pussy as your spouse? If I'm going to pay for pussy, I want to fuck a variety of chicks."

"You want to remain alone because you want to be with other women. Haven't you fucked enough prostitutes?"

"I can be content fucking you a few times a week. My desire is waning. I don't need women like I once did. If you insist on a marriage, I'm giving you the conditions. I can be a hobby for you. I can be your escape from your mundane existence. But don't include me in any family gatherings or celebrations. I won't have any problems taking you and the kids out to dinner occasionally, but I don't want to have anything to do with the rest of your relatives."

"Will I have a key to your room?"

"That isn't necessary. The only time you will visit me I will be here, so you don't need a key to open the door. I'm also changing rooms from the first floor to the hotel's fourth floor. I don't want you spying on me through the window."

"Why is everything on your terms?"

"Because I have been through too many divorces and everything was on their terms. If you want this relationship, I know from experience that everything has to be on my terms. You're the one who is in love. You're the one who wants to marry. I'm willing to satisfy your desire for a husband, but I'm tired of chicks ruining my life because I thought of them first instead of myself."

"When are we getting married?"

"When I return from Mexico."

"You didn't tell me you were going to Mexico."

"I'm glad you broached the subject. I'm not going to be informing you about everything I do. I'm a writer. I'm a musician. I'm a bohemian. I am spontaneous. I have my private life and you won't be a part of it. Therefore, I'm not going to explain to you my every move."

"When are you coming back?"

"I'm not sure. I could be gone a month or two."

"Where are you going?"

"I have friends in Mexico City and Cuernavaca. I could continue south to Oaxaca and San Cristobal de las Casas. I need to be liberated from this town. When I return, we'll go to the county and take care of business."

"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Until two weeks ago I hadn't spoken to you for three months. You have your job and your kids. The two should keep you sufficiently occupied. I'm hungry. Let's change the subject. Brazil is playing. We can eat at the new joint downtown in the bar and watch the game. Are you hungry?"

"I'm starving."

"Great. Take a quick shower and we'll go."

"How about a kiss?"

"Sure." 

RED-TAIL HAWK

I was driving to the Island when I spotted an old high school buddy at the boat ramp on Highway 48 better known among la raza as El Puente de los Lobos.

"What do you have there, bro?"

"A plump female snook."

Recalling the good ol' days, nobody specialized in plump females quite like he did. He once explained: "I'll throw a skinny gal back into the shifting tides and let her swim away without thinking twice. I like to feel my hook in a broad who jumps as I pull her in with my line."

"Were you using live bait or did you take the artificial route as aging anglers like yourself are prone to do?"

"I snagged her with my red-tail hawk lure."

"Again! Is that goddamn red-tail hawk of yours an aphrodisiac that the females can't resist?"

"Once they're lured by my red-tail hawk, they don't quit squirming."

"Can you purchase one of those lures across the border?"

"You can purchase anything across the border."

"I thought you were working the barrios for your distinguished candidate to improve voter turnout in the runoff."

"When the females are finding my red-tail hawk irresistible, I have to take a few hours off from pounding the pavement in order to wade into the waters. I'm sure he can appreciate that I can't help but succumb to temptation when the females are biting."

I can certainly sympathize. There is something about the smell of fresh fish that can drive a man crazy.

GOD STACKS THE ODDS AGAINST MAN

The Bible says that I have a free will. Bullshit! When God attached a penis to Adam's body, man lost control of his judgment. No man can think with a hard dick. Once you become addicted to fucking, it's the sole reason you choose to exist.

I want to fuck all the time. I want to fuck strange pussy. I wish it were different, but once my appendage is hanging to my knees heavy with three pounds of sperm, I am helpless.

I don't give a damn about my wife! I don't give a damn about my kids! I don't give a damn about my reputation! I don't give a damn about my job! I don't give a damn about my health! I don't give a damn about shit!

I am horny and I cannot prevail against those forces. I have to find a new piece of ass to satisfy my desires. I have no option but to fuck. I want a woman now. I want to explode in her, on her, all over her. 

Those who know me will tell you that I am a good person, but I have a terrible weakness. I like to fuck lots of different women. God is full of bullshit. You can't defeat nature. He is the one who made us weak rather than strong.

I curse you, God! I don't want to succumb, but I have to come. No one drags me closer to the edge than someone other than my spouse.

I am innocent. If you are condemning me to hell for eternity because I can't resist the feel of my twitching cock sliding into a torrid cunt, you are the guilty one, God. You stacked the odds against me.

