I am an artist. I make the animated banners you unlock in Call of Duty games. I am 24 years old. I didn't teach at Woodward; I attended, as a camper, seven summers in a row. I am on a large dose of Prozac and I take the occasional Benzo. My mother is Bengali, my father is Jamaican. He's cheated several times. My mom's new boyfriend works at Salesforce.
I am a writer. I write the emails Netflix sends you when you cancel your subscription. I learned how to do this from my newsletter about cartoon adaptions of Frank Miller and SATC recaps. My mom does not understand why I still need money every month.
I am a horny man. I browse vice.com, a native advertising project where underpaid and spooked women write easy-to-read ad copy for White Claw and Tesla. They should be school teachers or fiction writers or literally anything else. I understand. As a skateboarding child, the first dream I had was to do athletic endorsements for sportswear companies. The second dream I had was "writing" about "music." I get it.
I click on the name at the top of the article, which is usually something like Breta Goldthwaite. Shayna McDowell. Emilia Ekaterina. The parents of these girls never give them any chance to be normal. Name them Bari, and then it's why not law school? why are you eating so much? They're 10 years old eating bowls of rice during lunch. The WASPs at their middle schools gut-punch them like Luke did Ryan on The O.C. They actually take APs. They cringe when you tell them you went skating down the street.
I look at their little picture, think back to the time when you didn't have to exist in any form to write ad copy for alcohol. I am looking at an uneasily posed picture, about 100 pixels across, of an Oberlin grad and I am thinking about her massive tits. I imagine what being the guy who 'broke' her, so to speak, would be like. The guy who reintroduced distrust into her life. I bet she's an alright hang. I bet she likes plants or something. Whatever the 'thing' that girls are supposed to be into right now is, because people only like things that can be easily marketed. Every industry is marketing for consumer goods now. Guys talk about PS5, women plants, guys those tiny Japanese camper vans, women hiking, guys A24, women A24, guys Nike Dunks, women Mood Ring, guys Kader Sylla boards, women Sally Rooney.
I searched Sally Rooney on DuckDuckGo and click "Images" before the rest of the page can load. She looks alright. Weird nose. She's an Irish 10 and a New York 12. Kidding. A regular hot person could not write a book like "Normal People." You don't hit your handsome kid in the face, only spanking. How fat and gay was Bret Easton Ellis in the '80s? We have the same sort of face.
He wrote a lot of his dad into his stuff. They always put his face somewhere in his books. No Rooney face but they only put guy's faces in fiction nowadays. Bret's a handsome guy. When you look the woman author up on the Guardian, it's a fucking fashion shoot.
I'm looking at that little avatar, on Twitter now. My phone is shaking, but I cannot break eye contact. What sort of person posts a picture of themselves like this? She looks dead in that awful Grateful Dead shirt. She's got clothes like the guys who beat Ryan up on The O.C. Some people got the wrong memo about what sort of 2000s revisionism we're doing. To be honest, culture journalism is immoral and stupid. I bet it pays shit-
My penis spits up goop and I sit a bit and feel it in my toes. I clean myself up with a baby wipe, take a quick shower, and walk to the gas station. To the gas station, I wear a stretchy pair of Speedo trunks and all-black Hoka Cliftons with no socks. I buy two Cacti tallboys and drink them within an hour.