True Story: The Writers

Categories: True Story

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Jack Grisham
[Editor's Note: Jack Grisham is an author, hypnotherapist, T.S.O.L. front man and all-around troublemaker. This column, True Story, may or may not be factual, with characters who may or may not be real.]
By: Jack Grisham

For every Kerouac, there are a thousand foul-smelling travelers clogging our coffee bars with unkempt hair and notebooks that reek of patchouli and medicinal weed--and as for Bukowski, there was one, "the Big Bukowski." His imitators are nothing more than foul-mouthed obnoxious Hanks wallowing in cheap booze. I've seen them, talking their shit, bragging of their prowess with prose--bitch, please, the only thing these wannabe writers are prolific at is urinating--15-minute-long streams of 20-proof slop cascading from beer-shrunken cocks and being voraciously gobbled up by water-saving urinals. Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't follow your dreams--I support your futility--I'm just saying that you need to stop trying to re-create someone else's reality because unlike stars in the sky--each of which shines so heavenly--the majority of us are just human . . .

"Hey, what'cha doing man?" I smelled the foul stench before I looked into the glazed eyes of a traveler. "You're a writer now, huh?"

"No," I replied. "I'm a hack."


"I mean, this isn't my dream. I lived my dream, and now I just document the remnants of what I used to be--sadly, the majority of which has been lost in a maze of scar tissue and a cavalcade of lies that I concocted to hide the pain."


"Yeah," I continued, "and, as a matter of fact, I was just writing about you."


"Yeah, right here." I moved my hand away from the paper so he could get a glimpse of the piece. "It says that you dirty travelers clog the coffee bars and bug the fuck out of me. Have a nice day."

I dismissed him to go beg in the street.

"I'm writing a book." The lady who just piped in was sitting two wooden chairs over and had been listening in as I berated the hippie.

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I always enjoy Jacks writing. Great column mate. Keep them coming !!! From your Cemetery Caretaking mate in Sydney !!!


Wow, somebody is full of himself... no truer word about him has been spoken. Ironically seeping from his own coffee-stained lips. Hack, not artist...

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