Don’t Tell Me You Love Me

Right now is as good a time as any to make the following statement: I don’t read car blogs or magazines any more. I gave up on all of them about five years ago. Don’t ask me for my opinion of something on Jalopnik or Motor Trend or Hemmings or any of those places. I don’t have an opinion, because I didn’t read it. With very few exceptions, almost all of them due to personal relationships, I don’t read what other people write about cars.

Two reasons for that. Number one: everybody in this business is an almost unimaginably poor writer. Not that I think I’m great. But I won’t get better by reading other people who are even worse than I am. The time I’d waste leafing through Motor Trend I could put to better use reading Moby-Dick for the eleventh time and trying to put some of that craftsmanship into what I’m doing. Number two: I don’t want to pollute my impressions of the cars I drive by reading other impressions first. I assume you are reading me because you want honest, firsthand opinions, not an aggregation of what other people think.

So what do I read? Well, I read the classics that I missed in my youth, and I read things that I admired in the past to see if I still admire them. I read Laphams and the New York Review Of Books and, of course, I read Vintage Guitar for pure guilty pleasure. About once a day I’ll follow a Twitter link about some current event, but I generally avoid Buzzfeed and Upworthy and HuffPo and Salon all the other prole-troughs like they have communicable cancer of the medulla oblongata.

There is, however, one site that I check on every day of the week, even though it’s a single-writer blog that sometimes goes two or three weeks without updates. It’s called Delicious Tacos and it is the apparently-mostly-true diary of a late-thirties male fitness enthusiast, service-industry worker, and sex addict in Los Angeles. I read his site every day because he is living my dream life, and I’m living his. Isn’t that odd?

“DT” and I don’t have much in common — except for all the important things. We’re both white, late-middle-aged, hopelessly obsessed with women. We’ve both lost hope about a lot of things but we primarily use our detachment as a sort of ironic inoculation against losing faith in what’s left. We both believe that truth is best delivered in short, pitiless sentences. Although we are on somewhat different ends of the economic spectrum, we have both given up on the idea of finding any raison d’etre in daily office work. We do not believe in corporations or in the integrity of any organization large enough to send out a newsletter.

As with the McDonald’s restaurants in Amsterdam, however, it’s the little differences that make us who we are. DT works out and starves himself until he is physically perfect, then despises the result: “It’s a fine body but it feels like a costume, or a parade float that I drive. It’s not me.” I swing between 215 and 250 pounds, eat whatever I want, rely on Ermenegildo Zegna to dress up the result. I used to run four miles a day and weigh 193 pounds. I was no happier then and I had trouble talking to women because I was so hungry it made me frown. In every photo from those years I look faintly haunted by despair. I know why Brando got fat.

DT can’t afford to take women on dates, so he walks them around a local duck pond then has unprotected sex with them in his dirty apartment. I set up lovely, romantic, cross-country adventures with ladies of particular distinction then force them to listen to songs I’ve written about them before falling drunkenly asleep on the couch. He’s obsessed with Asian and Mexican women from broken homes and nightmare family histories; I typically date white girls who are five-six or taller, frequently with six-figure salaries. He shoots up in alleyways with other people’s needles; I stop drinking alcohol 21 days before a race because I think it sharpens my countersteering reflexes to do so.

All of this is fine and good but where it becomes tragic is this: DT wants to be loved, but all woman want to do is fuck him. They fly across the country at their own expense to have sex with him because they are excited by the degrading things he writes about having sex with other desperate women. He’s notched up hundreds of partners that approximately fit his requirements for age and personal appearance. Almost none of them will call him back. He has a problem with premature ejaculation and another problem with low self-esteem so although he gets first dates like nobody’s business, the second date is notable by its absence.

This past week, he had a high-end “seeking-arrangement” style hooker extend her flight to LA by a day so she could sleep with him for free in the middle of pay-for-play opportunities with other men. Think about that. She sought him out so she could do for free with him what she’s being paid strong money to do with other men. This depresses him.

