I want money. Here's a short story I wrote:

I’m a animal tonight and there’s nothing you faggy loners and junkies (the drug ones, I do the good ones that make you feel like Charles Bronson) could do to stop my tempest of masculine effervescence. I’ve peeled down twenty-fifth and main smoking ten menthols consecutively, each one getting flicked at some bystander, but don’t worry they didn’t get menthol cigarette burns or anything, because I was in a car so they flew out the window and maybe landed on the guy behind me? Yeah, probably. That would explain the honking. I didn’t eat anything today except for a big bowl of green slime and some protein drink that didn’t smell or taste like it had gone bad but nevertheless had coalesced into a protein-drink-bottle shaped glob with the consistency of jello. That was enough to make me decide that the greatest of my life was coming soon, so The Emporium was a must. Don’t look at me like that, you wouldn’t know how weak my toilet’s specs are. I’m only getting like, 25 psi on that flush. In retrospect the idea of a really nice place you can go because your own place has a bad toilet or maybe every other place nearby doesn’t have a toilet or, I mean, public places have that stigma of having bad toilets, you know? thread leading to needle, isn’t that such a great idea for a business? The place is just all these beautiful bathrooms that you can spend upwards of two-three hours in, and of course you do all the in the first like ten minutes and then scroll your phone without even trying to insinuate to your bowels that they should be working to get this doggone waste out. You think this is the only reason i’m out on these mean streets tonight? You’re a crass one. No, I need perspective. Yes, that’s what I’m on a fiendish romp for. Perspective! A crowd of jewish preteens pass me by, and maybe their older brother was driving? Hmmm. I scream a slur at them that my brain had in the processing time realized was not the correct slur for jews but by the time I had processed it it was too late and the signal for my vocal chords and lips to work in tandem to fire off what is generally considered by most well-meaning progressive individuals as something taboo. I speed up to go window-to-window with them and grit my teeth and emphasize my bloodshot eyes, but keep in mind I’m not gritting my teeth in a necessarily angry way. The youngest one, couldn’t have been even seven, yet with the most distinguished beak, which to be honest if I was one of the older hebrew munchkins I would have had a severe inferiority complex on account of being hopelessly outdone by this young schnozz-prodigy, glared bloodshot-for-bloodshot with me and revealed phase two of their interestingness: they were also mall ninjas, and a throwing star goes right into my upholstery, but it’s okay and I’m not mad because the star managed to pass through some sort of on my forearm that makes me feel really, really good now. I scream in delight as I move my foot way up the gas pedal so that my heel’s right on it instead. I realize now that the radio hasn’t been on this whole time even though I thought I had it cranked up real high to annoy people. No, I’ve just been singing in Robert Smith’s exact tenor this whole drive and I tuned out the fact that it was me singing it. Ah, what a beautiful girl, and what a beautiful haiku! I promised her one day that I’d love her forever, and in all fairness to me, I’ve never stopped doing that. Just because I discovered oxy-and-mosquito-bite crossfading and really, really love that doesn’t mean I don’t love you less, baby! Just let me hold on for one more month, and you and me can finally get that little hovel in Seychelles we always used to talk about. Yeah, I just need one more month. Anyways I was thinking about that too long and I didn’t realize that I’ve been doing 100 in a parking lot doing donuts for about five minutes now. It’s okay. I can spare the gas, I know a guy. I peel out and venture onwards. HAhahaha!