A weekend night at the club. My boys and I, ten shots of Patron, two percosets, and a pack of smokes. I feel like a king. My ears ring, the angels sing. My ding-a-ling is aching to be unsheathed, thirsty for a drink.
I spy you across the floor in a slinky black dress bumping and grinding up against some roided-up meathead. You see me and then quickly whisper something in his ear. You point at me and he turns and stares. He's trying to scare me... and failing miserably. I've seen it all before, more times than I care to recall: the posturing and hollering, the huffing and puffing. I swear nary a night passes where I don't have to break a chair over some motherfucker's back on account of your sorry ass. You know I'll do it too, I don't give a shit. The poison in my blood runs thick. I'm lit and oblivious.
I'm motherfucking Fred Astaire or Ali and I'm ready to dance, asshole, ready to beat you senseless. I want to see you shit or piss your pants. And believe me, asshole, you will. I offer you my personal guarantee and some guidance... I'll lay you gently down to sleep, like a father laying a baby in his crib, and I pray your soul to keep, cause it you die before you wake, I think the courts my life will take.
And if I don't get arrested or eighty-sixed, after I break whomever you send my way into teeny-tiny bits, I'll probably want to smack you up, or slam your face into a door. But I won't because my mom taught me better than that. She taught me how to be a gentleman, to never hit or grab. Besides, I already fucked you over right? But you think YOU won, you think you had YOUR way with me. You're so deluded and arrogant.
I bet you think this poem is about you... don't you?
Starfucking whore. You just won't go away will you? You're a stubborn Herpes sore. You'll do whatever you can to fuck up my shit. You'll never admit your overdramatic, alcohol-fueled fits aren't a wee bit extravagant? If you haven't already instigated a fight, alternatively, in a drunken stupor, you'll stumble over with your pack of girls and in slurring, non-sensical ramblings and ravings and waving of arms you'll tell whomever I'm with that I'm an evil son of a bitch. You'll tell my entourage the story about how 2 years ago I told you I loved you and I adored your kid, with the sole intent of fucking you in the ass and jizzing all over your store-bought tits, and how that entire time I had a loyal, sweet girlfriend. You'll succeed in embarrassing both you and I, and with a gentle smile I'll have to politely explain that I haven't the feintest idea who the fuck this psychotic broad is or why she's saying what it is she's saying. And the whole time in the background my friends will be snickering and laughing.
To quote Byron: “Sweet is revenge - especially to women.”
35 comments:
Hey - I made it first on the roll - I must be up early or something.
That was a brutal piece of concrete vitriol there and a damn fine chunk of writing. Interesting insight into a twisted relationship -my bet is these two are truly in love.
Ruksak. Thanks for the kind words.
You hit it right on the head. I think these two are definitely in love. Like an old couple who just loves to fight... a quintessential Ralph and Alice Kramden
ooooh! talk about venom...
Beautiful writings.
A good one.
I think somebody needs to take some anger management classes.
No, not YOU silly. I'm talking about that guy over there. Right next to the bathroom.
BTW, it's Patron with a T, not a D. You gotta give a good tequila the right name.
Are you gonna punch me now? Okay, fine. Go ahead. But let me just say this: remember what your mom taught you.
Jazz. Ain't it great?
The woman. Thanks.
Snakehead. Ah, mistake noted... and corrected. Thanks. I think I'm still going to hit you though... ;)
Unlike Tacit1, I found myself reading and re-reading, trying to figure out who the bad guy really was. The story is told from the guy's point of view, so you initially buy into his point of view. But then I read it over, wondering if the guy was every bit the slime she made him out to be and he deserved every bit of trash she threw at him. I still can't say. Ruksak may have made the best observation, because if they truly hated each other, they'd AVOID, not initiate the repeated altercations. They are clearly TRYING to stay involved with each other, even if it's in a dramatic and hateful way. Interesting...this one got me thinking. I'm still thinking.
