Yeah, well, they're all "ouch," aren't they. It almost seems pointless to keep posting them. Just assume that almost everything in the posthumous books has been improved by The Butcher of Santa Barbara.
It's so painfully obvious -- when you compare manuscripts with collections published while Bukowski was alive, you just don't see this kind of shit. Minor changes here and there, but no rewrites. But once he died, the rape began in earnest ("Hmm, let me improve this dialogue...Bukowski was never any good at dialogue...I know how people really speak!").
Once the troublesome artist was out of the way, the real genius could finally flex his muscles. What a prince. What a man. What a service he provided for literature in general, and for Bukowski's legacy in particular.