January 2012
6 posts
Notes from The Valley part 20
(… continued from last post)
So there I was, in my underpants, emu blood splashed across my chest, machete in one hand and bag of peeps in the other.
I turned to the two german cops and said, “this isn’t what it looks like.”
Lank turned to me and said, “Looks like we’re gonna have to suck our way outta this one.”
“What?”
(Continued on...
Notes from The Valley part 18
Second time in two months a broad chose another guy over me.
Before that it was a string of failures.
Reminds me of the time I was learning how to fight properly from an old English buddy from Grave’s End. Real tough guy.
We used to play a game every saturday. Slide on the 12 oz gloves and do light sparing. I would take a shot of Jamison if he clipped me, he would take a shot if I...
Notes from The Valley part 17
I was 19. She was 22. We met in a group therapy session right after my first breakdown.
Nights like these, ice cold nights, are the kind of nights I think about her. Only broad I ever told I love you and really meant it.
She had long crimson hair with dark streaks in it; sure it was a dye job but it always smelled fresh. Her clothes seemed to flow over her soft, pale skin. She was tall and...
December 2011
3 posts
Notes from The Valley part 16
I always ruin the things I want.
…
I hate you all.
Notes from The Valley part 15
I should be out at some club hitting on broads.
Instead, I’m watching Raging Bull and getting sloshed on Jack.
You know, it’s weird. I want a lady in my life. I really do. I want a kid. I want to take my wife to my kids soccer game. I want to have grandkids…
But bastards don’t get that.
We get booze. We get gambling. We get hookers. We get late-night runs to bail...
Notes from The (Pittsburgh) part 14
Great trip; wonderful people.
Plus, my farts have been spectacular!
My favorite one was crop dusting an entire row of people outside the airport that were kissing each other goodbye.
November 2011
2 posts
Notes from The Valley part 12
Depression is a cunt.
I want to say I hate you all, but I really don’t.
I just hate me.
You ever count the times you say “fuck, I hate myself” in a day?
I’m up to 23 times.
I also masturbate, on average, 4 times a day.
So if we all do the math, there’s roughly 5 and 1/2 moments of self loathing to every moment of happiness in my life.
...
October 2011
6 posts
Notes from The Valley part 11
I hate you all.
Your protests mean nothing.
Your revolutions will only give the status quo a millisecond of inconvenience.
I am the 100%.
The human population.
If it’s between you and my own, it’s my own.
Except when it comes to muppets.
Fuck I love those felt bastards.
(This message is brought to you in part by booze.)
Notes from The Valley part 10
There’s not too many things I’m ashamed of, but tonight might take the cake.
I think I fucked a retard.
I couldn’t quite be sure, we were both kinda drunk, but I could have sworn the words were kinda slow spilling out and her eyes were a little too far apart.
I tried to test her with questions like “what kind of classes did you take in high school?” and...
Notes from The Valley part 9
“In the land of the strip club, the man who doesn’t give a shit is king.”
Henry Holliston
There’s 8 titty bars within 5 miles of where I live. I WILL visit them all.
Notes from The Valley part 7
Goddamn taco truck.
My gut feels all wrong inside. Probably fitting because I spent all morning aborting the three taco babies that were twisting in agony deep within my bowel.
Fuck you all.
Notes from The Valley part 8
As I most likely shit my lower intestine in gut wrenching pain, I start to ponder my own mortality.
What I’ve done, what I haven’t done and what I have left to do.
Goddamnit I’m depressed.
Anybody know any single broads who aren’t choosey when it comes to big lugs?
September 2011
6 posts
Notes from The Valley part 5
I met one hellova peach last night.
She had ‘Disney Land” tattooed right above the little man in the boat.
Why?
She grinned…
“Because, it’s the happiest place on earth!”
Notes from The Valley part 4
I gotta be frank; I’m horny as shit.
Gorilla-fuck horny.
So there I was, a typical mook, shopping at the local Fresh and Sleezy, buying a flank steak, booze and some eggs, when she sauntered in.
