Today I finally wrote one of my book reviews for Black Sheets. Yeah, in addition to sweeping up and answering the phone, I write for ’em a little.
From Pathetic Life #17
Thursday, October 12, 1995
Bill had assigned me two books to read and review. One was all about penis enlargement, which everyone should know is a sham. You get the dick you get, gentlemen. The book’s before and after pictures, especially the after, are so repulsive — either faked or a cruelty against the morons who’d want ten inches of beef jerky to play with and pee through — that I’ve decided not to review it at all, and Bill says he’s cool with that.
But the other book, about the stupidity of circumcision and The Joy of Uncircumcising, is quite good. Maybe it’s a sham, too, but if so it’s much more convincing than the big dick book, and it made me miss the part of me that’s gone.
A memo, though, if anyone’s reading this who also reads Black Sheets: The review says that I’m rebuilding my foreskin by stretching it with tape, per the author’s recommendation, but that’s what’s called literary license. Some interesting reconstruction suggestions are in the book, and that’s one of them, and I do tentatively sorta believe it’s possibly possible to restore some fraction of a man’s foreskin, but there’s no way I’m duct-taping my penis.
Yes, it’s a violation of journalistic ethics to write that I’m taping my schlong but not actually be taping my schlong. My diary, the zine you’re reading, is where I’m honest about everything, but when writing elsewhere I reserve the right to be full of shit. That’s why I’ve confessed here, that I’m lying there.
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Other than writing, today was a day off, and I’m taking tomorrow off from the fish stand for a field trip. Josh and I both subscribe to the Anderson Valley Advertiser, and Josh has a car, so we’re going to take a day trip to northern California, and see the small towns that the AVA reports on. We’ve even gotten the OK to drop in and meet the man himself, Bruce Anderson, the AVA‘s publisher.
I don’t like meeting people, and it’s dangerous meeting someone whose work you respect, because in person maybe he’s an asshole. If so, I’m kinda looking forward to meeting that asshole.
♦ ♦ ♦
Jay says she called the city this morning, to inquire about any progress on the paperwork I turned in two weeks ago, forms that’ll maybe (but I doubt it) change the fish stand into a “free speech” table, and allow me to legally sell Darwin fish again.
As always, I told Jay she’s going about this all wrong, and we should simply sell the fish we want to sell, without begging anyone’s permission. She heard me out, again, but wants to do this her way, and she’s the boss.
Anyway, the news is: The city has misplaced our paperwork. They can’t find the forms I delivered on September 20, so guess who’s delivering another copy to City Hall?
Nope, guess again. I refused, and Jay said she’d fax it.
This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.
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