Tag Archives: asshole

The Pied Piper of Lost Souls

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You are not a god. You’re a shark in the Sahara.

This is the embarrassing truth. The unfortunate end to the Emmy worthy performance  for all of your loyal fans. Because you are an actor. A poet with hollow words and shallow glances that are impossible to see through. You’re the piper and we are your mice. Your song is lovely. The tune, enchanting; spellbinding. But, your flute is small and your melody grows curious to seasoned ears. These crowds of scurrying feet soon realize that you have no idea where you are going. You wonder loosely and without purpose, aside from your resentment for the purpose of others. But still they follow. They’ve heard a lovely song before and they wait because they naively believe that is the song you want to play.

You play and you dance until you grow bored. Then, Oh Judas! Your tune turns bitter, cold, harsh. Then you stop. Leaving poor souls far from places they know and without the means to ever go back. Then it’s a new song. New followers. Same old lackluster performance. The lights are bright and blinding, but the show without a script, void of substance. And you do it again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. Each time, convincing these little mice they are different. Old lies lay softly on unweathered hearts, you see.  And again. And again. And again. And again. You’re unimpressive, yet your feigned vulnerability lures these timid mice, these rats, these dogs.

No, you are not a god. You’re an exterminator with a tiny flute, doomed to play the only song you know. The only song you’ll ever know.

I’ll hear that song in Hell.

Day 2: This is a Toast for the Douchebags.

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Day 2: This is a Toast for the Douchebags.

Today, I was sitting at a red light, windows down, the hot summer and the music of the person next to me drifting through my car. It was the overplayed Chris Brown, “throw your glass in the air and say yeah” song. I could feel him drilling a hole in the side of my head, so I looked over, gave him an awkward half smile, and turned back to the light. The music got louder and then he began flipping through his ipod, playing half-second intros until he landed on nothing other than “Your Sex is on Fire”.

I looked back at him with a puzzled look, thinking it could only be sweet serendipity. Oh, no – I was wrong. I got the’ hey girl’ head nod and that lip curl that you see in photos when people are holding up their ice or showing their glocks.

The light changed, and of course my little Accord beat his oversized truck up the hill. I sped away, laughing at my little sitcom moment.

So today, I’m thankful for the douchebags, and thankful for the assholes. And even the scumbags, every one of them that I know… And I know a few.

Because without them, who would keep the #GTL hash tag alive? Who would make my girlfriends and I feel good about our asses? Whose grammar would I correct? (I do get a sick pleasure out of that). Whose abs would I stare at to pass time on the treadmill?

As in every balanced ecosystem, they have their place. Sure, they’re a bit confused – like the bird that flies into a closed window. At first you feel kind of bad… but mostly, it’s just funny. And the best part is, they never get the joke.

So thanks, douchebags. You bring me a lot of joy.