My god. All of 5’11” and build like… well, something built like something that’ll give me a dimond-cutting erection.
So I was pretending to know how to pick out,...
Notes from The Valley part 3
I was depressed. The kind of depression that sneaks up on a man about half way through your day, clenches his gut and doesn’t stop squeezing.
I decided to stead clear of my place so I continued down Sepulveda and hung a left on Victory.
The drive was nice; twilight gently blanketed a warm, red glow over the hood of my car.
I drove until dusk dimmed into night. I witnessed a technicolor...
Notes from The Valley part 2
I decided to get some gravel under my feet…
And by gravel I mean a bar.
So I go to a failsafe spot that everyone should keep in mind if they ever need a classy joint to booze up in.
The local bowling alley.
So the sweet middle-aged woman who’s showin a little too much tit for her own good leans over and asks, “what’ll it be?”
Jack on the rocks and keep it...
Notes from The Valley
It’s a strange place, the valley.
I cruise down Magnolia in the land boat and take a left; I must go deeper.
Residential streets blend into strip malls that blend into industrial areas and back again.
The steady glow of city lights are replaced by dim street lamps and the sporadic neon of shopping centers.
I am on the edge of Los Angeles; the run off from the city of angels.
I take...
August 2011
3 posts
All Moved In
I can’t find my towel, my sheets, my underpants, toilet paper or socks.
I found a juggs magazine, two rounds for a .357 magnum and my old He-Man sleeping bag.
… I’ll make due.
My Conversation with God
Me - S’up, God.
God - S’up.
Me - Thanks for boobies.
God - Not a problem.
Me - But what’s up with periods?
God - Donno, man. They forgot to write that on the fourth day I invented whiskey. The rest is a blur.
Me - Hence zebras?
God - Hence zebras.
Me - Hey God?
God - Yup?
Me - Justin Long really sucks, huh.
God - Yup.
The Process
I’m in the preliminary stages of breaking a story for the first time in months.
It was the booze that did me in; but that’s neither hear nor there…
As an exercise I decided to write the steps I’ve gone through so far.
Let’s start.
Currently I’m smitten over a broad that is, quite possibly, as close to perfect as it gets. Problem is that I don’t...
July 2011
2 posts
i miss (the Henry version)...
Taking a cue from piratekitten.
• I miss getting a fat erection, no matter how much I drink.
• I miss it when my fist, face and kidneys were young. Now I bleed, ache and get tired sneezing.
• I miss having a closed, juvenile police record.
• I miss being able to sucker pedos at the park, kickin their asses and taking their wallet, watch and shoes.
• I miss being able to bounce back after 4 hours...
Self Fulfilling Prophecy
If someone asked you to jump 30 feet, you’d tell them “I can’t do it.”
If someone told you you to shoot laser beams from your cans, you’d say “that’s crazy.”
So why is it when I tell someone that I’m single because the broads don’t like me they always shake their heads and say some shit like “that’s a self fulfilling prophecy.”
Fuck you.
I’m built like a silverback, I’ve been in more...
June 2011
2 posts
Three Lessons
-Never trust a meth head. Even their friends.
-If a woman slips a finger into your butthole, just leave.
-Porn is good. Actually being on the set is never fun.
-As fun as a donkey show sounds, it itsn’t.
-Never trust a teacher, a stripper, a guy named “el gato diablo,” or a hollywood producer
Whiskey, a Steak and Die Hard
Three simple things that make me happy.
May 2011
2 posts
The Master Flirt
Int. A classy bar passing for the dive that once occupied the location.
Me: hunched over a 7$ Jack on the rocks.
Her: stands next to me to order a drink. Out of the corner of my eye, she looks me over.
Her - “So what’s good here?”
Me - “Huh?”
She cracks a grin.
Her - “Food? What’s good here?”
Me - “All I know is the chicken wigs’ll give...
Holy shit! Watch out! It's a LOOK!
Goddamnit.
I tell myself everyday, “Henry, the broads? They just don’t dig ya. You have a good life; don’t worry ‘bout it!”
But it only takes one look.