Then, his girl goes on a date with some motorcycle-riding bartender and sleeps with the guy. DT tells her, “It’s just that everything I felt for you got shut off like a light switch.” Then he complains that he doesn’t have a motorcycle. I suppose I could let him borrow one of mine, since I’m not riding them right now. But what I really want to do is say, “Dude! This broad flew across the country at her own expense to hook it up with you! And now she’s going to leave! What else could you possibly want from a woman? For her to leave you an envelope of cash on your nightstand?”

No, what DT wants is to be loved and cherished by a woman who will bear his children and form a conventional family arrangement with him. Who will make him breakfast and tie his tie before work and fall asleep with him in front of a movie in the evening. He says he wants this because he’s never had any of it. Also, because he’s crazy.

The real truth is this: Women will enter into a relationship with anybody for almost any reason. Money, security, loneliness, boredom, access to good schools for their existing children. Women are creatures of relationships. Women will enter a depressing relationship simply in order to have something and then they will stay in that relationship because it’s too much effort to leave. When a woman tells you that you are “relationship material” or tells you that she can “really see this happening” or “could really fall in love with you,” all that means is that you meet some basic minimum requirements that could be met by just about anyone.

In other words, the female criteria to entering a relationship with someone are striking similar to the male criteria for sleeping with a woman. You have to be present and, optionally, conscious. All the rest of it — the “deepening commitment”, the “sense of respect” — it’s all meaningless tripe generated by the greeting-card industry. The lies women tell men to have relationships with them are the same kind of lies men tell women to get them into bed.

It follows therefore that the reverse is also true. After all, the highest compliment a man can pay a woman is to ask her to marry him. To esteem a woman so highly and want her so badly that you are willing to restrict your choices and freedoms from now until death do you part — that’s as good as it gets. So when a woman sleeps with a guy on the first date, or on no date at all, that’s the female equivalent of a man asking a woman for her hand in marriage. She wants you so badly that she is willing to have you with no commitment, no future, no nothing. She just wants you on top of her immediately. And she might want it a few times in the future, who knows, but the critical thing is that she have you right there and then.

This is, dear readers, a pinnacle that I have never been able to reach. Women have suffered in unimaginable ways for me. They have bought me humbling gifts, they have done whatever I’ve asked no matter how difficult or painful, they have injured themselves to get my attention, and they have willingly suffered the censure of their friends and even families to be with me. But it’s always been in the service of the relationship. Always with the idea of putting me, your humble servant and oft-broken ox, behind the plow of the so-called future. I literally have to leave the country to avoid a call for a second date, a third, a trip, moving in together, in vitro fertilization. I’ve known women who can’t remember the names of every bartender they’ve fucked but who after going somewhere with me immediately started talking about meeting my father. I’ve dated women who were actual working prostitutes and had pimps and everything but who could burst into tears if I arrived at their door wearing a shirt that was a gift from another woman.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Do I need to be more self-destructive? Am I not crashing enough cars, motorcycles, marriages, careers? Have I not engaged in enough public displays of temper and bad judgment? Have I not been sufficiently abusive and hateful and incisively cutting to every woman I’ve ever dated? What about me says relationship material? What if I shot up with a dirty needle and then BASE-jumped off the Freedom Tower? Would that be enough to scare all of you women off and/or excite you enough that you didn’t need to envision yourself as the future archivist of my records, vinyl or otherwise, before letting me close the deal?

Let this DT guy wake up in my reality tomorrow, with a mortgage and a Honda Accord and his name on every newsstand in America. Let his latest 19-year-old Mexi-Asian conquest roll over and, instead of recoiling in disgust and/or barely-suppressed urge to run, tell him that “I could cook breakfast and come back tonight for dinner.” Would that really satisfy him? Or would he at that point realize that he’d been living the dream without being self-aware enough to see it?

But it’s not all bad. A while ago, I was talking to a woman who, under the influence of both alcohol and prescription narcotics, said to me, “You know, when we first slept together I thought I’d never hear from you again.”

“And you were okay with this?” I asked, somewhat incredulously.

“I was. I just wanted you. I didn’t think there was any future in it. You seemed like the kind of person who didn’t call women back.”

My God! This was what I wanted to hear! That I’d exhibited every sign of depravity known to man and closed the deal anyway! I, like Chuck Yaeger, rode the rocket-powered F-104 Starfighter of pure female desire to the troposphere of self-esteem…

“…and then, you know, I met you on that trip, and I started to really like you, and that was about the time I could really see us in a relationship.”

