A four bedroom house in Hot Springs Montana is 99 thousand fucking dollars. Estimated mortgage: $382 a month. You get a separate detached cottage. The cottage alone, in this shithole fucking city I live in – this disgusting extension of Mexico but with additional loud helicopters and barking dogs and garbage taxes and women who’d rather be set on fire than smile at you– a cottage next to a stucco nest of murderous bike stealing cholos who grill cactuses and light off fireworks and gun Harleys 24 hours a day, as many of them in there as termites in one of those twelve foot mounds in Kenya– this shed costs seven hundred fifty fucking thousand dollars, plus property taxes to pay for schools with the literacy rate of the fucking Hills Have Eyes family; the mortgage after a hundred fifty fucking thousand dollars down is the entire pre-tax income of the median American household.
Have to get the fuck out of here. Battling for scraps of useless pussy with famous men. Men who direct Radiohead videos. Men who have three secret families holed away somewhere and once killed a man. Men with nineteen inch smooth veinless cocks and tiny button noses and the cocks vibrate and another smaller cock deploys out from the nuts like the alien’s mouth and pleasantly tickles her asshole. Men with net worths like the amount of platinum they estimate is in asteroids. Car collections and horse collections and commensurate pussy collections. The smell of so much hot twat on them it draws bears.
If I have a Tinder match I know it’s fake. OKCupid: 0 visitors, 0 likes, 0 messages. Unless it’s a message from a fucking man. Give me advice on women, they ask. Here it is: get famous or die trying. Get famous a way women understand: music money or murder. James Holmes does better than you. Hot young girls will move mountains to get at him in prison. I’m human garbage; I pay taxes and work.
Summer in Montana. Winter in the Philippines. Both places I’ll be a god to bucolic primitives. The only man who can read. Every bison steak slinging blue eyed teen waitress trembling for my unholy cunning as I demonstrate an Earth-shattering technological innovation: the stick. Virgin cunts drool in awe at my vast cash hoard: $1700. I’ve grappled with civilization. I lost. Now to the trees. If it doesn’t work out I’ll fuck an elk.