KB
Nightly, I dream of getting slightly feisty with Miss Keira Knightley & a thousand other things that never come to pass for fear of trying.
Dare I say I love you? Dare I smile with my eyes? Can’t stop myself from loving you, baby. Can’t stop telling myself to fuck off either. But not to worry; that’s a feature, not a bug.
I believe that's defined as user error, my friend.
No error here, friendo. I'll tell myself to jog on every single godforsaken morning I wake up to the sight of my ugly mug.
Do you know what your problem is?
Ennui?
I was gonna say mirrors. However, the fact you’re a miserable bastard isn’t much of an improvement.
Miserable yet graced with the crown of self-awareness.
Pretender to the crown, no doubt.
By all means, keep up the impudence. I'll gladly have you clapped in irons for a few torture-filled decades.
This subconscious is ruled by some totally horseshit divine right monarchy! I'm tryna import some democracy in here.
There's no oil in my amygdala. Trust me, I've checked.
Hell, I'll settle for a Halliburton-backed junta. Where's Dick Cheney & his pig heart when you need him?
Not a chance, my friend. L'etat c'est moi.
Do you think people won't notice that despite taking it for two years, you are unequivocally not fluent in French?
Why do I practice Duolingo every other month then?
Because an Australian lass called you Pepe Le Creep in that nightclub in Marseille, & it's haunted you ever since?
We'll see who succumbs to dementia first when your Swiss cheese brain is crippled from its lack of neuron plasticity you never strengthened through language learning.
Rosetta Stone has passed repeatedly on sponsoring you, right?
Sadly. For some reason, they did not dig my "Bro-setta Bone" Tinder mashup app proposal.
& why is that?
Apparently, wanting to teach tourists the fifteen words they need to know to get laid in Czechia is considered "culturally reductive," "imperialistic," & "problematic."
Which is hardly fair as we spend six weeks teaching ninth-graders to describe the color of their umbrellas in Spanish. Save your "donde esta la bibliotheca." Just tell me how to ask for neck without getting decked.
You've got a fine mind for street smarts, that's for sure. Largely masked by the plethora of your undiagnosed personality disorders, but they're lurking there nonetheless.
Hidden? No, I can see just fine I’m miserable.
I said street smarts, but clearly, you're wanting to roll with the lonely-hearts-angle-here.
Now, all those other poor bastards out there?
They've absolutely no fucking clue how much they truly hate their lives.
Their wives.
Their timeshares.
Their thinning hair.
Their commute to work.
Their undiagnosed sleep apnea.
Did you steal that from Trainspotting?
Never heard of it.
You had the poster on your bathroom door for six years.
Unrelated coincidence.
You made me call you Ewan McKegger all summer.
That was my right as victor of our drunken decathlon. Consider yourself lucky I didn't exercise my droit du seigneur.
First off, I love my girlfriend. So shut up, you egg.
We've all loved her, brother.
Steady. You know I wasn't competing in tip-top shape.
Nobody forced you to challenge me to a sidewalk slammer race when you were barred out, Xanakin Skywalker.
J'accuse! You sold those to me.
Try showing a modicum of deference. As an entrepreneur, I am the backbone of our economy.
You neglected to mention they were canine k-pens.
I told you that my friend's cousin was a doctor who had access to barbiturates. Your deviant mind filled in the qualitative gaps on its own.
My brain is fully smooth at this point, thanks to your pharmaceutical chicanery.
For which the world thanked me by sending me a lavish gift basket of fruit.
How lavish are we talking here? Did they splurge for honeydew?
I wish. Those stingy bastards doubled down on cantaloupe, the gas station birthday card of melons. But like I was saying, my clarity is a blessing. I can skip the bullshit & arrive promptly in Hell.
You don’t get any extra credit for showing up early to Purgatory. You do know that right?
Seems a bit of a fuckin rip-off I don’t. What’s the point of skipping class & smoking grass if I can’t even score some me-time in the Underworld?
Buddy, you ever heard of eternity?
I’ve heard of Enya. Does she count?
Euro-trash references aren’t gonna earn you any special good-boy points here.
Christ on a Cracker, this Prince of Darkness guy. Bit fuckin Draconian, ain’t he? I demand my money back.
I feel like Hell might have a slightly less forgiving return policy than Costco.
Could you please verify that for me on Bing?
It says here satisfaction's recommended, not guaranteed.
Well, I was guaranteed the Devil would let me rip stoges inside.
That's not in any Gospel I know. Where did you hear that?
From my Young Life leader who would sell us loosies.
An entrepreneur after your own heart I see.
Exactly. But somewhere along the way, I misread the terms & conditions, & now my dumb ass is roasting on a spit for the next 10,000 years.
Without knowing any details, I am positive that it was wholly warranted on the Devil's part.
He no-knock warranted my ass for damn sure. Does the 4th Amendment not apply to Beelzebub?
I think he's a sovereign citizen, man, so you're shit out of luck there. What did he say to you?
Some spiel about blaspheming the Lord's name.
You do engage in irreverence like it's going out of style.
I told him, "Uhhhhhhh yeah, pal. You outsourced that job to me because you wanted to work remotely. Ostensibly, to spend more time with your Springsteen cover band. If anything, I’m in line for a sweet ass promotion."
Is his band any good?
Nah. They tell you to fuck off if you ask to hear "Born In The USA," play "Dancing In The Dark" eighteen times in a row, & call it a set.
Figures that the Devil was Loyalist scum.
Did you know Courteney Cox got her start in Springsteen's "Dancing In The Dark" video?
We talking "Friends" or "Cougar Town" Courteney Cox here?
What does the word start mean to you?
How are you still unfamiliar with the basic logistics of time & its subsequent passages?
Look, man. Spend long enough underground & things kinda blend together. By the way, you oughta be saluting me since I ended up landing that promotion.
Congrats, Deputy Douche. Your new title fits well.
They call me D.D. because my girl’s got 'em.
They call you D.D. because you’re not allowed to drive.
For the record, I was not too drunk to drive that Go-Kart.
Everyone saw you throw up on that kid's birthday cake.
It was mint chocolate chip. That little bastard owes me one, honestly. Besides, I told y'all my stummy hurt.
If you say stummy one more time, I am honor-bound to perform a citizen's arrest.
Please do. You'll make a martyr out of me yet. Anyway. Is it anyway or anyways? I never know which one to say.
I think they both imply you haven't really been listening whatsoever to the other person. You're just waiting for a convenient pause & then using a filler word to segue into speaking again because honestly, fuck everyone else right?
Anyways. My stummy was hurting quite badly that day because of my lactose intolerance.
I saw you pounding pizza balls for at least three hours.
I didn't say I wasn't going to debase my body with a metric shit ton of over-processed cheese. I was giving y'all a heads-up as part of my civic duty.
That kid really was justified in giving you an atomic noogie for ruining his 12th birthday party.
That was no twelve-year-old. He had a full beard & bacne.
That's because youths stopped drinking milk after dubstep. The FDA has slipped HGH into vapes ever since to ensure the average height doesn't plummet to like four foot eight.
Never the heroes we want, but the heroes we deserve, right?
They're largely motivated by the necessity to ensure Tom Cruise is not the tallest man on earth.
That makes sense. He'd become supremely powerful.
There are too many 6' middle schoolers gallivanting about to not be genetically enhanced from their strawberry-cheesecake-flavored vape juices.
Do you think that means that I can still hit 6'2?
I wouldn't get your hopes up. Your brittle bones are fully fused at this point.
Oh ye of little faith. I’m due a growth spurt.
You’re 25, mate. It’s all downhill from here.
Fine by me. I’m scared of heights anyway.