…before flipping the bird on its back and riding a burning parachute wrapped around my face all the way to a hard impact on the floor of the Mojave Desert!

“I didn’t know who you really were,” she continued, “but once I knew that person, I loved him.” Stop making it worse! Don’t tell me you love me! Don’t tell me you love me! Don’t tell me — I don’t want to know!

40 Replies to “Don’t Tell Me You Love Me”

  1. -Nate

    This is just great Jack .

    I always wonder how some guys cannot get laid ~ basically all you have to do is ask .


    • everybodyhatesscott

      I always wonder how some guys cannot get laid

      basically all you have to do is ask .

      You answered your own question. They (we) do have to actually ask.

    • jz78817

      yeah, you can ask, but when you’re about as appealing as a garbage fire the answer isn’t likely to be positive.

      you sound like a 14 year old who thinks Axe body spray will get him laid.

      • -Nate

        ” you sound like a 14 year old who thinks Axe body spray will get him laid.”

        Really ? I didn’t say to use _anything_ , just ask .

        FWIW , when I was young I thought being a stupid hard assed criminal typ would work , it did but with skanks and other loser types .

        Now I’m old and fat , crippled too and I have no problem .

        Being ‘ sweet dick Willie ‘ is good but I didn’t have that gift .

        Try it , just ask instead of being an jerk .


        • VolandoBajo

          Nate, part of the equation might be the crippled part. I don’t know how severe your situation is, but I do know that years ago, with a good job and a couple of degrees, and a nice pad in a good neighborhood in NYC, I got a lot of what I wanted, but had to work a bit to get there with women who weren’t so easy that it scared me when I was sober.

          Then I slipped on some ice on a subway staircase, and had a really bad pain that would shoot down the side of my leg several times a day, and that required that I use either a cane or a walking stick. I chose the latter.

          And during the six or eight weeks I was doing that, I never had so many attractive, intelligent, professional type women come up to me in the subway, and ask if there was any way that they could help me. I was obviously nowhere near paralyzed or unable to walk, and I never really understood until recently, when the subject somehow came up with my long-term love of my life, who is not only beautiful, but as sharp and as cool a (former) NYC woman as they come.

          Her reply: “Codependent. They were lonely, and they wanted someone that they could care for. And they believed that you would be an easier target, as you were visibly somewhat needy.”

          Deflated my ego a bit, but I think she was spot on. Overtly successful women who were desperate for a relationship to recreate some failed relationship in their past. And almost certainly destined to end badly.

          But there definitely is something about the idea of a man appearing to be fairly macho but with a visible vulnerability that pulls them like a magnet.

          I continued to be successful after the walking stick was gone, but I was back to having to make the move, show the interest, take the first risk of rejection, etc. But for those couple of months, all I had to do was stand there waiting for the D train to Brooklyn, looking like I was going to have to limp to the grocery store and then home, all by myself. Unless she could help…

          But it was only after I was tired of doing the same thing over and over, sometimes with a woman for a few days or weeks, sometimes for a few months or years, and when I started looking for something more lasting and real, that I discovered that I didn’t have to settle for anything…instead, I discovered that there are certain women with built-in “dog” detectors, and they are usually the best long term prospects.

          But if I were still into my dog days, I think as I got older, I would have gotten myself another walking stick.

          From the moment my wife and I met, we were drawn to each other like crazy, and for the first time in both of our lives, we had to learn to put up with things, as we were both accustomed to having things “my way or the highway.”

          But it has been worth it, and my only regret is that I didn’t see the light in my teens through my thirties. Lots of fun then, but lots of heartaches too.

          Now I have a woman I could never have had in a million years, had I been playing the same game when I met her that I had been playing for years before. And it wasn’t foresight…it was just that I was tired of all the high hopes followed by relationships crashing and burning, and would have stayed single if I had to, to stop doing that over and over.

          Fortunately I didn’t have to.

          But man, there are are just as many easy women out there as there are easy men, and they don’t all look or act in a way that makes it obvious.