The kind of look you can only get when you don’t care. The kind of look you get when the only thing you’re thinking about is a good ol’ fashioned whiskey shit, turn the corner and see a face that could make you fight a platoon of leather necks. A...
March 2011
1 post
3:13 pm on a Sunday
It’s times like this I don’t mind being single.
Sunday afternoon and what am I doing? Slowly nursing a J&C at my local haunt.
No one to answer to. No one to deal with. No one to wait on and entertain.
I can be by myself.
Single-hood is a strange thing; a tight rope of sorts.
Yes, there are times where I’m so lonly it hurts. Usually it’s somewhere between 1/3 a bottle of Wild Turkey and a...
December 2010
2 posts
Broads
There’s not a lot in this life that shuts me up.
A gun in my face at two in the morning? Sure.
“Pretty Pat” thinkin I fucked him over for an eight-ball of meth? Why not.
Dyeing in a cubicle? Of course.
But nothing shuts me up more than you broads.
Maybe it was an overbearing mother. Maybe it was because my first solid girlfriend used to beat me the fuck up (shut your...
September 2010
2 posts
A Person At My Work (part three)
There’s a girl at my office that makes me want to be superman.
Amazing. Beautiful, kind, smile that makes me soften up. She has this walk… moves like a cool brook; purposeful, but economic in the direction.
It’s sad, you know? This big lug nursing a hangover that could knock a rhino, rubbing the scar under my beard from that time a Marine took a cheap shot at me, two seconds...
A Person At My Work (part two)
There’s a woman that works next to me that isn’t what she seems.
She tries to fill the role of a middle aged lady with a son who does her job and goes home.
But you can’t hide what you really are…
The faded tattoos. The weathered features. The defiance at authority.
You were a party girl.
Obviously not now; probably not in the past 15 years.
But I know you were.
At...
August 2010
7 posts
A Person At My Work (part one)
She’s a nice person. Large, kind eyes. Great smile.
Very helpful.
She’s small and thin, but makes up for her stature with melodic laughter.
It takes me a while for me to notice the bruises on her bicep about the size of a large hand.
They’re hard to notice; she’s “always cold” and likes to wear long sleeves.
But she’s sweet and likes to help. I...
Television
I’m sitting here with sweaty balls, drinking a cold Natty Ice (goddamn, that’s a fucked up can of hillbilly piss) and watching network TV.
Jesus Christ. What the fuck is up with people today?
First off, we got House. Fuck you Dr House. I swear to Christ, if that was my doctor I’d cripple his other leg. And what the fuck? Is this a hospital or a porno? The last time I saw...
I'm Writing This To Piss You Off
Why? Because if I’m angry you all should be too.
Obama is just like Bush.
Hunter Thompson is a hack.
A free market is the only way to peace.
Fight Club blows. We’ll never run out of oil.
Arrested Development was stupid.
Video games are making today’s men gay.
Regan was bad ass.
Okay, I’m done for now. Fuck you all.
July 2010
7 posts
Sunday in Los Angeles
The weather tonight; talk about amazing.
It’s the kind of weather that makes you just want to lean back in your cheap, plastic lounger, sip your favorite alcoholic beverage and listen to the gentle tune of your wind chimes.
God it’s good to be in LA on nights like this.
On the drive home to my apartment I can’t help but smile. I open the windows and turn off the AC for the...
I Was Born in the Wrong Century
When I sit at my desk, in my cubicle, in my suit, reading my little, shitty windows ‘95 screen, I wonder what I could be doing a centuries ago.
I could be pulling my Colt peace maker on some drunk bastard.
I could be swinging my battle axe and scaring the life out of those French pussies as I loot and pillage from my Viking steed.
I could be fighting as a giant in the Colosseum; bashing...
Manly Poetry...
All you people out there think that poetry is for those fruity bastards who wear turtlenecks and prey on 18 year old girls. What do I say to that?
Fuck you.
There are poems and poets that are manly as shit. Here, take Dylan Thomas for example…
“Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rage at close of day: Rage, rage against the dying of the...