The Drunk Cameraman

Am I randomly masturbating like a teenager? Surely common sense should be more forgiving than this, but I lack the shame to know. Because I’m drunk. Mother f****r.

There is symbolism in being a drunk cameraman. Drunk implies a lack of conscientiousness, and a cameraman implies the spy of conscientiousness. Freud dies, and Jung awakes like Lazer-A*s. 

Cavemen fight me.

But I have fists like rocks so I win. I have Hawaiian brain waves like computers so I sin. I have new technology nuclear fall-out without apology so I binge drink and solve game show problems on The Simpsons. I should add another character to this story. But I’m drunk krunk kin.

Tiffany. Seems like a fake enough name to me. Breakfast at her c**t. 

“Travis, nobody likes your rude-boy retarded half-fake aggressive con-artist bullshit about being nice when you’re just an a*s.”

“Dude,” I replied,” I’m just gonna hike Half-Dome again. I hate all people. That’s why I kick them on the top.”

“You’re such an a*****e! More than Muir.”

“Probably why we both hide at Mono instead of the valley.”

“I hate you for being lovable.”

“For sure. I have absinthe for my male periods and polaroids and hemorrhoids. I’ve been sitting too much.”

This isn’t even a story. Travis, you don’t write stories anymore. You’re an impressionist. And you hate everyone. F**k you or fuckkk off! I hate you!

Reviews

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Ha look who is back. It's looks to me same your stories have simulate themes and story pattern. But anyway it's quiet refreshing to read some real organic writing with touch of raw rough life. Here is no place for metaphors only for real expression of real life. By the way I don't start yet write my biography . I cannot find good point where I can start from. If you have idea let me know .