I tried, I really did. I wanted a true, real story from John Dickstein to use as a cautionary tale to warn the kids to stay away from drugs, hitchhiking and short cons. It was harder than pulling teeth because Dickstein has no discipline or motivation in life except drugs and easy girls. So, rather than having him write a story, I will tell his story in our e-mail exchanges over the years.
The Only Good Job is a Blowjob
Date: 2 Sep 2000 21:05:08From: charlesbukowski [at] budweiser.com
To: negcap [at] yahoo.com
Subject: Blonde Girls with Big Tits and a Blowtorch
Hey Josh
I guess it’s going to take more installments to finish the story. I’ll go with the tradition of Russian improv and make it a troika. Hope the world isn’t raping you too much.
The moment I get on the highway, some old Santa-looking hippie picks me up in a station wagon. He immediately tells me that he’s going to Moab, too, and he’s got a few pounds of nasty brown shwag [weed, again] in the trunk and glove box. He invites me to take “a taste.” I grab about a half z [ounce] and put it in my teabox. We take the back roads through the mountains. He turns out to be an old drunk, too. By the time we get to Moab, 5 hours later, we’re both thoroughly fucked up on cheap whiskey, weed and Budweiser. I check into the hostel and am happily surprised that it’s only $8 a night. I pay for the week, then go outside and roll a blunt with half the shit that Santa gave me. I got about 6 people high and then caught a ride to the market with a Nazi from Switzerland. He shows me a picture of his girl and family. I mention that I’d love to fuck his sister if she ever came to America. He tells me if it wasn’t his sister he’d fuck her, too. After that I knew he was alright. We spent the rest of the day bbqing and drinking. I woke up early on Tuesday and met these 2 guys from Bellingham, Washington who’d been living at the hostel for about a month. They had some dank ass BC [British Columbian] bud and were happy to smoke me out and sell me some. I gave the rest of that wacky shit away. We hung out drinking cheap white wine and smoking. They had this hot 22-year-old 6-foot tall mountain biking chick with them. Amazingly, nobody was fucking her. I think they were scared. We got to talking and she mentioned that she was getting ready to go to massage therapy school in the fall. My back was badly sunburned (it’s about 120 degrees in Moab in July). She took me to her room and rubbed tea tree oil on my back and shoulders. She had beautiful blue eyes and jet-black straight hair like a Mick. After the Kelly experience in Glenwood, I was feeling ambivalent toward women and sex in general, but she was really cool. I turned around and started kissing her on the lips and neck. She immediately pulled out my raging cock and started sucking it rapidly. I told her to take her shirt off and to suck on my hairy balls. Her tits were much bigger than I thought; (she was almost 6' 2" and kind of broad). I couldn’t take it anymore and jammed my fat dick deep inside of her. She straddled me and threw her Lindsay Davenport-like legs over my shoulders. Finally, I pulled out and came all over her, the walls, the bed and her cat. It was the only time we fucked but it was great and I really needed it physically and emotionally. The weirdest thing is, I forgot her name [it’s not weird that you forget things when you drink and take drugs all the time, but whatever.com].
Later that week, I went to Burger King for 2 Whoppers for $2 and got the worst case of food poisoning ever. I puked for 2 days straight, slept a lot and got blitzed on weed and Valium. After 3 days I started feeling normal again (for me), and went hiking in Arches National Park with the Nazi, the girl and 2 stoner dudes. We climbed up this thing called cable arch, straight up on a cable about 300 feet. You know I’m not the athletic type, but I had a great time. I left Moab on Monday with about $100 and some weed and caught a ride with some wop [derogatory term for a person of Italian heritage, like his step-father] from Boston who lived in Boulder. We spent the night in Crested Butte then he left in the morning. I got on the highway and started hitching. I was headed to Taos, New Mexico.
