I wake up from a bright and colorful, dopamine-fueled blackout. The first thing I’ve decided to do is jerk it.

I have my dick in my hand and I’m watching them — an unnamed dick and cookie cutter pornstar go at it.

“Vapid existence.”

Two words I can’t get out of my head. Not because they’re pornstars, well, she’s a pornstar; but because of the acting. Holy fucking shit. The acting. I’m tugging on a half-chub and I’m thinking about writing. Shit, I’m not just thinking about it, I’m doing it. Writing in my head, watching porn, with a half-chub.

I was supposed to tell you a story and I never did. I was supposed to tell you how I made it out of poverty. How I went to Colombia, gambled like a pro, moved mounds of cash for Bitcoin that people are killed over and that the cartels use to launder their money. I was supposed to tell you how I slept with Colombian women, avoided being robbed, and lived like a king. Because I did all of that, and it was a fucking nightmare, and if I’m being honest, I’ll probably do it again.

Where I left off…

Because I wanted to marry her. Because I still dream about her, like I do my dead dog and get to think “He’s not really dead, he’s only 12. Good boy.” And then I wake up.

You don’t need her. In a million years. You don’t need her. I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t also telling myself, but this is the dregs. This is where you, laid out on your ass, look to the firmament in all its grandeur. Where you witness the lightning, the clashing, of the gods. And they’re calling your name.

All you have…

I don’t remember the day. I don’t even remember why I was there. I don’t remember why I had come home to Berkeley.

I was in the local Kava bar. Because they have those here. Sitting on colorful couches beneath equally colorful lighting. A projector showing episodes of Planet Earth on the wall. A group at the bar shouts “bula!” And they all slam a small bowl of bitter, mouth numbing Kava.

I can’t remember whose younger brother I’m speaking to. Someone I haven’t seen in several years. Someone I won’t see for several more after.

“I dunno, I just…

There is no preface.

I wish there was more I could do, or could’ve done for YKZ. I know a lot of people got burned pretty bad on it. I know I did. I don’t hold a grudge against Ataxia, though I’ve certainly learned a lot about him and his projects. Some have accused him of building YKZ to make his investment back from the rug before it. I don’t know the answer to that, and I encourage those reading not to jump to any conclusions of active malice.

The fact is, YKZ is a dead end. It was lead…

If you’re like me, you’re a no-good degen. Good. Misery loves company. Lucky for you though, you’ve stumbled across my shit. Congratulations, I’m about to make you a lot of fucking money.

“Bullshit, Mr. Brambles.” You say. I shit you not, dear reader.

2017 brought you one of the biggest crypto pamps since BTC went from 40 to the dollar to $200 each. And though 2020’s bull run has been pretty insane for altcoins, it ain’t nothing on this newest shitcoin.

What if I told you there was a coin that could guarantee at least $24k on dividends in a…

The point is, I ain’t got shit, and if you’re reading this, maybe you don’t either. Maybe you’re sick and tired of being sick and tired, sick of working the 9 to 5, being treated like shit because the only “thing” you are, is a fucking cog in the thresher that is a pecuniary chokehold. And I hate it. And I hate that there are millions of other people like me, and millions of others who have it worse than me. And maybe, even if we’re in the same position, I can offer something of value in my ramblings on.

Two-and-a-half months ago, I graduated from college with a B.A. in Drama. A degree I’ll probably never use, because really, if you can act, you can act. Nobody gives a shit where, or if, Leonardo DiCaprio, Marlon Brando, or Daniel Day Lewis went to school. Presuming I come back and fulfill this whole dream of mine, at some point, nobody would give a shit where I went to school either, except for the school itself, and obviously for selfish reasons. Of my acting ability, of what I spent the last few years devoting my time, my mom would say I’m…

My car sits a few blocks away, cracked windshield, and a detached back bumper. For money, I drive Lyft because I quit my job where they treat their employees like shit and pay them even worse. A place where when catering their over-priced prison food to their very own local corporate office, you can listen in on the just-as-bleak-corporate-bullshit — “And I’d like to award Jessica for her numbers this month,” and then everyone in the meeting literally fucking claps. And before you gripe, I didn’t quit because I thought I was too good for the job. …


If the right people found out who I was, I’d be excommunicated. Maybe worse.

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