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Arts and Entertainment

National Novel Writing Month Has Only Just Begun

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LAist doesn't recommend that you actually read any of this novel thats being written on this site. It's not very good. It doesn't know what it is. It doesn't know where it's going. It doesn't appreciate all of its secrets being revealed. It doesn't appreciate the time it takes to do it.

But there is a month named after it. And what the hell else are we gonna do from 3 to 4:30am every night after a full day of procrastinating?

Fruitlessness after the jump...

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her name was iiiiiiiiii she wore perfume. which for a 21 yr old was different. for our hero, at least. she acted older. she tried hard to be mature. she still lived with her parents in long beach. she wore lipstick. she wore pearls.

they made out while listening to frank sinatra and coletrane. she had a jetta.

he was good with this thigh. a girl will let a fella do an awful lot with his thigh. it has priveledges that no one has figured out how it acheived.

being a virgin meant that you had to know how to dry hump without getting any innocent victims sore, which is pretty easy to do in the heat of the moment. the thigh never got sore, neither did the knee. but the knee doesn't have a hat on so its usually asked to leave the premises.

dont worry, i dont understand the rules either.

for example there used to be two or three great video games at the 7-11 on wilshire near lincoln. next to dianes bikini shop. they didnt have a lot of video games, two or three, but they were always the best ones. and they always worked.

it sucks when you have to judge things for reasons you really shouldnt, like does the shit actually have a joystick that lets you move your dude to the left when you move it to the left. or buttons that work. or bumpers that bump.

this place always has their shit together. loved them for that. captain americas on pico was good too. as was the place in westwood. but this 7-11 was easy access. always parking. always a nice slurpee flavor going.

but quite often id go in there and theyd have turned off the games. or unplugged them. it's like, why have them if youre gonna turn em off? this is the equivalent of a cock tease. imagine if they had refrigerators full of beer but turned off the lights and turned off the refridgeration.

they also had that sign that lots of convenience stores have: no shoes, no shirt, no service. now anyone can understand the problem with no shoes: stinky feet. but how many people are walking around shirtless?

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and if they arent wearing a shirt, theres probably a good reason. like its hot as fuck, which is why theyre going to the 7-11 to get a damn slurpee. but because of a sign the dude has to put on his shirt for the honor of pouring himself some icey sugar?

every time ive been to a tropical island you know where you can find me? on a video game machine with my shirt off drinking a slurpee barefooted.

i knew i was in with iiiiiiiii when she allowed the knee into the party.

the double autoreverse tape decks had gone through both sides of both tapes and all you could hear in my apartment was a 21 year old girl whose lipstick had been worn off and who was soon about to be very frustrated that she was with a virgin.

it's a situation most people would want back if they could but she didnt say anything other than mmmmmm which only made your narrator think about the malibu wonder.

do you love me tony she whispered

im making out with a gorgeous girl in the middle of the winter with the windows open whose about to spend the night with me in my single bed, at this point i love every bit of dust thats about to rise from the couch that im about to throw you on.

we had been on a lazy boy all night.

in those days there were drive ins in LA. the culver city one was particularity nice because it was close and $5 a car. but the one that i liked the best was in anaheim because it had like 6-7 screens in a big circle. so lets say you were there to see Full Metal Jacket, if you got lucky you could also see the Fat Boys movie in your rear view, and two other films on each side.

for some reason this wasnt the romantic evening that iiiiiiiii was hoping for, and for some other reason she was upset that i never tried to do anything with her other than kiss her and maybe feel her up a little.

dont you wanna have sex?

of course.

then why dont you ever try?

iiiiiiiiiii didnt realize but whenever we'd drive somewhere and i didnt know the exact way to whereever it was that we were going, shed start sorta yelling at me. saying i was flighty. saying i was unorganized, ill planned. all these things.

as cute as she was, i wasnt gonna have her critique my schween the same way she bitched about my driving.

she must have worn a popular perfume because i was reminded of her a lot as other women passed by.

kkkkkkkkkkk was a racist, ggggggggggg was fat but i didnt care, and zzzzzzz was anorexic, but fun.

i met all of them at the fashion design school in long beach.

zzzzzzz and i saw the breakfast club, she was red headed, so smart. how did these girls get that smart that quick.

needless to say there was a lot to talk about after the breakfast club, so we went to a nearby dennys and for a girl who only ordered french fries and then only ate one, zzzzzzzzz sure looked over that menu more than a few times.

i had so many teachers like that mean guy.

me too!

and just like that we were making out in the caddy.

only problem was we were by the beach in a car that sorta looked old and there were shadowy figures inside a steamed up car. so the cops pulled up behind us and turned on their lights.

i got myself together and had to start up the car to get the automatic windows to roll down but when the cop saw me turn the engine over, he reached for his gun.

easy buddy, he said.


im just rolling down the window.

come out of the car!

i got out of the car.

what are you doing here?

kissing that girl in there.

he shined his flashlight at zzzzzzzzz and then asked for my license and then hers.

zzzzzzz, thats an unusal name, he told her.

yep, she said.

wheres it from?

its fictional.

the cop called in our liscenses and eventually came back with them and told us to get lost.

why? she said. we're obviously not criminals.

go home, he said, and drove off.

zzzzzz was all what the hell was that? im not going to just do whatever that asshole says. we're not breaking the law. we're not doing anything.

i started the car up again and she said no fuck that and turned off the car and climbed ontop of me.

the cadillac had motorized seats. fucker had motorized everything but you could slowly move the seat backwards and then angle it back and lower it, then you could move the steering wheel, then you could get your first blowjob ever as rodney on the roq played the latest tunes youd never heard.

the next day i told the fellas at the gas station and they told me about the blowjobs they had gotten that night and nobody believed anyone and finally someone called everyone out then no one talked to each other for the rest of the day.

my buddy miguel was so pissed that he pulled the cars out of the repair bays and spent the rest of the evening sweeping, mopping, and then detailing the garage floor.

if guys cant bullshit at work with being called a liar, then whats the point. its bad enough that we pump gas for a living, i said, and just then adam ant drove up in a little MG convertible.

actually it was his agent or manager doing the driving.

normally if someone has a convertible we liked to pretend that it wasnt a convertible so we wouldnt talk to the customer, but in this case i had to say, "dude i love the drums in your songs."

lame way to put it, but true.

he didnt say anything.

adam, he says he likes the drums, the manager said.

oh thanks mate.

and i had him sign his name on the back of a credit card slip.

which i wrote above thusly: Stay outta jail, signed,

and sent it to zzzzzzzzz

after work me and miguel went to his little studio apartment in koreatown. i dont know how he pulled her, but he had the hottest chinese or japanese or something ese girlfriend named gumdrop.

it was really martha but this girl was no martha.

we smoked skake and drank wine that we had gotten at the 99 cent store. jerry garcia's failed attempt at branching out.

miguel and i loved iron maiden and woud just lay in his bean bag chairs and watch gumdrop play dr j vs larry bird on his apple IIe and talk about eddie.

that night gumdrop brought over a new tape that she had just gotten from a band called guns n roses. she said we'd probably like it since it was metal.

she put it on and it was My Michelle or something, which wasn't Welcome to the Jungle or Night Train, and we laughed and said "that's not metal" and stopped the tape.

a week later we were back in that studio, stoned again, bored again, no tv in the place, no nothing except a stereo a bed and a computer, and we hit play and listened to that Guns tape over and over and over

and gumdrop got up away from the computer and danced on the coffee table.

and when she was done she hopped down curled up next to miguel, lit a cigarrette and looked at me.

and miguel read my mind,

he said, i aint ever having any daughters.