(Budweiser E-Mail must be used responsibly and only is for consumers 21 years of age and older! Disclaimer: Neither Anheuser-Busch, Inc. nor the operator of this E-Mail service or their respective affiliates have seen, endorsed or approved any of the content in this e-mail and expressly disclaim all liability for the content in whole and in part.) [That’s a very wise disclaimer from Budweiser, and I would also like to disavow any responsibility for whatever you sick fucks do with this information. Blame Dickstein, not me.]
Date: 1 Oct 2000 14:23:04
From: charlesbukowski [at] budweiser.com
To: negcap [at] yahoo.com
Subject: I Love Getting Sucked Off on the Greyhound
You filthy faggot, first you chastise me for not writing you back, then you take twice as long to reply to me; you really suck a nigger’s cock. [I debated whether or not to edit this out because he’s not really a racist, he’s just a psychopath, but in the interests of full disclosure and complete honesty, I’ll just make some half-assed, liberal guilt disclaimer in brackets and publish exactly what he wrote.] Anyway, I’m finally home. My parents read your mag [this zine] and said it was left wing soft-core trash, so it must be good. [I like that review but I don’t think I’m left-wing, I think I’m smart-wing. I hope with this issue they will now think of this zine as left-wing hardcore trash.] They’ve hid it on me, but when I find it, I’ll read it. I just spent three days on the bus. Other than getting my dick sucked by some married redhead on day one, the trip was awful, although free thanks to the Jews in Boise. I spoke to Hoffman, he said you guys had a big fight; he’s not mad anymore, so call him. You fucks need to stick together to protect yourselves from guys like me. If you want to hear about the rest of my trip, write back, you fucking bisexual, Napoleon-looking, matzo ball-eating, shiksa-marrying, commie prick. [The only true statement in that delightful stream of slurs is that I do indeed eat matzo ball soup whenever my wife makes it—it’s absolutely delicious!]
Love Always,
Dickstein
[Note from the dates that I wrote back to him the very next day]
Date: 2 Oct 2000 23:58:33
From: charlesbukowski [at] budweiser.com
To: negcap [at] yahoo.com
Subject: Hoffman Loves Fucking Hookers and Fat Girls
Hey Josh, thanks for writing back. Sorry about the drama—I’ve had a rough week. My mom literally burned your mag (a la Hitler), so if you could send me another copy I’d appreciate it. Actually, as an adult I’m probably more like my Dago stepfather than any kike in my family. There’s a lot of Sicilian in my actions and temperament. I keep meaning to call Jay, but somehow I never get around to it. I think you and I are the only ones left with a sense of humor. Everybody else from my past can suck my kosher kielbasa. I’ll continue my story with my next letter. A year on the road made me much crazier, but it was what I needed to help my writing. I really don’t want to be a 40-year-old fry cook. If you didn’t already know, this country is very fucked up; I know, I’ve been everywhere. Hope you and your family are doing well. If you drop your keys, kick ’em to Berkeley. [Uh, don’t think so.] Please write soon. I’ll smoke one for you.
Dropping the Soap of Life,
John-Lewis Dickstein
From: charlesbukowski [at] budweiser.com
To: negcap [at] yahoo.com
Subject: Fat Chicks, B134 and a Hallway on Fire
[The subject is a reference to three things. Fat chicks is something we all tried to avoid in college, and that’s pretty obvious. B134 was the suite number where we lived at SUNY Purchase. The hallway on fire happened when we were taking acid in my friend Jim’s room. He had a wheelchair even though he didn’t need it—he was just a weirdo. He also had the only tattoo I’ve ever liked, a small “not equal” sign on his hand. We decided that it would be a cool stunt to set the floor on fire and push me through the fire in the wheelchair. It was like Jackass but without the money, safety equipment, training or cameras to record it. We poured a puddle of grain alcohol in the hall by the stairs and once the fire was going, Dickstein pushed me through. When the fire alarms started going off, we threw water on the fire and then ran like hell. By the time an RA got there, the fire was out and the smoke had dissipated so it looked like a false alarm.]
