Career in Cowing
An interlude to peel my eyes away from pages and pages of obstructive sleep apnea insomnia narcolepsy syndrome for which many many pharmaceuticals are prescribed each year. Absolute profundity will resume when the cows do.
Finally I’ve discovered what I’m best at and better yet it comes effortlessly. After I’ve had a couple of drinks I grow a dragonhead over my own, with loose and feisty tongue. Translation: I call my roommate foul names (e.g., motherfucker, jerkoff, assface, bitch, dicknose, stupidhead (not all of these have surfaced in action yet)), tagging easily into normal conversation. What are you doing with that pork, Bitch? It’s effortless. What to do now but start a business, target audience: masochists. I’m not much for physical violence so if you want also to be beaten, I suppose I could smack your ass with a badminton racket or corkscrew, but I’d rather stick to verbal assault.
It works like this: You, the masochist, call me toll free (1-800-HURTME). We agree either to meet at a bar, where you will buy me at least two drinks, three if I request a lesser beer for quaint’s sake or if the bartender makes a lame cocktail. You don’t tip the bartender: you tip me, and doubly. Or you bring to my house a six-pack or makings for 7&7s, my choice, unless I feel like a surprise. Then it'll be up to you. We’ll sit on the back steps, maybe whack a shuttlecock back and forth. We’ll banter while I consume and soon, without palpable transition, I will pelt you with hard little words.
All in jest, of course, for me—I toss back my head in easy laughter—but you are the masochist. You love it. For a little extra, I will intensify the assault with archaic expletives, foreign tempers, compound stones. Racial slurs available upon request. You buy it, you name it, I name you. Your dragonhead, your perky belittler.
Finally I’ve discovered what I’m best at and better yet it comes effortlessly. After I’ve had a couple of drinks I grow a dragonhead over my own, with loose and feisty tongue. Translation: I call my roommate foul names (e.g., motherfucker, jerkoff, assface, bitch, dicknose, stupidhead (not all of these have surfaced in action yet)), tagging easily into normal conversation. What are you doing with that pork, Bitch? It’s effortless. What to do now but start a business, target audience: masochists. I’m not much for physical violence so if you want also to be beaten, I suppose I could smack your ass with a badminton racket or corkscrew, but I’d rather stick to verbal assault.
It works like this: You, the masochist, call me toll free (1-800-HURTME). We agree either to meet at a bar, where you will buy me at least two drinks, three if I request a lesser beer for quaint’s sake or if the bartender makes a lame cocktail. You don’t tip the bartender: you tip me, and doubly. Or you bring to my house a six-pack or makings for 7&7s, my choice, unless I feel like a surprise. Then it'll be up to you. We’ll sit on the back steps, maybe whack a shuttlecock back and forth. We’ll banter while I consume and soon, without palpable transition, I will pelt you with hard little words.
All in jest, of course, for me—I toss back my head in easy laughter—but you are the masochist. You love it. For a little extra, I will intensify the assault with archaic expletives, foreign tempers, compound stones. Racial slurs available upon request. You buy it, you name it, I name you. Your dragonhead, your perky belittler.
3 Comments:
i think you are effing brilliant. your inspiration comes from a fountainhead of something dark and beautiful and everytime you write, it always comes out so goddamn exceptional. needless to say, i liked reading this. i will read it again in a minute.
it's going to be a field day for masochists for sure..
transience--i'm blushin'. thanks.
guile--for sure. thanks for coming by.
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