I Have an Asshole Magnet

I am inappropriate.

I attract assholes.

They’re in Walmart.

They’re in bars.

They’re in the trees.

One lives in my washing machine.

They steal shoes. They will come right into your house and steal all the shoes.

They’re on trains.

They’re on the bus.

They sit beside me on flights. To anywhere.

Most of them review books.

Oh, the outrage.

Ho hum.

The assholes own Facebook.

The live in ditches on the dirt road to my house.

They keep hyenas as pets.

OMFG. It’s a walking, talking, shitting asshole.

No head. No legs. No arms.

They fly around at night like bats.

On Medium, they…

DEMAND…

to know things.

Do I look like the Shell Answer Man to you.

I have never worked in a gas station in my life.

Does my work appear to you to be written by someone whose grasp of reality is as stable as a concrete bunker. Or like I care.

I am impootent. I am so ashamed. I can’t get my cock hard and I have tried and tried and tried and tried.

Pharmaceuticals do not work. Forget it.

I am a writer. It means I will probably write about it late at night over several vodka martinis up with a twist when the bats and the assholes are all asleep.

In what way do I seem to care. No one has ever answered that question. In fact, no one has ever attempted it.

It is a very deep hole.

Assholes need to go find their own answers.

When did I become responsible to you.

Do I appear to you to be someone who is going to trot right out and bring you back answers and serve them on a golden plate.

You have me mixed up with someone else, Asshole.

I am so over all the assholes, do I appear to you to be someone who entertains a dialogue.

With an asshole.

Honey, assholes have nothing to say. You’re stupid.

How is it that an asshole can make it to an airline counter in an airport and buy a ticket.

Just to fucking harass me.

I do not care what you think.

I do not care what you believe.

I do not care if you are a life coach, a writer of lists, a hater, a masturbator, or a dick head.

Asshole, asshole, fly away home. Your house is on fire and your children will burn.

Will someone please tell me why it is I should do whatever it is the assholes want.

What’s in it for me, bitch.

Oh. Nothing.

I am going shopping now.

For shoes.

Does anyone know how many assholes there are in the state of Delaware who sell shoes.

And where the fuck did you get those shoes, Tim Barrus, you charlaton.

Oh, please. Spare me the tales of woe.

We’re gonna make you listen to all the tales of woe as told by assholes. The ones on the Internet will take fifty years to listen to as they complain and whine on and on. We’ll just line the asshole community up in long lines of assholes.

Therer is no fucking god.

I am inappropriate.

I attract assholes.