Hey, Josh, sorry about the wait. I don’t have much time to myself anymore. I’m working 3 jobs now and trying to go to the gym 5 times a week, with no car, here in hell. I managed to find some good pot off this kid at work (he delivers, too) so that helps, but unfortunately not enough. I animate myself every morning with a load of vitamins and supplements. Then in the evening, I smoke and drink myself into oblivion. Anyway, I read the shit you wrote about me. I forgot about the [Robyn] Hitchcock show and the whippets [see “The Only Live Review I’ll Ever Write,” in NegCap #3]. Lisa Cramp [my ex-girlfriend Gina’s sister] got me those tickets. Yeah I was really fucked up that night (and every night). I don’t know about you being able to whip my ass. I’m pretty diesel and can lift over 200 pounds. Plus I play in a hoops league every Wednesday and have mad skills at the point (a la Nick Van Exel). I’m sure your wife looks good—you’re not an idiot; as for Hoffman, money doesn’t mean shit, I’m sure I look twice as good as him and get way hotter bitches [that I might argue with because Hoffman has always been able to get good looking girls]. Guys like him peak out in college. If he hates me, oh, well, I’m his oldest friend (since 7th grade) and if he likes his world full of greedy, selfish, using assholes, so be it. Lopez has always been a cool, easygoing guy and Jay will always be Jay—both those guys are okay in my book. Yeah, Chris has always lived in a nice tidy upperclass box. He’s a throwback to the brokers back in 1929 who jumped out their office windows when they realized they were broke. He’d cry like a bitch if he had to walk in my shoes or even yours. It’s hard being a creative guy—everybody either hates you or wants to be you. The only thing that matters is the motherfucking art. I think it’s great that you’ve been fired from several jobs for speaking your mind or just being a general freak. You’ll never catch up to me. [I am not trying to compete with him at all, I concede that John has me beat and I’ll never catch up.] I’ve got an idea about how many women I’ve fucked. I have no clue about the hundreds of jobs I’ve had in the past 15 years. That’s okay, it’s probably better that way.
I know you get a lot of requests, but if possible I’d like to write a short article for your next mag, about what is up to you. I think it will help us both. I’ve gotten no pussy since I got to Florida. I really hate it here. I didn’t take that place so I’m stuck at home, at least through Christmas, but I don’t care, I really just sleep here. My parents are making me save half of what I make (which is surprisingly a lot). So if I bail, at least it will be with a car and a few grand. I still think a lot about my past and how things could’ve been different, maybe as a lawyer or a stand-up comic. Then I realize the jails would be empty and more people would be crying then laughing, so I guess I’m doing all right.
I see you’ve won the Writer’s Digest zine award so I guess that means you’re ahead of me in the writing department. If I had a Master’s degree, I’d probably be fucking a lot of co-eds. I hope your hard work pays off, Josh. You definitely deserve it. Unfortunately, history has proven that lazy bums like me usually end up famous.
Your Boy,
John-Lewis Dickstein
Date: 30 Apr 2001 02:39:11
From: genpop [at] excite.com
To: negcap [at] yahoo.com
Subject: Rich Guys are Usually Cheap Fucks [another nugget of wisdom]
Hey, Josh, I’m still in Salt Lake City, staying at my friend’s hostel. If you think San Francisco is boring and the pot sucks, you should take a trip here. My money is almost gone and, of course, my weed is long gone. I probably need to go out this week and find a job. As you already know, I’m one of the laziest bastards in history, except for maybe Jay or John Tormey [the “Retarded Hesher” on page 10]. So the thought of meaningless labor makes me cringe. I’ve been helping out around here by being the housekeeper and general bitch. Tomorrow some ho is moving in to take that job. It will free me up for worse and more profitable labor. My toned body is no more. I sit around, drink beer, eat high-fat meals, watch TV, play video games and jerk off. [This is exactly what I think most guys do when their spouses/owners leave them unsupervised. I substitute, like I do in every restaurant, and replace beer with pot, and we’re good to go.] I met some guy at a club last night. He said a group of skinheads wanted to kick his ass. He immediately whipped out his dick and started stroking it. The Nazis were so freaked out they ran away. True story. I thought you’d like to hear it.
