The Life of an Asshole

I was hungry so I ripped a parking meter out of the cement, took it into the nearby alley and smashed it into the ground. There was only $3.75 in there so I picked up the homeless harmonica player’s box of tips and ran off. What a slow motherfucker he was. Another $12.50. Enough for lunch and a pack of smokes. Perfect.

“Next person in line!” she yelled obnoxiously, directly at me. I guess she was annoyed that I didn’t interpret her previous glance as my cue to approach her register. I thought she was checking me out. Not that I’m attracted to emo girls. She was as pale as pale can get with short, styled, jet-black hair that shimmered under the neon lottery sign, gauges and piercings all over, and an obviously self-done barbed wire tattoo around her left wrist. She didn’t eat enough, but had nice, wide hips, which is rare on such a thin girl. Also some perky little titties. I wasn’t attracted to her really, but I was intrigued.

“How ya doin?” I said nicely in spite of her rude demeanor as I placed my chicken salad sandwich, chili Fritos and orange Gatorade on the counter. She didn’t respond or even make eye contact, but just rang up my items. “Oh and a pack of Marlboro Reds.” She silently rang those up as well. “You have matches?” She pointed to the box of matches right in front of me with an annoyed look, like I should have known.

Finally, she spoke: “Seventeen sixty-five.”

“Shit, I only have sixteen twenty-five.”

“The fuck you want me to do about it? Put something back, duh,” in the most sarcastic yet soft-spoken voice you can imagine.

What a little fucking cunt she was. Without regard for the video surveillance or the people in line behind me, I reached across the counter, grabbed the back of her head with a fist full of hair and calmly but angrily whispered directly into her ear so that my lips were actually inside her ear, “Listen you little fucking cunt. If you mention anything to anyone about this little incident I’ll fucking rape you in your sleep. I’m paying for this shit with your pathetic life.” Unexpectedly, she involuntarily moaned and said, “Yes Daddy,” with a seductive smile.

Anyway, that’s the story of how I met my wife. She’s four months pregnant with our third child, our first son. Well I say “our” third child but it’s really my second, her third. Her second kid happened when she cheated on me with a large black man. She claims she was raped, but knowing her, she probably set it up that way. Whatever, L-a (pronounced “LADASHA”) is a cute little thing, even with her severe mental retardation. The state pays for her support anyway, not really any sweat off my sack. Not that I have any money.

So my cunt wife is four months pregnant with what I assume is my kid, and she comes back from a party hammered, stinking of cigarette smoke, and she lost her bra I guess. I’m not too happy about the whole situation, especially given her promiscuous nature. Her drunken return is actually what prompted me to write this out. She just got home twenty minutes ago and here I sit in our shitty little apartment with my drunk, pregnant wife passed out on the couch with a OH SHIT!

What a fucking idiot she is. I had to go take a lit cigarette out of her hand. I swear one day she’s gonna burn down this apartment with her constant boozing and smoking and passing out. Idiot. Anyway, I’m not happy. Something’s gotta give.

Wow I just found this old story hand-written on a piece of scrap paper in an old box. I wrote that ten years ago today! Crazy! Writing that note was the beginning of when I turned my life completely around. I just typed it out on my computer so it would be more readable. I have since graduated college, gotten my masters in feminist art, and am currently working on my doctoral dissertation. It’s on retards.

I’ll give you the cliff notes on the last ten years:

– left home the night I wrote the note
– married a woman who was 89 and rich, she died mysteriously one month later
– rich as fuck
– I just lied to you a minute ago when I said I went to school
– I’ve just been living the good life, traveling around the world
– blew my 14.5 million dollar inheritance in those 10 years, now I’m less than broke
– didn’t even buy any assets, just spent it on traveling and women and booze and drugs
– to be honest I don’t remember most of it

I was so high on heroin when I wrote that last passage that I actually overdosed and died. I’m now talking to you through a psychic who is channeling my spirit. I have to tell you, dying is pretty cool. I thought I was just really messed up HEY ASSHOLE I SAID FUCKED UP DON’T CENSOR MY WORDS!

Note from psychic channeler: I apologize for the language here, it’s not my custom, but it is his wish that I write what he says verbatim.

Like I was saying before this hipster douchebag psychic fucked my shit up, dying is sweet. I actually rose out of my body when it died and I thought I was just really fucked up, but it turns out I actually died haha. I was flying around the room and shit, flew out the window and just started messing with people. I couldn’t touch them but sometimes I could make them hear me. Fun as hell.

So now I still usually hang around Earth watching people have sex, especially lesbians, and watching hotties shower and stuff. The weird thing is that Earth life seems so serious but it’s actually even less significant that a lot of the dreams you have during your life. I know it’s impossible to imagine that’s the case, but you’ll just have to trust me on that. Or don’t. You’ll find out one day anyway.

I admit I was kind of an asshole, still am, but those ten years of traveling around were pretty sweet, now that I’m able to remember them and relive them whenever I want. Not as sweet as this is though.

Alright fucker, you can stop typing. I’m done.