SEXUAL HARRASSMENT

Justo Leyes is defending a male client who is being accused of sexual harassment as part of a divorce case. At a local bar he offered this anecdote:

"She initially accused her ex of mental cruelty and infidelity, but when we countered with the same accusations, she suddenly changed her tactics. With all the controversies haunting men these days in regards to their conduct with women, she is apparently endeavoring to exploit these issues by portraying herself as the victim of sexual harassment. Let me read you her testimony:

"'The first time we dated, he stopped in front of my house at the end of the evening and kissed me without my permission. The second time we dated, he once again stopped in front of my house and began kissing me and groping my breasts. On the third date we went to a hotel. He undressed me, lay me on the bed and spread my leg with his knees. I begged him to stop, but he inserted himself anyway. I have never recovered from the humiliation of these three incidents.'

"After 14 years of marriage and four children, she is claiming sexual harassment in a desperate attempt to gain the court's sympathy. If she represents females' current thinking, is there a man on the face of the earth who isn't guilty of sexual harassment?"

BABYBOOMERS LIMP INTO OLD AGE

"Did everything go according to plan yesterday, compadre?"

"When you speak of everything going according to plan, you are speaking about one thing, aren't you, my amicable pervert?"

"What would that one thing be, my amiable prude?"

"Whether or not my one thing joined her one thing in the only thing?"

"You do have that ability to take a thing and reduce it to its essence. That's the reason I find your conversation entertaining. If it weren't for the retelling of your adventures, my life would be boring. There was no way my father and his generation were living your lifestyle when they were our age. They were living the eight-to-five existence and spending their weekends cutting the yard and making repairs around the house. They must have had an affair or two, but their only extravagance was an occasional drunk. I live the same boring life without the felicity of finding fulfillment in the mundane ticking of their clocks."

"They were happy. They had found contentment in marital bliss and raising successful families after surviving the bleakness of the Depression and the violence of WWII. These experiences had taught them to put life in the proper perspective."

"Boring, no?"

"You don't miss what you don't know. We are the generation of the cheap thrill. Without abandoning the sacred tradition of alcohol, we benefited from the enlightenment of drugs and the liberation of birth control. Why would anyone want to give up getting high and getting fucked, particularly when both are plentiful and accessible?"

"Aren't you cheating yourself of something more profound?"

"What would that be unless you have brainwashed yourself into thinking by living a centered life and advocating a certain belief it will result in an ultimate reward? I can't surrender to some transcendent idea. I have a daughter who keeps me focused and connected. I have my own flights of fancy that I might write something provocative and entertaining, but that doesn't mean I don't entertain the thought of putting a bullet through my head."

"If you put a bullet through your head, there is no way that things can go according to plan. Instead of consummation, you have culmination. A well-devised plan, as you explained previously, can culminate in consummation."

"My hopeful, amigo. It's all hopeless. I look into the face of my optimistic angel and I know that age, sickness and death will one day sweep her away. And that doesn't include all the travail she will endure between now and then."

BRAGGING ABOUT PAST LOVES

Bragging about your many past lovers

in the middle of our love-making...

Insisting that we fuck in the back seat of a taxi

on the night of our wedding so the driver could watch us...

Complaining that sex with me didn't compare

to those ecstasy nights with your friends with benefits...

Refusing to satisfy me...

Dissing all the contributions I made to your children...

Throwing me out of our house because you preferred a gardener to me...

Tossing me out of our home because you preferred a mechanic to me...

Fantasizing that you wanted somebody else's hard cock in your hot cunt...

I have lived with these insults for years...

They are merely a drop in the ocean...

I am drowning in an unbearable sorrow...

With our divorce you have deprived me of my daughter,

my anchor, the reflection of my mother, my eternal link...

I never thought I would have to pay for my mortal sins in this world...

To this hell on earth, death is heaven...

QUIET DESPERATION

How many other men 

are living lives

of quiet desperation

as they battle

the insatiable gnawing?

Why are there so many

strip clubs,

prostitutes

and pornographic sites?

Men are hollowed out

emotionally,

spiritually,

physically

and psychologically.

I am a ruined man.

I am a candidate

for an early death.

My lusts are blind.

I am so disgusted with myself

I contemplate suicide.

My murderous sexual urges

have destroyed several families.

Every day the monster consumes

another pound of flesh.

QEPD

We live sadly
&

die tragically.

BAD PUSSY RUINS A GOOD MAN

I looked at the time on my cell: 1:05 a.m. Who was knocking at this time in the morning? I hoped it wasn't Janie down the hall. I had neither the desire nor the dinero.

"Who is it?" I asked before unlocking the door and lifting the chain.

"Francisco!"

He was standing disheveled in the hall. He gave me the impression that he had dressed hurriedly and hadn't looked at himself in the mirror.

"What's up?"

"Edna threw me out of the house. I'm down the hall in 39. May I come in? I need to catch my breath."

"Sure."