          But I think that chasing women when you have a slight limp, or use a walking stick, is akin to fishing with a hand grenade, if you have even half a brain and a little bit of looks. Unfortunately, it gets you what you think you want, but it doesn’t get you what ends the way you want it to. At least not most of the time, in my not even remotely humble opinion.

          • -Nate

            I HATE the f*cking cane ~ I no longer need it for support , just balance , I occasionally try to do without it and do a face plant , usually on concrete .

            FWIW , I’m only crippled since 2008 , getting laid just for sh*ts & grins was long before that , you needn’t be much of anything I don’t think .

            True , Women really do like bad boys , this is odd IMO .


    • hankchinaski

      In a nutshell, from DT: “I spend my hours trying to find the prettiest woman who’s just ugly enough to fuck me. I can tell my worth from where the needle lands.”

      Great stuff, Jack. Do you read Rollo at RM?

      Women put men into three categories: those that they will crawl over flaming coals to fuck, those that they will occasionally fuck for proper provisioning (and return to type 1 permanently or temporarily with blinding speed or a hint of regret) and those that are invisible, on whom they would not piss if on fire.

  2. Robert

    You’re doomed, I’m sorry. The fact that you thwart their most deeply rooted desires is what makes you so attractive to them. Humans are screwed up, always wanting what they can’t have.

    On a lighter note, I’ve been waiting to recycle this joke for a while now…

    How can it be premature if [I’ve] been thinking about it all day?

  3. Cole

    The Tao of Steve comes to mind. We pursue that which retreats from us. DT can’t get a relationship because he wants one. You can’t avoid one because you don’t. Also women like a fixer upper and you are moderately famous and have some money. You are both getting laid because getting laid is easy… Because women like sex and, like Nate said, all you have to do is ask. Incels have always been around, they just have a union now.

    • VolandoBajo

      I sincerely believe that for every InCel who is stuck in that situation, there are probably ten who shoot themselves in the foot, whether by appearing too needy, too easy, too indifferent to the possibility of a relationship, or whatever.

      IMNERHO, most women want a man who is a bit of a bad boy, but who doesn’t hop on top of every woman who will lay down for any and every guy she meets. A bad boy who doesn’t have either the time or the need to settle, because he is confident that what he truly wants can’t be that far away. And most women deep down inside want to be the one who measures up to be good enough.

      If the guy plays his cards right, he may not even have to offer much hope of a relationship, but if he remains non-committal on the subject, so much the better.

      In short, appear almost completely satisfied with your life, but open to the idea that maybe you could be happier, if you found the right woman. .but don’t make it look too easy for women in general to take up your time, and don’t appear so hardened that you would never consider a permanent relationship.

      Keep them guessing, both as to your intentions, and as to what other interesting things they might be able to be exposed to, if they manage to convince you to spend a lot of time with them. Believe me, I haven’t even remotely been able to do that anywhere near “perfectly”, but just carrying that idea in my mind as the way I carried myself has honestly given me enough of a life that I have only one regret: that I didn’t meet my one true love fifteen or twenty years earlier, because she has made me happier than all the rest.

      And I am one of those who can neither remember how many women there were, or even what some of their names and/or faces were like. And not because my memory is going…

      I will admit that it helped that my heyday was during what I call the Golden Age of Dogging: abortions were legal, the Pill was ubiquitous, and there was nothing you could catch from having sex that couldn’t be cured by a visit to a good urologist who had done a hitch in the military.

      Back then, the only real price to be paid was regret, when things didn’t work out, and people got hurt because of relationships that didn’t work out.

      I was fortunate to have a bit more than average brainpower, and to not look like Quasimodo, but I have seen the same attitude/formula work for many guys. And I have seen and known many men who were lonely and miserable, because they either didn’t understand that dynamic, or they compulsively made bad choices, usually because of lack of self-confidence.

      In my sophomore year of HS, the prettiest girl in my HS of over a thousand students, the girl who was the head cheerleader, and a senior, told me that I should never be afraid to talk to a pretty woman, because most men thought that a pretty woman wanted only a handsome man, when in reality, more often a pretty woman was sick of handsome guys who were stuck on themselves, and wanted a guy who they thought was funny, entertaining, and/or interested in more about them than just their looks.

