“Hey Santa, hit the ho stroll”


Before I begin I suppose some explanation is in order. I have been absent from my post for some time and you Sex Hole Addicts must have found another fix for your weary brains, I do apologize.

The reason for my hiatus is very complex and rather than fill up the Sex Hole (hahaha) with specifics, I shall make a sing song diagram explaining my foolishness and absenteeism;


The Daniel bone is connected to the heart bone.

The heart bone is connected to the woman bone.

The woman bone is connected to the unending pursuit of perfection bone.

The unending pursuit of perfection bone is connected to the alone bone.

The alone bone is connected to the drink and drug bone.

The drink and drug bone is connected to the jail bone.


Hopefully that clears things up.


Ladies and Gentlemen: Sex Hole 15…


Monday: Went to Walgreens to practice my social skills with the common man. While I was wandering the aisles that were littered with Christmas brouhaha, one of the employees approached me to ask if I needed some help. I was quick to respond that the help I needed might be out of her scope of employment but thanked her anyway. I noticed she was wearing an oversized T shirt that said “Get your flu shot” in size 100 font draped over her bean bag frame. It reminded me of the 80s when the crack heads in LA used to rock those “You can’t touch this” joints.


She urged me to get my flu shot. After I chastised her and her thought processes, paradigms of hope and fashion choices, she left me to roam the aisles in peace. (for details on vaccinations and the tomfoolery surrounding the idea of injecting yourself with dead fetuses of humans and cows see )


Tuesday:  Another day at the halfway house and the thievery continues…Yes sweet readers of words, it is true, your humble literary manservant has been confined in a “Sober Living Environment”, my revelries and lust for the drink have led me straight into the arms of the white man and his tricks. After my six-day vacation in the hospital and subsequent incarceration for physically and verbally assaulting the pigs over at the Daly City police department, I entered a rehab in hopes to bridle my inner Hemmingway. Following 28 days of yoga, nature walks, and AA meetings, I was sent off to an SLE where once again the white man capitalized on the weakness of my flesh.


My housemates, which are 9 in number, are mostly decent white folk but there is always one thief in the bunch. On this particular day, as I strolled into the kitchen I caught “Bobby” sucking down my almond milk which I purchased to detour his criminal behavior.

It didn’t work.

Pulled “Bob” to the side and whispered in his ear, informing him of my dubious plans for him and his insatiable appetite for forbidden groceries, “Check it out fat man, if ANY of my food goes missing from here on out you are going to wish your mother never met your father, feel me?”

We haven’t seen him at the halfway house since.

I feel bad, old Bobby was the salt of the earth…fucking gluttonous troglodyte.

Social Note: Never head-butt the police whilst handcuffed, it always ends poorly.


Wednesday: Tolstoy said, “Avoid women at all costs” although this is sound advice I have found it an impossibility, not only that, but Tolstoy was a homosexual so it was much easier for him to stick to his guns, so to speak. Contrary to popular belief, I am not a “Ladies man” but I AM a devout feminist in deed and truth.

As it has been explained in specific detail in so many other Sex Hole installments, I have been speared by Cupid’s pitchfork 20 years ago and haven’t managed to wiggle free from true love and its numerous consequences.

Falling in love with a female tiger who embraces the dogma and sword collection of Genghis Kahn has it drawbacks; if not for my god-like dexterity I may be missing a limb or two.

Due to my poor choices, I have broken the trust that took so many years to establish. In this light, it is very difficult to explain my whereabouts with any smackerel of effectiveness. (word up to Winnie the Pooh nomenclature).

Needless to say, when I informed my Lady of my plans to travel to Reno to get with the homie, Monk McNizzle to finish our full scale musical assault on Santa Claus and his demonic ways in time for the coming holiday, she was less than pleased (growling sound).