Francisco must have followed my lead. I had been at the Imperial Hotel for a month recovering from another failed marriage. On the plus side, I was happily bereft of possessions except the essentials and inhabiting a world liberated from household tension. I could no longer tell Francisco that my house was his house. I had been reduced to my room is your room. But then Francisco has never been much concerned about the Joneses either."

"What happened?" I asked.

"Edna and I haven't been talking for weeks except to snarl at each other. I was lying in the spare bedroom when she suddenly turned on the light and demanded $1000 or I could leave."

"Why did she want the money?"

"Felipe qualified for nationals in Atlanta. The gymnastic club is covering the expenses for the athletes, but the parents are responsible for their own expenses. I told her I wasn't going to give her the money and she stomped down the hall."

"Did she expect you to give her the money?"

"She hasn't been fucking me for a variety of reasons, but the other night she relented and spread her legs if I promised to pay for the trip."

"And you, desperately horny, agreed to her demand?"

"I had no other choice since my dick was thinking for itself and the money wasn't coming out of its pocket, but once a man comes, his perspective radically changes. I told myself it would be a cold day in hell before I would give that bitch a goddamn cent."

I had a half of bottle of wine sitting on the bed stand. I poured a glass for each of us. It would help me sleep when Francisco departed and I had a full day tomorrow.

"I've been living a nightmare, bro. I have to beg for pussy and she says I can only screw her as long as I don't touch her. She never utters a kind word and she always has a frown on her face. When I try to hug her, she pushes me away."

"But what brought the moment to its crisis that convinced you to join me in the belly of the beast where the pussy is cheap, but the cost can be expensive?"

"She came back into the room and told me that I bored her sexually and that among the many others even her ex had been better than me. 'You fuckin' puta!' I called her and she started throwing anything she could get her hands around at me. 'I'm going to call the police if you don't leave now,' she shouted as she started pounding my face and chest with her fists. I don't need an incident jeopardizing my position with the D.A.'s office. So here I am."

"It may not be too pretty downtown, but it's peaceful," I counseled my longtime friend. "Women do us a favor when they throw us out. Otherwise, we would never leave and we would be condemned to living in misery for the rest of our lives. Finish that wine and get a good night's sleep. I know it may take you a while to realize that you married a worthless cunt, but one morning you'll awake and you'll appreciate that you've been living in a prison and you're finally free."

We shared an abrazo and he left for his new quarters. He would probably return to her, but at least he was embarking on the beginning of the end.

PREACHER JONES

Who will stand against those who kill? Strengthened by God and with his grace, I will. In my dream they were selling the bones of the dead. And people were buying. TELL ME! TELL ME! I'M DREAMING!

Are the sounds that I'm hearing the voices of babies screaming? How can it be that they are killing the children and selling their parts? WAKE UP! WAKE UP! I SHOUT WITH A POWER!

To the silent and self-blinded who draw back and cower, you can no longer be afraid to speak up, afraid to be counted, afraid of the attacks that Satan has mounted. ONE NATION UNDER GOD? HA! WE HAVE SOLD OUT TO SATAN!

Do you hear the others applauding the judges we've chosen who rule against God? We are making the appointments instead of impeaching them. We bow down and anoint them. Why are we so helpless? Did He not  say that He would be there to help us? ARE WE COWARDS OR ARE WE WARRIORS?

The tongue is a talent for the right and true, but the desire to use it comes from you. WHO WILL STAND AGAINST THOSE WHO KILL? STRENGTHENED BY GOD AND WITH HIS GRACE, I WILL!!!

AGING TENNIS PRO

Sometimes I wonder why I get drunk. I know that the next day I will have to pay a steep price that I hate paying, but the moment seems too poignant to compromise with a future that promises nothing better than this instant.

I am the product of cheap thrills and that's the reason I refuse to deny myself the excitement of self-indulgence. Retiring to my own thoughts, I seldom desire the company of others at a favorite cantina unless it's the product of a spontaneous occasion.

I prefer the solitariness of sitting alone in my backyard with a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other and my favorite music playing in the background. Then I surrender myself to the memories and regret that the best of my past isn't with me in the present.

With each gulp and each puff I dissolve into a passing peace. Filled with nostalgia I am tranquil. My addictions were founded on pleasure, but now they offer me a blissful escape into a no-man's land where I wander without direction.

At last, I have had enough. I toss my half-empty can and flick my still burning cigarette into the darkness. Another challenge awaits me tomorrow. I haven't dived off the deep end tonight. I won't require a Xanax to return me to the surface in the morning. I haven't added to the burdensome guilt.

I retire to the bedroom and my sleeping wife with hopes of pleasant dreams. I have walked this path many times and I am familiar with every bend in the road.

AUTHORITIES RELEASE BRAD DOHERTY!!!

Brad "Boner" Doherty, the former Brownsville Herald photographer now residing in San Antonio, is a free man after spending a week in jail. Doherty gained his release via the laudable efforts of his attorney.