Wordwhiz, they don't call you WORDwhiz for nothing do they?
I think anyone with "store bought tits" needs to be punched hard just so that her ugly pair can fall to the ground, the oozing silicone or other liquid wetting her expensive shirt.
Tacit. You mean you've never been fucked over at one point or another by some fucking prick? You've never had your heart broken? You lucky girl...
Wordwhiz. Perfect. You nailed it. Between you and Ruk, this piece has been properly dissected and thoroughly analazyed. I think I triggered the EXACT emotion I was shooting for when I wrote this piece in you. Awesome.
Tattooed Brain. I'm glad you liked it. Because you and I are so alike in many ways I knew this piece would appeal to you... or at least... I was really hoping it would.
LeeLoreya. How about a sticky cocktail, say... a Long Island Iced Tea, dumped on their head? That'd be sure to leave a stubborn stain.
Ooooh, yum...a bit of rage with my morning coffee (I'm reading this Sunday am).
Hermes, you should just pull out your ding-a-ling more often...give it some fresh air and room to grow. Really, just reading this post, made me feel a bit suffocated. Let the damn thing just hang out.
Tattooed Brain. Like that episode of Star Trek where they travel to a mirror universe and they encounter alternate versions of themselves... only more evil.
G.D. Would you like some vitriol with your sugar and cream?
It's not easy finding a synonym to dick that rhymes with "sing" and "ring." Besides, ding-a-ling sounds silly and comical and almost... cute dontcha think?
I know this couple!
They needed this type of drama to exist.
I first thought it was for the make-up sex, but thinking back it must have been that dark circle of anger, jealousy, even fear which kept them somewhat together.
I lost contact with them years ago, but I somehow imagine they will always be somehow entangled.
that "i betcha think this song is about you" was in that stupidly hilarious movie Dick about Watergate and two silly blond girls and a seventies soundtrack, obviously. Nice memories. Nothing to do with the post, apologies.
TattooedBrain. I don't know about you but I'd be the evil goatteed Capt. Kirk.
Sierrabella. Having a couple around like this always makes parties and social gatherings so much more fun.
LeeLoreya. I've never seen that movie. It's from a Stevie Knicks song. "You're so vain."
tacit1, I would love to be able to react in that cold murdering manner, yet hysteria is always stronger. I admire you.
hermes. that's it yeah."you're so vain". In the movie it plays when nixon and smudged makeup pat board their private jet after leaving the white house.
Actually, "Your So Vain"...is by Carly Simon. I know that, because I am a closet geek.
I could come up a few other "cute" names for dick, if you ever get in a jam and can't come up with a good rhyme. Here to help...
Don't know what to say. Effective's a pretty darn good place to start. Vivid.
That passage where you hijack the prayer needs tightening, and with it, it could have a really great cadence, and effortlessly lead your reader through this dark bastardizing of their youth. But yeah, tightening a bit would be awesome.
Good experimental piece, absolutely, and a good use of voice.
Tacit. Ignoring an ex is the most effective... and insulting... technique.
Did you know an Exorcist's greatest weapon against ghosts and devils is to simply ignore them?
Sar. This piece was inspired by a real life ex who wouldn't leave me alone (very similair behavior to the girl in this piece). Most women I've broken up with handle themselves with dignity and pride, but not this one... oh no.
G.D. Holy shit you're right! Brainfart on my part. And yes, you are a geek... that's not a bad thing... geek is the new chic don't you know.
By the way... the name he usually goes by is "Dean Winters." Don't tell anybody yo.
Steff. That was the trickiest part of the piece as a matter of fact. I'd like to tighten it up without losing the original intent. Maybe you could e-mail me some suggestions/variations?
I'd be happy to. Small problem: Me no know your addy.
Drop me a line and I'll reply:
scribecalledsteff@gmail.com.
I have an idea or two.
I like your answer to this horror: "I have to politely explain that I haven't the feintest idea who the fuck this psychotic broad is or why she's saying what it is she's saying."