Glad you had an interesting time at the Learning Annex [see “A Date with Al Goldstein”]. Hoffman and I took a course there called “MBA in a Nutshell.” I guess it worked for him. [It must have. Chris quit being a stockbroker to start his own company and Shecky’s is actually a pretty successful publishing venture. These days he’s hosting parties, selling VIP access and is becoming a well-known bar guide. At the end of 2003 he gave me tickets to a huge New Year’s Eve party that his company threw and he is by far the most successful person I know from college.]
I called him before I left Florida. We spoke briefly. He said he’d call me back. The rich fuck never did. I guess I remind him of his humble roots and of a part of him he wants to keep buried. He probably has no sense of humor anymore. I’m sure he loves Adam Sandler movies. It’s good that you’re keeping busy. I’m bored to tears. I’m used to smoking turbo pot everyday but I have no pot and now my clear thinking is annoying me. I brought up Tormey earlier. I sometimes wonder if he’s in prison or married to an heiress. Either way, I wouldn’t be shocked. Last time I saw him, his house in Tucson had been riddled with bullets after a New Year’s party. I thought I was having trouble meeting decent women because I was in Florida. I’m having trouble here, too. I guess it’s me. The beer here is watered down. You can drink a 12-pack and not get drunk. I miss smoking real pot. The shit here gives you a headache. Anyway, I’d still like to write an article for your next mag. If you think the job theme will work (it did for Miller and Bukowski), then I’ll go with that. I feel like a nervous wreck. Not enough sleep, too much beer and caffeine. My parents are going up to NY this week. Most of my older relatives are dying. I live pretty heavy, so I probably won’t make it that long. I don’t think I’d like to go down slowly; the years sucking you dry until you fall apart—a whisper of what you once were. I’m sorry Hoffman didn’t pay you well for your bar reviews. I’m sure they were well written. I guess he needs the money for other things: Viagra, 16-year-old hookers and enemas. [John loved to remind Chris that he had lost his virginity to a hooker that John helped pay for.] I hope all is going well with the wife, work and your family. It’s hard for me sometimes. I know there’s a gold mine in my head. I’m just too lazy to start mining.
May Lee Be with You,
John-Lewis Dickstein
Date: 30 Jul 2001 20:02:08
From: charlesbukowski [at] budweiser.com
To: negcap [at] yahoo.com
Subject: My Balls are Roasting Slowly by the Olympic Torch
Hey, Josh, sorry it’s been so long. I haven’t been able to get on the computer much. I’m still trapped here in Salt Lake City, working at my friend’s hostel. I’ve hooked up with a couple of girls since you last heard from me. Both were blondes from the Northeast in their early 20s. My boss walked in the other day while I was getting jerked off. I told him next time to give me a minute’s notice so I can nut all over the wall, like that movie Happiness. I’ve been extremely lazy in finding regular work. My last job was working as the pizza chef at Romano’s Macaroni Grill. I think I lasted 2 weeks before I asked the chef to fire me so I could get paid. It was one of those mega-corporate type shitholes where they expect you to wait a month before you get a paycheck. I tried really hard to get fired the regular way (coming in an hour late, drunk, high, sexual harassment, eating a lot) but none of that seemed to work. So one day I came in and straight out asked the prick to can me. He obliged, but it still took me 2 weeks and a lot of phone calls to their corporate office before I finally got all of my money. I wish people would realize that when I work in their hellhole and they try to fuck with my pay, they’ll never hear the end of it until I’m paid in full. Oh, well.