"I have defended artists in the past and I will defend artists until my dying breath," said Justo Leyes with a haggard Doherty standing at his side. "This man is not a pervert. This man isn't wasting his talents on pornography. I will not allow the religious fanatics to crush our country's creativity. We must defeat the Islamic and Christian madmen before they defeat us."

The authorities arrested Doherty at the Spanish Moon during the opening of his show entitled "Baptism" for a select audience in which he photographs naked women wading across the river from Matamoros to Brownsville. A Catholic relief organization asserted that some of the nubile figures were underage adolescents.

"This is scandalous," preached the Brownsville bishop who has never once condemned the pedophile priests who have found the pickings easy to their lascivious liking among an ignorant people on the border.

"The man is a voyeur and belongs behind bars," continued the cleric from the pulpit during his Sunday homily. "He is raping innocent girls with his lens."

An infuriated Leyes denounced his client's critics in no uncertain terms.

"This incident evokes memories of Franco's forces snatching the poet Federico Garcia Lorca and summarily executing him during the Spanish Civil War. This is the United States of America. We don't live in a Taliban state!"

Yvette Vela, Doherty's one-time understudy at the newspaper, rallied to her mentor's cause.

"I know Brad and his intentions have never been anything less than honorable," fumed Vela. "I am outraged. I am a woman. He treated his subjects with the utmost respect. There is nothing more magnificent than the human body."

I KNOW NOTHING

We only know that we die.

If those who mourn 

the departed 

with copious tears

console themselves by saying

the deceased have parted

to a better place,

are they really weeping

because they fear loved ones

kept their many mortal sins

locked away in a closet

filled with other secrets

and are going to spend 

eternity in hell?

I've never understood 

their sorrow.

Why are they crying

if the dead are residing 

in a better place?

Or do the living know

in their heart of hearts

that there is nothing

and their father or mother

or husband or wife

or son or daughter

have disappeared forever

and they will never see, 

touch or hear

that person again?

I hark back to Socrates

who had no fear of death.

"I know nothing."

WHITE SUPREMACY

I'm trying very hard
to find a silver lining,

some source of comfort

or consolation.

But I cannot.

Maybe I will.

But right now,

the idea that people

are so possessed 

with clutching

and cultivating 

and elevating

white supremacy

that they will endanger

and outright sacrifice

their own fucking lives

to do so

blows my mind.

If they feel that way

about their own lives,

why would they give

a damn about mine?

SOMETHING'S MISSING

You're feeling old and one day you notice in the mirror that you are old. We're such fools as we enter our eighth decade. Nobody is taking a second look except those more desperate than ourselves. Where has it gone? It's almost over. Is there any hope?

A grain of sand, a blade of grass, a wisp of air have as much significance as we do. When we die, it will be like we never existed. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed by my insignificance, but it's only my ego bellyaching.

I could have everything--whatever everything might be--and I wouldn't be content. If fact, I do have everything, yet every hour seems filled with dissatisfaction.

I haven't surrendered, but there's something missing. But I suppose there will always be something missing.

MOSES

I have been staring directly into the sun and I haven't been blinded. I have been eating from taco stands on the streets of Mexico and I haven't been sick. I have been farting in front of my wife and she hasn't left me in disgust.

I have been living dangerously, carelessly, foolishly, but I haven't paid the price. Despite my sense of omnipotence, I feel death all around me. I smell death. It has an acrid scent. I'm covered with a body odor and I can't scrub myself clean.

I dreamed I was sitting in my mother's front room crying in her presence, but when I looked at her for comfort, she was indifferent, almost ashamed of me. I asked myself what had I done to deserve her scorn, but then I realized what hadn't I done to deserve her scorn.

I am scum, but it isn't my fault. My parents never gave me enough attention. I married into one of the most powerful families in the city and learned that stabbing people in the back and stealing from the poor were the expected acts from a future leader.

I am the Robin Hood of the wealthy, fleecing the powerless to give to the powerful, but we can't let government fall into the hands of the rabble. There are only a few of us fit to govern.

As a millionaire friend once told me, "You may be a jerk, Moses, but you're our jerk." 

I CAN'T BELIEVE

I can't believe it's fall. It seems like yesterday we were celebrating July 4th. I can't believe we've been married 25 years. I can still see you sitting next to the pool the first time I saw you. I don't know if it was love at first sight, but it was close.

You were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen and I could tell that you had a nice set of boobs, but I wanted you to stand up so I could check out your ass and legs. You saved that for later and I haven't stopped checking out your ass and legs.

I can't believe the girls are in college. They have been the frosting on the cake, but I can't look at the old pictures. I can't believe they grew up so fast. They were such sweethearts.

