From Introduction to
My First Love Was a Whore

Another thing I hate is a goddamn book where the author goes on and on thanking countless random people who made the project possible. It sounds like a Nobel Prize speech or something. “Oh look at me I published a book. I must be a fucking genius.”
The best thing for you to do is to put down this book, which is really more of a collection of thoughts and ideas than any real attempt at discovering uncharted literary waters. If you like them, find me and buy me a drink or two, if not—I still hope you bought the book because I really need the money.

Excerpt from
My First Love Was a Whore

Between the Thin Line

He was a broken man. He hated being a failure. He hated life, and everything in it. He hated death. He hated fear. He hated being afraid of death. He hated his brother. He hated his father. He hated his mother. He hated his son. He hated hate. He hated love. He hated Jesus. He hated Satan. He hated republicans. He hated democrats. He hated missing his son’s birthday. He hated that he couldn’t write in first person. He hated that some people wouldn’t get that joke. He hated that the ones who would get it would only find it mildly amusing. He would have hated his job, but he didn’t have one. He hated not having a job. He hated that he couldn’t maintain any relationship.He hated his friends. He hated that the people around him thought they knew him. He hated that no one knew him. He hated that he wouldn’t let people know him. He hated that he didn’t know himself. He was a broken man. He hated art.