      I have thanked that woman in my silent prayers thousands of times in my life, because she truly helped me to go from a shy geeky nerd, to a young man who wasn’t afraid to try to talk to any woman. Wasn’t always successful, but never let an opportunity pass just because I was convinced ahead of time that it wasn’t possible.

      But many otherwise handsome, intelligent and/or successful guys deep down inside are like scared little boys inside, especially when they get around what is colloquially called a “ten”. And there are a boatload of really good women who aren’t tens, also, and a lot of guys are afraid that they will be ridiculed or ruin their chances with other women, if they dare to go out with a women who isn’t drop dead pretty.

      But one of the hottest relationships I ever had was when I was in college in my early twenties, went downstairs in my building to hang with four college girls who were friends of mine, and met the sister of one of them, up for the weekend. Plain looking, kind of mousy, not ugly, but would never stand out in a crowded bar, for example.

      Only mistake I made with her was I was too afraid of being tied down at 22, and she wanted to be with me every chance she could. So I let it slip away, right out of my grasp.

      It was years before I found another relationship that hot, though I had several more relationships.

      And one of the girls who was just a friend told me months later that after she had moved back home, that she found a guy who looked like me, and married him.

      I’m not as good a writer as Jack, for example, but not too bad, either. But I can’t begin to find the words to describe how I felt the afternoon I heard that.

      Perhaps the relationship wouldn’t have lasted, even if I took the plunge. But I do know that I had to go through a lot of relationships a lot less compelling, for months and years after that, not knowing what I had let get away, until it was gone.

      In the end, I ended up in the long term relationship I believe I was supposed to end up in, but I could have (and did) a lot worse than I would have done if I had settled down with Teri (her name) when I had the chance.

      Yet I would bet that nine out of ten reasonably goodlooking guys wouldn’t have looked twice at her…too plain. But only on the surface.

      It was a hard lesson to learn, but it did somewhat cure me of some of the superficiality of the way I was as a young man.

      I feel for the truly InCel, but I cannot muster much sympathy for those who cannot or will not go through the necessary motions to keep themselves in the gain…too easy, too remote, too afraid of the pretty women, too bored with the less than great looking women, and then they bemoan their fate.

      Sorry, dude, you painted your own picture, and it looks like one half of American Gothic minus the overalls.

    • VolandoBajo

      Money, reluctance to settle down, artistic (writing, music), bold and adventurous (BMX, ability to drive fast cars quickly), etc.

      They all help, and they synergistically reinforce each other.

      I just hope you finally meet a woman who stands out from all the rest, Jack, one who makes you willing to risk all for the chance of it being “the one”, and that it turns out to be so, even if you have to learn to adjust to a woman just as independent as you are (as I suspect any woman who could hold your attention would be.)

      I grew up in a beach town in FL where there were a lot of families with more than one young daughter, and several cars, at least two or three of which were fast…Porsches, GTO’s, an Austin Healey 3000-6, etc.

      And I taught myself how to double clutch and do the old heel and toe thing. Though I was not the only guy who could drive circles around most people, I was one of them…and it led to several young women inviting me to take them for a late night ride down some winding roads out on the barrier islands.

      All I had going for me was that I was a college kid, somewhat athletic, ran with the lifeguard crowd, and could drive fast enough to entertain some of those young things.

      And Jack has that going for him in spades, as well as the artistic bit, the successful ($) bit, the fame bit, and the bad boy bit.

      And then there’s that bit I wrote about above, where he is basically able, but has a bit of vulnerability about him, what with broken bones, etc… that makes women want to be the one to help him.

      Keep on enjoying it, Jack. And I am not preaching, but be careful not to stay too long at the fair, or be too hard to get. I hope you meet your match in a woman, though it might lead to one of the most difficult things you will ever have to do in your life, because I sincerely believe it will be the only way that you might have a chance of finding lasting piece and satisfaction.

      And believe me, I never ever believed I would end up doing anything except being somewhat serially monogamous (with my fingers crossed behind my back). And then I met the one who was able to show a strong hand at the relationship card table, too.

      God, I wanted her, from the first minutes I saw her, and heard her speak, in a group of people across the room from me, and it only got worse/better as time went on. The feeling was mutual, yet each of us thought we could control the relationship and the other person.