I can't believe Mom and Dad have been dead for a decade. I'll never forget when Billy called and said they had been killed in an accident. Nothing meant more to them than family. They visit me in my dreams and I take comfort in seeing them again although I have to choke back the tears when I awake. If I could just hear their voices one last time.

Life is an accumulation of memories whose weight if often unbearable, but all joy is tinged with sadness. I can't believe that I'm lying next to you holding your hand. I can't believe that our time is growing short.

I want to scream in pain and despair. I can't believe that we will soon be separated and it will be like we never existed. I can't believe that we will soon be nothing.

I'VE MET SOMEONE

"I've met someone."

"What?"

"I've met someone. Didn't you hear me the first time?"

"Are you sleeping with him?"

"That's none of your business."

"Who is he?"

"I'm not telling you. I haven't asked you anything about your women?"

"We're married. You're committing adultery."

"You've never had any second thoughts about committing adultery."

"So you're fucking another guy. Does Diana know that her mother is cheating on her father? The reason you wanted your freedom was because you wanted to fuck someone else."

"I want a divorce because I want a faithful man who will treat me right and not give me STDs."

"Bullshit! All you've ever wanted was to fuck one guy after another. Right before we broke up you told me that you wanted a strange cock coming in your nasty cunt. I knew in spite of your protestations that you were nothing but a goddamn puta!"

"Get your fucking ass out of here, old man!"

"That piece of rubber that is your whore pussy is nothing but a cesspool of sperm. I'm surprised that your mouth isn't covered in suppurating sores from the many cocks you've sucked. Pinche puta! Does your beautiful daughter who wanted her family to stay together know that her horny mother is nothing but barrio basura?"

"Either you leave right now or I'm calling the police!"

In order to sing the blues, you have to live the blues: My baby done left me and my daddy is dead. My baby done left me and my daddy is dead. I've lost my way and I'm losing my head.

DOCTOR OPINES ON SECRET TO A GOOD MARRIAGE

There is a group of four nurses with whom I frequently chat in the hospital cafeteria. I am substantially older than any of them and our relationships are strictly professional, but there is an affection and frankness among us. 

There isn't a subject we won't broach. Sex is a dominant subject. One of the gals was complaining that her husband wants a piece of her every night. She says that he is wearing her out, but she surrenders against her will to refuse him on occasion. She admits that she is at the breaking point."

"Do you love him?" I asked.

"Yes," she answered.

"Is he a good husband?"

"Yes.

"Is he a good father to your two daughters?"

"He's an excellent father. He loves his daughters very much."

"Is he a good provider?"

"He's a hard-worker and enjoys his job."

"And you can't show your appreciation?"

"What do you mean?"

"He is only asking for 15 minutes of your day to satisfy himself. You can lie there like a dead fish. As long as you open your legs, allow him to penetrate and ejaculate, he is content. If you deny him his satisfaction, he will grow frustrated and seek it somewhere else."

"You talk like an expert, Doctor."

"I had a woman whom I loved dearly. She was a nurse also. She made good money and we shared a condo together. I told her she didn't have to do anything for me except make. She didn't have to clean for me or wash for me or cook for me since I had been a bachelor and could more than take care of myself. But she was constantly rejecting me. When she would give herself to me, she had this long, disgusted look on her face. You don't know the repugnance I felt for her at those moments. It was humiliating that I was begging for sex from my own wife. I found refuge elsewhere. What could have been a beautiful relationship ended in an ugly fashion. If you can't show your husband 15 minutes of gratitude each day for his many positive contributions, then don't act shocked when your lovely home comes tumbling down."

A few weeks later I was walking down the hospital corridors and she stopped me. She has the sweetest smile.

"I took your advice, Doctor. Thank-you."

"I'm glad. I hate to see good marriages destroyed when women forget that they have certain responsibilities."

AND I WILL BE DEAD

I have this premonition that I will go to bed one evening and sleep permanently. Though it will be a painless passing, too many pending matters will disturb my rest.

I prefer a terminal disease that allows me to ask forgiveness from those I have hurt, a month or two of tearful reminisces and joyous farewells before I turn to heavy dosages of drugs to facilitate the transition.

The night before my sudden demise will probably be like most the others I have lived. There will be plans for the next day, taking the grandson to the zoo in the morning, finishing the biography of Teddy Roosevelt and walking my favorite trail in the evening.

As I lay in bed thinking about my deceased wife as I do every night, I'll check under the pillow and make sure my pistol is close at hand. I will drift off to sleep listening to crickets through the open window and the swoosh of traffic in the distance.

It may be a little too much to ask, but my sentimental wish for those final sounds would include the music of rain tapping on the roof as well as the lonely whistle of a train departing for its faraway destination.

In the morning my son will come by and check on me as he does and I'll be dead. He'll close my eyes, kiss me on the cheek and whisper into my ear, "I love you, Dad."