Speaking of hell, it’s over 100 here every day. I thought I was being smart leaving Florida, but honestly my life is more fucked up here than it was there. I’m eating a lot and not really doing much. All that work I put in to get into peak shape went down the tubes. I’m 5' 9" and 180—if I played in the NFL I’d be the right weight. Anyway, I’m going to make one final run at working and my goal is to get out of here and on the west coast by Aug. 14 (my 34th birthday). That last blonde girl lives in Portland and I can stay with her when I get there. I hope your mag is going okay. I guess the bottom line is: if you’re creative, every day job sucks. [Truer words were never spoken.] I keep meeting these rich young girls. Maybe I should marry one, then maybe I can write; or maybe I’d just drink and smoke myself to death. Speaking of smoke, the weed here is shit. I finally got a good connection (finding kind [good weed] is impossible) but they’re teenagers and they’re always on me to get them booze. There are a lot of psychos here in SLC. I guess this is the dumping ground for the Rocky Mountain states. Best wishes to the wife and your family. [It’s fascinating how he goes from name-calling to courtesy and kindness, but the ultimate irony of John Dickstein is that he’s the biggest psycho out there yet he calls some teens who want booze “psychos.”][It was this sentence that made me want to run these letters from Dickstein because we are both exactly the same when it comes to getting paid for our work. I wrote a review of the Ron Jeremy documentary Porn Star for a shitty little newspaper called Film Festival Reporter and they told me that they would pay me $50 for 400 words. I wrote a great review and they published it, but it took me nine months, a fake letter from a lawyer and threats of physical harm before I got the cocksucker to mail me a check from his personal account for a measly $50. I didn’t even need the money that badly but I’ll be dipped in shit before I let some asshole get over on me for even a nickel, especially when I’ve done good work. I was ready to go down to the guy’s office and beat the shit out of him if I had to, just to prove my point. Dickstein’s right, people shouldn’t fuck with crazy Jews like us.
Please Write Soon,
D-Cup & the Dickstein
Date: Sat 11 Aug 2001 23:45:08
From: genpop [at] excite.com
To: negcap [at] yahoo.com
Subject: People Shouldn’t Fuck with Crazy Jews
Hey, Josh, I hope you enjoyed reading my brand of cyber terrorism. [John had sent me many links to a youth hostel message board where he had bad-mouthed his former employers. He said that there were rats in his room, the owners ripped him off, stuff got stolen, the food made him sick, etc.] Those fucking bastards decided to sell the hostel and basically fired me at 6am on Thursday and when I asked them for my pay they told me to go fuck myself. I’ve known Soc’s family my whole life (they own Caravelle in Brooklyn). Marty I’ve known for five years. He’s always been a crazy faggot rich boy, but I never expected to get treated like this by strangers, let alone two of my oldest friends. File them under dead [see “Dead to Me”] with Hoffman and Lee... Anyway, I’m headed to Denver via Amtrak. My train leaves at 4am. I got a job working at the hostel and guesthouse there. The guy who owns it is pretty nice and there’s much better weed and smuttier bitches. Those guys are really stupid rich fucks. I have their names, birth dates and SS #’s. They don’t realize how much shit I can smother them in. Very few people realize how crazy and vindictive I am when I am fucked with... I guess you’re one of the lucky few. I searched for my name on your web site. I was sad that nothing popped up. Maybe you can post some of my letters on there. I’ll still write my unabridged job story for you if you’re willing to publish it. Maybe you weren’t born to write. Maybe you’re my John Martin. I’ll be happy to shove a black sparrow up your ass. [FYI, John Martin founded Black Sparrow, a company that published the poems of Charles Bukowski.] I’m going to hop on Network Solutions and register dirtysanchez.com. [Someone else already has it, sorry... I checked] Please write soon...