Although your humble literary servant was not included in any reindeer games this year, my Tigress didn’t want me crossing state lines for any reason. Since strep throat was running rampant at the halfway house and none of my immediate family was interested in having an opinionated, well spoken, recovering alcoholic at the dinner table, I sought refuge in the bosom of Reno and my faithful outlet for pain and confusion, music.


Personal Note: Need to eat my porridge before I start my day because porridge keeps me peaceful and that is a general blessing to the puny humans who annoy me!


Wednesday evening: After a treacherous 5-hour journey up the 80 freeway, listening to sermons to calm my weary mind piece and strengthen my lion heart, I arrived safely at the Nugget casino in Reno, Nevada, the inbred cousin to Las Vegas.

Christmas time was upon me and I was curious to find out where the sweet folks of Tweaker Town, USA thought of the holiday. I interviewed several of the natives but they were too paranoid of my line of questioning, so I warned them that their sinful ways would only earn them an all-access pass into Hades’ VIP room where they would burn forever and left them to contemplate their collective demise.

I finally caught up with my pal Monk McNizzle, I was happy and relieved to see a friendly face and a full set of teeth. We philosophized upon topics ranging from music to politics then set up our make shift studio in my hotel room.

Inspired by the 2008 Anti-Christmas anthem “DADDA CLAUSE” produced by Conceit starring Mo Classics, my two daughters and I composed a follow up called “Momma Clause”. Much to the chagrin of my Tigress, I was in Reno to catch up with Monk and record some verses from him and some choral arrangements from his young cohorts that were 4 in number ranging from 2 years old all the way to 11 years old respectively.

Monk and the midget crew left the microphone smoking and I was pleased with the results. I was speaking with Monk about the aforementioned Christmas brouhaha and we both decided that economically speaking the Corporate Giants in Amerikkka just needed to get rid of some shit at year end and they needed Santa Claus to do their evil bidding.

We both conceded that Christmas could and should be renamed “We need to get rid of some shit, Santa get back on the hoe stroll”  Admittedly, we need to shorten the name and make it catchier; an anarchists’ work is never done.


Thursday: I woke up to some text messages of cheer from Genghis; she must have thought I needed a boost since I am only 6 months sober, away from my family who wants nothing to do with me and surrounded by liquor. “You are a half ass Dad” “You are a winner” “We don’t fit well together” “Hypocrite” … ah yes I was ready to start my day refreshed and renewed, body, mind and spirit. I made a mental note to make sure she spends the “night in the box” when I returned to the Monkey House of Regret for Christmas Day, “solitary confinement ought to cool her zeal for my demise” I thought.

I surfed the web for a remote sledge hammer that could be activated the next time she decided to text me hate messages but this useful tool existed only in my imagination.

After Monk and I put some finishing touches on “Momma Clause” he returned to his room to nurse a cold and left me to my thoughts which is why I’m back at the modern typewriter, placing pain on the page.


Thursday evening (We need to get rid of some shit, Santa get back on the hoe stroll! Eve):

Many moons ago I watched the Charlie Brown Christmas special and Linus quoted scripture from Luke and I remember the sound of Linus’ voice and thinking that this IS a time of true joy.

Even though my brain tells me this isn’t really the “time” when Jesus was born (it was more like September) and suicide rates skyrocket this time of year I still have powerful memories of my family.

I remember the whole family would come to my grandparents’ house in Gardena, where I lived, we would have such a great time laughing, gambling and telling jokes. I don’t remember worrying too much for gifts but I do remember the smells and sounds of Christmas when it was pure.


Mental Note: Take it easy jackass, life can’t be that bad


Friday (Christmas Day): Since I am a union writer I take Christmas day off……PEACE AND ALOHA to you and your families.


That’s all SEX HOLE addicts!! S.H. Number 15 is in the books, stay tuned for more SEX HOLE fun!!! Merry We need to get rid of some shit, Santa get back on the hoe stroll Day!!! Wheeeesh!!! I really need to work on that name.



D.A. Medina



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