LA PINCHE VIEJA NO VALE VERGA

My wife doesn't fuck me like she used to. One of the reasons I fell in love with her was because I liked fucking her so much. We fuck, but we have dropped from 15 times a week to maybe twice. The fireworks have sizzled.

We used to kiss passionately. I would suck her tits and eat her pussy as part of lovemaking 101. There were massages. There were bites and nips here and there. There was licking and slurping and slobbering. There were stories that rivaled pornography at its XXX best. There were fantasies related in lubricious detail. It was all about coming and coming and coming.

What else is there when one lives an anonymous eight-to-five existence? If there is no ejaculation in your life, how can there be the hope of exultation? I wish I weren't so addicted to sex, but I am. It's a choice between meditation and fornication, nirvana lies between a woman's legs.

In one of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's last novels, he celebrates a 90-year-old man fucking a virgin. In some of us the beast roars for more and more and more. We're whores. I imagine myself dying. After a month or three or six she would find someone to replace me. That would be an easy task. I have no illusions about myself. And how she would fuck him. She would fuck him like she once fucked me.

A security guard offered me this insight as I walked through the gate to watch a baseball game: "They wash their pussies and they're ready for someone else."

Ain't that truth.

THE MISOGYNIST

We shouldn't hit anyone, but sometimes I feel like beating the shit out of a woman. They can be real bitches with their bullshit. Three days out of the month they treat you like shit. They think they can use their periods as an excuse for their bizarre behavior.

I know some women who are on their periods the whole goddamn month. They get under your skin with their constant complaints. I've been around some mean critters in my life, but I do believe that women are the unhappiest creatures on this planet.

I've been with women who never remember the hundred good things that I've done for them, but they never forget the one night I came home drunk at the three in the morning after I'd been playing cards with the boys.

A dumb ass like me, I never knew the meaning of hate until I fell in love. I never thought romance could lead to murder. There have been too many sleepless nights that I've spent praying to God to eliminate the latest she-wolf howling outside my door.

These days I'm more attracted to women who cause me no feelings. I fuck them and either kick them out of bed or crawl out of the sack myself. When they start shaking their booty at me to make me jealous, I tell them that a copper penny has more worth than the alleged silver dollars in the safety deposit boxes between their legs.

I've had plenty of courtroom brawls, but I've never belted a woman. I'm a masochist, not a sadist. Instead, I get drunk and pound my head against a wall. 

PEACE, BRO

You wake up in the morning and you don't care.

You feel like Meursault in Camus' The Stranger. You can be with a woman or you can be alone, you can be at the job or you can be at your mother's funeral, you can be at the beach or you can be in jail.

One of my favorite stories tells the tale of a man led to his cell and shut inside. He is smiling. His glowing countenance disconcerts the guard.

"The authorities have taken your family, your land and your money. Now they have taken your freedom, yet I have never observed a more content individual. How is that possible?"

"They can't take anything else from me."

UNDER EVERY GOOD MAN LIES A GOOD WOMAN

They say that behind every good man stands a good woman.
I don't believe that for a second.
I have no faith in the fickleness of a female.
She can flip in a flash.
She can push you off a curb and into the path of a passing car.
She can push you off a platform and into the track of a speeding subway.
She can push you off a bank and into the waters of a raging river.
She can push you off a cliff and into the sea crashing against the rocks.
I say that under every good man lies a good woman.
She can do you no harm and only provide you pleasure.

WE DON'T NEED STATUES OF TRAITORS

Germany and Italy don't honor their ignominious pasts by erecting statues to Hitler and Mussolini. And they weren't even traitors.

The Neo-Confederates with the support of the KKK erected the majority of their monuments decades after these racists had lost the Civil War.

While these Southern rednecks treated the African-Americans a little better than Hitler treated the Jews, they had no qualms about lynching thousands of their fellow Americans.

We don't need statues of traitors to teach us history lessons about our inglorious past.

ODE TO DAD

My dad, my sister Paula and I were sitting in easy chairs watching Notre Dame. Dad and I were attired in boxers and T-shirts. On the West Coast the Irish with their East Coast kickoff times start in Sacramento at ten.

It was halftime and I went to the kitchen to prepare a sandwich--four slices of ham, two squares of manchego cheese, lettuce, tomato, slices of red onion and extra mayonnaise. I included a dill pickle and chips on the side. I cut the sandwich into two triangles.

"What do you have there?" asked Dad when I returned to the frontroom.

"A ham and cheese sandwich. Do you want half?"

"I'm not that hungry, but I'll take a bite."

He stood there munching on the sandwich and his face beamed with pleasure.

"This is damn good."

"Here! Take the whole sandwich. I can fix another one."

He took the sandwich and settled down for the second half.