Dickstein
Date: 14 Sep 2001 17:45:01
From: charlesbukowski [at] budweiser.com
To: negcap [at] yahoo.com
Subject: 34 and Still Broke
Hey, Josh, I hope your move to NY went OK. I spent the past 2 weeks in Seattle, courtesy of the Jewish community. They put me up in a nice motel in north Seattle. I went from Colorado to Washington via Amtrak, courtesy of a first class ticket that some rich guy was nice enough to pay for (no, I didn’t have to suck his cock). I’m now in some hick town in between Seattle and Portland. I have about $50 left. Amtrak is booked and the idea of paying $20 to Greyhound for a two-hour ride doesn’t thrill me. After I finish this letter, I’m going to the on-ramp on I-5 and sticking my thumb out... Good thing you didn’t stay with Hoffman, his loft is probably full of World Trade rubble. [When I told Hoffman I was planning to move back to NYC, he offered to let me and Juli stay with him in his lower Manhattan apartment. He didn’t have a loft and he was not hit by any rubble.] I hope you liked my new postings on hostels.com. If you really want to laugh go on their web site and see who the page editor is for Utah. I didn’t think it would happen again. Broke and almost winter. Every time I go back to Florida and get set up, I feel trapped. We should probably get together and write a screenplay. We can retire on the hundred grand... So if you ever wondered what would happen if you picked up and left your middle class existence, look at me. Yeah, I fuck a lot of cute random chicks (and get my dick sucked). The downside is how easy it is to run out of loot or resources. I hope things are going well for you and your wife. If anyone has put the work in to finally get a break, it’s probably you. But unfortunately we know throughout history, lazy bums like me usually become famous.
Please Write Soon,
John-Lewis Dickstein
Date: 2 Oct 2001 12:17:52
From: genpop [at] excite.com
To: negcap [at] yahoo.com
Subject: Every Day is Yom Kippur
On Fri, 17 Sep 2001 16:03:56, Josh Saitz wrote:
Dickstein-
I am moving today. I scanned those pictures as promised, I hope your e-mail address is still working but I’ll send it to both that I have... Take care and I will talk to you when I land again.
Jøsh
Date: 28 Oct 2001 12:17:52
From: genpop [at] excite.com
To: negcap [at] yahoo.com
Subject: My Cock in Your Back Yard
Hey Josh
I’d forgotten about those photos. I’m still quite mentally unstable, but not as much as back then. I ended up in detox about a week ago in Boise, Idaho. They doped me up pretty good and sent me on my way the next day. I tried to get money from the Jewish community there. They remembered me from last time and their lawyer told me to go fuck myself. I spent Yom Kippur in Sun Valley, Idaho. I was put up in a nice hotel, but instead of attending services, I ran into the guys who dropped me off for “one beer,” got sloppy drunk and stoned with them and passed out in the room. The next morning I caught a ride with a trucker to Ogden, Utah. I went to closing services there and they fed me and put me up at the Days Inn and threw me some cash. I got stuck for the weekend in northeastern Nebraska. One night the cops got me a room. The next night I was on my own. Luckily, I still had some cash left. The old biker who owned the place didn’t charge me much and warned me about the rednecks in the area and mentioned that shaving my beard might be a good idea (Dickstein bin Laden?). I got lucky in the morning. An old guy who had been a guest of Hitler during WWII picked me up and 3 hours later I was in Lincoln. I had about $20 left and paid $10 for the hostel and went out and drank a pitcher of Busch. I wasn’t sure if I’d head out today. I’m pretty road weary and sick of traveling. I called the Jews here a little while ago. They had helped me out about 4 years ago, but I guess they’re nice and will help me again. The dude from the synagogue is meeting me at the hostel at 5pm to pay my rent for the night and is trying to get in touch with the rabbi or his daughter to get me some cash. It would help cause I have about 2 bucks left. I had a big lunch, but I still need to eat and drink tonight. So here you have it, a piece of how I live now, 13 years after I whipped my cock out for your camera. Pretty fucked up, but somehow I seem to keep it rolling without sleeping on the street or at the rescue mission. If this will make me a better writer, I don’t know. I hope it makes me a better person.
Dickstein
[Editor's note: I used to include contact info for Dickstein so that if someone liked his story or wanted to talk to him they could. Not anymore. If you want to find him, check your local rehab or jail. I did a follow-up story from me and then one from John. Click here to check it out.