      Of course, neither of us could, ultimately. So we had to fight as much as we loved each other for years, until we both realized that neither of us would be abandoned, and neither of us would be able to end up in control of the relationship.

      And neither of us would have given that up for anyone, before me met. But we both had to give up a lot of that control we were used to, because neither of us could imagine ever going back to what our lives were like before we met. Not that they were bad…but our relationship had a bit of the feeling of Michael Corleone meeting the Sicilian girl for the first time, and a bit of the feeling from the move “A Man and A Woman”…all the romantic cliches, only suddenly they were not just cliches or tropes, they were what we had to deal with.

      It was, and would be for you, somewhat like the ancient Chinese curse, “may you live in interesting times.” May you find a truly lastingly interesting relationship, Jack, though I don’t mean it as a curse.

      Rather, it is the key to opening the door to another dimension, and it is not given to all. But I could not ever again do anything other than what I have been doing with that same woman now, for years, through the good, the bad, and the totally unexpected.

      As the other cliche goes, once we met, the past was just prologue. We both shut down anybody and every body that we were evenly remotely interested in, the moment we met. Well, maybe not the moment, but when I took her out to breakfast at the slowest late night restaurant I knew, after the even broke up, and we had talked for close to three hours (Denny’s is/was the slowest restaurant in the world, after midnight)…by that time, we both felt like we had just the lottery, only in the love department, not the money department.

      I never believed in love like that in real life, until it happened. But it can, and sometimes does, happen. Though it certainly helps if you are at least open to the possibility.

    • VolandoBajo

      No, the grass (almost) always SEEMS greener on the other side.

      It isn’t always, though. And when you have moved to the other side, and find out that the grass was actually greener where you were, it can be a bitter lesson.

      OR Be careful of what you wish for; you just might get it.

  4. Ronnie Schreiber

    I’ve always figured that I had very little game when it came to women. My old shrink even said I gave off a vibe that repels most women. How’d you like to have that as a professional diagnosis? I’m also only 5’6″ and on the chubby side. However, upon reflection, I must not have done too badly. I have kids and grandkids and my ex was a beautiful young woman. She’s also exceptionally bright. When I was single, I wouldn’t even think of getting involved with women who weren’t A. good looking and B. smart. Kinda reduced my opportunities, but a man’s got to have standards.

    I sometimes meet women when I go out to hear music and now and then there are enough indications of interest as the PUAs say, that I could probably close the deal if I wanted to, but who wants to get intimate with someone who’s drunk and stupid? To be honest, something transactional with a pro sounds more appealing.

    • Jack Baruth Post author

      Ladies of the night, you can contact Ronnie care of this blog. You need to be able to handle some girth.

      • Ronnie Schreiber

        I once weighed 235 lbs. My ex said I was “as big as a house and sex is uncomfortable”. I wasn’t thin when we met and it had never been an issue, but looking at photographs from the era, yeah, I was fat. I started exercising, got into bike riding, lost 50+ lbs and have kept most of it off.

        As for the other meaning of the word, remember guys, once she’s had girthy, you’re no longer worthy.

        • VolandoBajo

          Maybe once she’s had girthy you’re no longer worthy, but if you are multi-dimensional, you can go anywhere.

          Once she’s had bracciole, she’ll never be satisfied with a hot dog.

          Fly united!

    • VolandoBajo

      Ronnie, goodlooking and smart may be more difficult, but also more interesting.

      And the problem you describe when in the bar scene is why I finally quit it. I started meeting a lot of different women when I did, including some I had thought were unattainable, and some of those even weren’t as appealing, viewedhr I thought I had stayed too long at the fair, in my middle forties, and she was a single mom in her middle twenties. I wasn’t even looking for a younger woman, much less a drop dead gorgeous one, with a genius IQ and all the savvy of a former NYC woman (and one who was living on the Beltway when I met her, to boot).

      I now believe that the older you become, the less chance there is of finding a really good companion in a bar, and the more chance there is that she will be hanging out somewhere else.

      Maybe in our twenties, the “scene” was the place to hang, to run in the fast lane, and to seek variety. But when you have tasted more of life, and want better, you have to start finding better places to look. Because the better ones have little or no time to spend getting sloshed and getting ogled by sloshed men.