I'm suddenly feeling a Strangers on a Train moment coming on between you and Sar and your exes.
Steff. -K- I'll send you over something later on today. Thanks.
Aydreeyin. Ah, the awkward "I don't know this bitch" moment. Every man experiences this at one point or another.
I'm game if Sar is. I insure clean, quick work. Or how about I hire you Aydreeyin? You're a professional after all.
"My ding-a-ling is aching to be unsheathed, thirsty for a drink."
That sentence totally made the story. A great touch of lightness to a dark tale.
ah yes, who doesn't know this type of situation, either by witnessing it or by experience.
ding-a-ling rocks!
judging from this vintage outpouring of venom, the object of your affection might prefer a Herpes sore to a Hermes sore.
Rae-Ann. I admit, typing out that line made me smile.
Cheesecakey. It's definitely not fun being the center of this type of drama, I can attess, however, it sure is great fun watching it unfold.
Extraspecial. Those who are blessed with a Hermes sore are in store for an outporing of venom should Hermes grow bored or ignored - a scarlet H forever branded on her chest, worn with pride and vehemence.
I will admit that I have been half of this couple, however, I am mentally ill and have an excuse. He didn't.
Bipolar Princess. LOL, that's too funny. I now imagine YOUR face in place of my ex whenever I think of the that night's events. However, I don't think she was bi-polar. Schizophrenic would be a more appropriate word.
Bipolars do it better honey!
i always admired those who can keep stuff calm and suffer in silence. i am very angry that i start crying in public transportations, for example. what a pathetic fuck up. but i have a friend who is exactly that way. like i d love to be. and she loves me. i never quite understood until i realized that it is all okay. its great that there are people who don't do that and it is great that there are people who bring some salt'n peppa in our lives.
i always think: at least they have something to tell each other tonight, instead of just watching tv.
and sure, they love each other in some way or other. i think IGNORING an ex is so effective and hurtful because indifference is the real opposite to love. hatred isn't...
i loved reading it.
p
Are you kidding? These two are not in love. If anything they're captured in a hungry cycle of lust. They both seem to have an enormous sense of pride and arrogance. Granted I'd have to agree that they still want eachother - but only sexually. I honestly think that she wants him more than he wants her. Why? Well she was obviously on the look out for him when he came to the club right? If she wasn't there would not have been eye contact or shared whispering threats.
The guy seems cool - he's drunk and angry, but he seems to think like any other guy who's been hurt by a girl that he though was worth it but just screwed him over emotionally.
The girl seems like a player. She's a tease - a vixen who preys on men, makes them love her and then drops them. Hurts them. She enjoys it and she also enjoys seeing them again at the clubs, just to tourment them further. She would even further enjoy talking to the guy she hurt and seducing him ALL over again, fucking him hard and then leaving him wanting more and hating himself for it.
Steve. Vitriol at it's finest.
Piranha. I always admired those stoics whom can completely keep their composure in these situations. I am very hot blooded and passionate, like you, and this is a difficult task.
MorningRose. Wow, great compliment. Thanks. I hope you come back and read more.
colonialave. AWESOME reading. I think your assessment of this piece might be the closest to my feelings about it.
"She would even further enjoy talking to the guy she hurt and seducing him ALL over again, fucking him hard and then leaving him wanting more and hating himself for it"
Perfect. Women like this, after all aren't their greatest weapons their bodies?
I guess I know how this guy feels 'cause a lot of my girl friends are like her. Me? I watch the guys get screwed over by my friends. I warn them but for some reason they still want more more more. It must be a guy thing.
Keep writing. I like it.
Bipolar Disorder's no excuse- only another level on which to relate, grow or divide. A factor, agreed, but not something to hide behind. It's the person that has the disorder; not the other way around. I hope you won't misunderstand or take offense; I'm about as bipolar as they come, and we is tribe. You sound smarter than that, anyway.
It is, however, arguable that we taste better...
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