He asked my advice.
Eighteen years old, and 
no fire in his eyes.
No fight, no spark.
Just fluff, and
nonsensical darkness.

When I was your age,
it was all
sunshine
vaginas, and
*******.
I drank daily
and painted with
blood.
I drank so
much, I ******
myself once a week.
I lived in the
river and ******
beautiful mermaids.
What seems to be
your problem George?

He said he was a ******,
and that he was lazy, and had
no self-esteem.

I said,
why do you always wear
yellow?
maybe, you should do
something with your
life; join a club, or
protest something.
You look like a
giant daffodil.

I'm lazy though,
I don't want to do
anything.

Well, I said,
that could be why
your self-esteem is low.

Try reading, writing,
or taking a walk
in the woods.
It worked for
Frost and Thoreau.
And hey George,
if you don't motivate
yourself, you will
never get laid.
Women take work.

I don't like work,
he said.

How are you going to
support yourself?
Do you want to
live in homeless shelters
or under bridges?
It's no life for
a kid like you George.

You should do something
about that mop of  red
hair you got.
You are white, and you
have an afro.
You look like a chunky
Ronald Mc Donald.
Maybe, try fast food or
a carnival.

I need *****, he says.

George, ***** is great,
but it isn't going to just
show up one magical
night while you live
in your mom's
basement
and play video games.

Forget about women for
now and read some
Bukowski
Hunter
Hamsun,
even Tolstoy.
Listen to some
******* music.
Try the greats,
Mozart
Beethoven
Sublime, and
The Grateful Dead.

I don't like music,
and reading
is boring.

Well, then my advice
is to 
watch more
TV.
I can tell you like
television.

Alright, George,
I have some writing
to do, I will see you
around.

I went back to my
room,
sat down, and
thought,
now, what the hell
did I do with that
hard
boiled egg?