Prose

In a world full of disappointment. There you are. My one hope. My one pro in an otherwise completely con-list-life.

True Art

So you know how people say you should be “gracious” and, oh what’s that word… means you should let things go and move on… That’s what people say to you after someone rips your heart out, stomps on it, calls strangers over to laugh at it’s pathetic remnants on the ground and yet all your friends can muster up to tell you is “at least it wasn’t your head, be gracious.” … Are you fucking kidding me? You want to know what I’m doing right now? Right this second? I’m mentally filing this memory under your file with a memo to myself that says this: “Note to self, next time so and so is heartbroken, be sure to lay on extra vinegar and extra salt to the wounds.” Fucker. What kind of “friend” says that? You know what a TRUE friend would say? Something along the lines of “hey, how about we skip work and go dump two pounds of bologna all over his car ‘cause that shit causes rust in the sun.” Now THAT’S what I call a good friend. Been there, done that, would do that again.

I don’t have friends like that. I have all goody-two-shoes friends. I don’t know why. They don’t really fit with me. And they only get disappointed in me. They act all surprised when I say things like “God I wish that kid would choke on his fucking lollypop so he’d shut the fuck up.” Or “I’d choose a cat over a human anytime, humans suck and the world could do with less of them.” I mean really? Those aren’t that bad, I’ve said way worse while watching porn.

Just a Little More

Here’s the thing about always thinking; the thing about always having an open mind, an open opinion. All the while as you’re sitting there thinking to yourself, “oh I hope I make it home first so I don’t hold her up because I know how she gets annoyed”, she’s already forgotten and made other plans. All the while, of every day, you sit there and think, and you think some more. You go that stupid fucking extra mile every time because now it’s just second nature to you when no one notices. No one even takes a second glance. It’s when you say, real cheery too, “Good morning ma’am! How are you doing this fine day?” and all the bitch can reply is “I have bags.” You sit back and you sigh while a little more of your faith in humanity is pissed away. All over recyclable bags.

The kicker? This thing, this “always being aware and considerate of others” never goes away. You still try. You still smile. But no one ever bothers to notice just how empty and hollow it has become.

The "Princess" and the Frog

Why is it that women are so quick to sell themselves for a cheaply delivered and so obviously hollow compliment? Why do women think they can change these worthless men into something of a worth? They sit on their fat asses all day and complain, complain, complain. “I’m better than this”; “I’m worth more than this”. It’s always the women who get rejected by one guy. One measly Neanderthal who can’t tell the difference between his knuckles and the ground in which he is dragging them on. And somehow, this ruins them, impairs their judgment and there in lays the problem. For this is when the cunning bottom feeders swoop in, there to pick you up at your lowest, to say those three deadly words that you’ve been longing for: “I appreciate you”. For three measly words they throw all of their dignity and self respect out the window. Defenestration at its best!

Let me tell you something. You fuckin’ think you’re something special? You think he’s suddenly and miraculously going to change? For you? You think he’s magically going to see the error of his ways and give it all up? For you? Who do you think you are? What are you to him? A halfway decent fuck who can’t even remember who he was screwing last season, let alone you twenty some-odd years from now. Please. Don’t delude yourself.

These same women are always the ones who end up leaving their men time and time again because they’re not “perfect” enough, because they “deserve better”, they want their Prince Charming to come in and sweep them off their feet with his trusty white steed, so they can finally be treated like the “princess” they are. They talk the talk by demanding the prince but they aren’t walking the walk when they settle for the frog.
Every. Single. Time.

It’s sad because, and only because, the real princes they are longing for, are there all the while; bearing discarded witness to this pathetic and public show of psycho-babble failure. There stands your prince, in the shambles and dust, he and his trusty steed.