"When are the boys coming home?" inquired Paula.

"Later this afternoon," I replied. My two younger brothers had gone to San Francisco the previous night to attend a concert.

I could hear my father chomping on the dill.

"Hasn't anyone ever taught you how to eat a pickle, Dad?" I chided him sarcastically.

I awoke. I had been dreaming. It has been a while since my father had visited me. Dad has been dead six years.

TEXT MESSAGE

Ex-husband: "I love you. I miss you."

Ex-wife: "I hate you! Fuck you!"

THE BIRTH OF AN ARTIST

I will never forget as an altar boy
catching our parish priest masturbating after mass
as he finished off the last of Jesus's blood
or Miss Cherry, my first-grade teacher,
who would bend over my desk to help me with my math problems,
but whose huge boobs hanging like ripe fruit from the lowest limbs
had me debating that great philosophical question:
"What is the difference between apples and oranges?"
I will continue to pursue the transcendent questions
of the day in quest of the truth.
Unlike most who are permanently scarred by traumatic events,
I was robbed of my innocence at a young age
and I couldn't be more thankful.
These mesmerizing events were my genesis as an artist.

A PECK

We have a Platonic infatuation.
What does that mean?
It means when I see you again
in a nice joint,
a smile will come to your face
and a flash of light
will flit through your eyes.

With an equally smiling face
embracing the spontaneous moment,
I will bend to the side
and kiss you on the cheek.

FIRST AND TEN

My son loves football. Nothing excites me more than watching him make a great catch or take a double reverse for 30 yards or seeing him as a corner tackle a back behind the line of scrimmage for a loss.

Football is a myth. It is totally USA. He lives the myth. He is no different than my son who has been chasing the musical myth for the last decade in Austin as guitarist and vocalist. Just win, baby. Just win!

Sports is my religion and my youngest son is my apostle. God bless Catholicism. Sin and sin and sin and in the end ask for forgiveness.

In a dream last night I had missed Christmas because I had gotten drunk at somebody's house. I had to leave because several of the revelers wanted to beat me.

When I arrived home my siblings were children. My youngest sister was showing me her tea set. My mother wanted to know if I had been drinking. My father, although he didn't look like him, walked into the living room, pointed a gun at my forehead and fired.

"I've shot my son," he said.

I THINK OF YOU

I write
and I think of you.
I play the guitar
and I think of you.
I hit the weights
and I think of you.
I sit in the sauna
and I think of you.
I study my Portuguese
and I think of you.
I imagine myself in Argentina
and I think of you.
I drink a beer at the bar
and I think of you.
I take a shower
and I think of you.
I look at my aging face
and I think of you.
I watch my son play football
and I think of you.
I hit tennis balls
and I think of you.
I smoke a joint with my compadre
and I think of you.
I go for an evening walk
and I think of you.
I lie in bed at night
and I think of you.
And when I am dead,
I will be thinking of you.

TEMPERATURE UPDATE

I love the cold.
It makes me bold.
I slip two fingers into your fold.
In your mine I have discovered gold.
Only you I wish to hold.
After you, God discarded the mold.
In your arms I am no longer old.
To you my soul I've sold.
Be discreet I am told.

WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS

Growing up playing sports, 
you not only wanted to master the game, 
but you wanted to be the best. 
While these twin goals can be noble motivators, 
they can also lead to huge disappointments and frustrations. 
Rather than applauding the talents and abilities you have, 
you have this urge to surrender. 
Nevertheless, if you are lucky, you never lose the desire, 
no matter how misguided, to be great. 
And it's not ego driven. 
It's an aesthetic appreciation for achievement.

ENLIGHTENMENT

My Zen master tells me that out of chaos comes order. He talks about form and non-form and that both co-exist. He insists that black and white aren't opposites but are reflections of each other. He tells me that nothing contains everything and that everything contains nothing.

"In order to see must you watch or in order to watch must you see?" he posited.

I gave him a puzzled look and he whacked me over the head with his paddle.

"Do you understand?" he bellowed.

"Yes, I understand," I stammered because I didn't want him to whack me again.

But he struck me and screamed, "How can you understand what can't be understood?"

I thought for a moment.

"The brown cat digs a hole and buries its excrement," I ventured.

"What?" he queried in a more measured voice.

"The brown cat digs a hole and buries its excrement," I replied with increased confidence.

He gave me the paddle.

"Strike me! You are finally on the road to enlightenment."