  5. nue

    This isn’t the first time you’ve name dropped DT, is it? I’ve scoured through yours and his blog for awhile now and I vaguely remember you saying it was a guilty pleasure of yours.

    Whatever the case, still love reading both of you guys.

  6. patrick-bateman!


    DT is great, but you are better.
    Ronnie, I have been walking “woman repellent” for 45 years. You get used to it.

    • Ronnie Schreiber

      I’ve changed my behavior somewhat and can be sociable with ladies. Not giving a damn about getting laid that night helps. It’s the opposite of desperation and I’m pretty sure that if there’s anything that is anti-horny for women, it’s man desperate for sex. Not that I haven’t whined, pleaded, begged and browbeated for a bj.

      As far as serious relationships go, age appropriate Jewesses looking for something serious are likely even more turned off by my financial status than by my personality.

      Ain’t it amazing how sweet jelly is? We can do some crazy shit for it.

  7. VicMik

    Maybe DT is sterile – he has hopes of knocking one of them up so that she can stay home with him and be domestic – given all the ladies that he pumped without a rubber you’d think there would be a few hatchlings by now that he’d know of. No?

    • Jack Baruth Post author

      I’m thinking that his chosen partner demographic has a comfort level with abortion that is somewhat above the national norm, but I could be wrong.

  8. AoLetsGo

    You might want to read Jim Harrisons memoir Off to the Side. Even if you are not a big Harrison fan, he makes some good suggestions about other authors to read.

  9. Domestic Hearse

    Jack, you claim in the Periscope Down article that we live in a shit-in-shit-out world, as evidenced by the female DUI-live-feeding while listening to The Weekend.

    Having just read the last five Delicious Tacos blog entries, I’d suggest the same applies here. His self-pitying, mentally unstable, bile spewing, defeatist cynicism is just as SISO as the young Florida drunkard. Just because he’s right of the Bell curve doesn’t make his work good, or useful, or enlightening.

    Delete him from your bookmarks; aim higher.

    • Jack Baruth Post author

      What I’d argue in DT’s defense is that his work, like the work of Lenny Bruce or Henry Miller, is meant to be consumed as pornography, or deviance.

      The problem with the pop music is that kids think it’s supposed to be that way, that the lifestyle described is normal.

  10. Baconator

    I’d like to think that you’re wrong about all this; that it’s all just bad mind-software rather than a real model of reality. And yet I find myself nodding my head in agreement all the way through.

  11. VolandoBajo

    Hey Jack, I don’t have a way to contact you directly so I am going to try here.

    I have been subscribing to your threads regularly for several months. WordPress no longer automatically adds me when I respond to your email asking me to confirm. Instead they want me to join WordPress which I don’t want to have to do. I don’t need another account to maintain, I just want to be able to subscribe to your threads like I used to.

    But it seems that they are now forcing me to join to do what didn’t use to require membership, as a way to increase their numbers. You might want to see if you have any clout to get them to let people like me just subscribe to your threads, without having to have and manage a WordPress account.


    PS Someone over at TTAC once asked what was the derivation of my name, and I never got around to responding. They thought it might pertain to “drogas”, as that is one meaning in Spanish.

    However, it is for two other reasons/meanings: first, it means “flying low”. When I am in my new to me Grand Marquis, it has a feel similar to flying in a small aircraft…somewhat insulated from outside harshness, yet able to cover a lot of ground, and see a lot of turf.

    The other meaning is Mexican slang for being in love, which I am, as you may have noticed from some of my other replies. I truly believe that after not believing that there was such a thing as a true love that lasted forever, I finally found one.

    So it is for both of those meanings that I like that name.

  12. -Nate

    “The problem with the pop music is that kids think it’s supposed to be that way, that the lifestyle described is normal.”

    _THIS_ .

    Rap crap too .

    We just lost another Foster boy , only 14 Y.O. and God alone knows what’ll happen to him as we take in the ones no one else wants .

    I try to talk to them but they always tell me ‘ you’re the _only_ person who ever says these things…

    A word about Spanish : I know many consider it below them but it’s a really handy language , I don’t know it well enough but I’m fairly handy in it conversationally , I’m always using it , pretty much daily these days .

    For romance , it’s sterling .



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