THE CONFEDERATE FLAG

What does the Confederate flag represent?
It is a symbol that defiles Old Glory!
It is a symbol that mocks the thousands who died to keep this nation together!
It is a symbol that honors traitors!
It is a symbol that promotes white supremacy!
It is a symbol that the KKK worships!
It is a symbol that Neo-Nazis wave at their bonfires!
It is a symbol that unites Trump with the haters at his rallies!
It is a symbol that supports slavery!
It is a symbol that pays tribute to Adolf Hitler and the Aryan race!
It is a symbol that evokes lynching!
It is a symbol that epitomizes ignorance and stupidity!
It is a symbol that reduces Mexican-Americans to second-class citizens!
It is a symbol that fuels racism!
It is a symbol that blasphemes the sacrifice of Jesus with its allegiance to a burning cross!
It is a symbol that rednecks yearn for a second Civil War!
It is a symbol that stands at the portals of Hades!
It is a symbol that sniggers: NIGGER! NIGGER! NIGGER!

TIENE USTED ELOTE

It is an overcast afternoon. The sun has spared us. My son wants a raspa. He has finished his track session with his coach at the high school football field and he's dying of thirst. There is a stand in the strip mall near the facility.

"Quiero una raspa grande de uva."

"Muy bien."

"¿Tiene usted elote?"

"En vaso?"

"No. Entero."

"Si. ¿Con todo?"

"Si. Con todo."

I give my son his raspa and I return for my corn cob on a stick. I stand outside the car and eat it because the kernels would leave a mess if I sat in the front seat. How many elotes have I eaten? Quien sabe? But they sure have been one of the simple pleasures of life.

ODE TO MIDDLE CLASS

We are proud products of the middle class
who owe our roots to our working-class ancestors.
We have witnessed firsthand
the abuses and excesses of the privileged.
There will be the empty-headed lackeys
who will insist that we should be grateful
for everything this country has done for us
Really?
The wealthy treated my ancestors like shit.
Nobody gave my parents or grandparents anything.
Nobody has given me anything.
If there is any presumption of greatness on the part of this nation,
it's our forebears and ourselves who have forged the ideal
of a more perfect union that is more myth than reality,
forever beyond our reach because humanity is imperfect.
Nobody gave us opportunities.
We took opportunities.
Nobody gave us freedoms.
We took freedoms.
We should never forget that our biggest enemies
are the powerful among us.
They are incorrigibly corrupt.
Too much in excess is addictive.
In the end most of our leaders are sick people.
Coronavirus has taught us that wearing masks and gloves
may save us from these megalomaniacs infecting us.
We can never trust anyone who insists that we follow him or her.
We can only trust our instincts to lead the way.

LET THE WOMEN BE

Is a seed a redwood? No!
Is a fertilized egg a child? No!
To have the potential to be
is not to be.
To be or not to be?
It's not up to you or me.
Let the women be.

ODE TO A ROCKY RELATIONSHIP

She is promiscuous.
She cheats on me. 
She has lost count of the number of lovers.
She brags about the guys she has fucked.
She lies about the guys she has fucked.
She charges me $100 to fuck her.
She says I bore her unlike the others.
She prefers her dog to me.
She fantasizes about two guys at once.
She imagines a man in black raping her.
She says multiple partners embody a modern woman.
She doesn't believe in protection.

She climaxes when a lover ejaculates in her.
She recalls she was out of control sexually. 
She is shocked upon discovering she has a STD.
She blames her infection on me.

DAT DUDE DONE GOTS DEM BIBLICAL BLUES

I was a lonely man

until I met Eve.
I was a lonely man
until I met Eve.
I took a bite of the apple
and now I believe.

The clouds are a-gatherin'

and there's gonna be a flood.

The clouds are a-gatherin'

and there's gonna be a flood.

When the waters recede

there'll be nothin' but a pool of blood.

The walls of Jericho 

will come tumblin' down.

The walls of Jericho

will come tumblin' down.

When they clear the rubble,

I won't be found.

One day the earth will open

and we'll all disappear.

One day the earth will open

and we'll all disappear.

But I've put my faith in the Lord

and I have no fear.

I read the Bible

almost every night.

I read the Bible

almost every night.

I will go quietly

'cause I've seen the light.

NICANOR PARRA DREAMS IN ENGLISH

His mother is gravely ill

He departs in search of a doctor

In the street he sees his wife 

accompanied by another man

They are holding hands

He follows them at a short distance

from tree to tree

Suddenly he encounters a friend from his youth

It has been years since they've seen each other

They pass a bar

They converse and laugh

He leaves to take a piss in the patio

He sees a young woman

It is night

She is washing dishes

He approaches her

He takes her by the waist

They dance a waltz

Together they hit the streets

They laugh

There is an accident

She loses consciousness

He looks for a telephone

He arrives at a lit house

He asks to use a telephone

Somebody recognizes him

"Stay and have something to eat, hombre!"

No

Where is the telephone

"Eat, hombre! Eat!

You can call later."

He takes a seat and eats

He drinks like a man condemned to death

He laughs

They want him to recite poetry

He recites poetry

He falls asleep beneath a desk