Irrationally pissed off
My pals, A. and V., are on my shitlist. They are officially in the doghouse. Those fucking spineless cowards. I fail to understand why everyone I meet is all talk except myself. When I say I am going to do something, I fucking do it. It's that simple. I cannot stomach people who come up with elaborate plans for outrageous ideas and lack the goddamned testicles to enact them. Somehow, that has always seemed to be the case with everyone I have ever befriended.
So, I am pissed. I am pissed because I was working on a little performance art, my final hurrah with S., my departing "fuck you very much" and my pussy friends managed to royally fuck it all up.
So, after spending eighty bucks on that gift, after handdrawing a vaguely offensive monkey cartoon on the back of an equally bizarre note scrawled in crayon, after wrapping the whole thing up in football paper, after finishing the package off with an Independance Day bow, after ended my "coffee date" abruptly to deliver the gift, after being trapped for several fucking hours in V.'s backyard, after being eaten alive by mosquitoes, after being bored out of my mind by V.'s pedantic father, after going home ignorant of how the party my friends were attending was going...
... after all that, I do not even know that the gift ever arrived.
Once out of my earshot, V. revealed himself to be the abominable coward that he is. The jolly, fat man who so delights in making inappropriate jokes at other people's expenses did not want to be inconvenienced because he was having a bad day.
"Listen," he told A. "I have had a really bad day. My girlfriend may have just broken up with me. I do not want to deal with any more stress today. We will give the gift to S. after the party."
A., as per usual, revealed himself to be the weak-willed little ninny I have always known him to be and acquiesced. Then, standing in a room with twenty or so people (only three to four of which were S.'s friends, because he has few), A. began to wonder why he was there. A. realized that he was not really S.'s friend and he had been invited by V. only to keep V. company at what would otherwise be an awkward event. A. realized this and decided to leave early.
But there was still the matter of the gift in his car.
V. told A. to leave the gift with him; he would give it to S. later. I believe that as much as I believe anything else these two worthless liars ever say. A., to his credit, did not believe it either so he told V. he would "take care of it" (one wonders if, at this point, V. believed they had agreed to make it vanish altogether). In his mind, doing me a favor (and in my mind doing little more than making the gift "vanish" afterall), A. waited until V. returned to the party, then ran up and put the gift on the front doorstep.
Maybe I should be satisfied with this, but I am not. Front doorsteps are for dead squirrels or flaming bags of dog shit.
So, we have no way of knowing how or when the gift was received. We, in fact, have no way of knowing it was ever received. Maybe V. was the next person to open that door and he spirited it away. Maybe it sat out there all evening until some homeless person or morally bankrupt youth happened by and grabbed it from the doorstep. Maybe, maybe, maybe. For all I know, the gift is now in Morocco being bartered for by a toothless man with nine fingers.
And even if the gift was received I frankly disapprove of how it was received. It makes me look like some gutless coward who was too afraid to make a personal appearance and so surreptitiously stalked up to the house and left the gift on the doorstep. This is not the case. I would have attended that party if I had been invited. I would have walked right up to my ex and handed him the card myself. I would have smiled maliciously as he read it and faked a laugh with the rest of his gathered relatives.
Instead, I wasted considerable time and money on nothing. A moment of perfect Art that was sacrificed because my two chums are gutless.
I am pissed.
So, I am pissed. I am pissed because I was working on a little performance art, my final hurrah with S., my departing "fuck you very much" and my pussy friends managed to royally fuck it all up.
So, after spending eighty bucks on that gift, after handdrawing a vaguely offensive monkey cartoon on the back of an equally bizarre note scrawled in crayon, after wrapping the whole thing up in football paper, after finishing the package off with an Independance Day bow, after ended my "coffee date" abruptly to deliver the gift, after being trapped for several fucking hours in V.'s backyard, after being eaten alive by mosquitoes, after being bored out of my mind by V.'s pedantic father, after going home ignorant of how the party my friends were attending was going...
... after all that, I do not even know that the gift ever arrived.
Once out of my earshot, V. revealed himself to be the abominable coward that he is. The jolly, fat man who so delights in making inappropriate jokes at other people's expenses did not want to be inconvenienced because he was having a bad day.
"Listen," he told A. "I have had a really bad day. My girlfriend may have just broken up with me. I do not want to deal with any more stress today. We will give the gift to S. after the party."
A., as per usual, revealed himself to be the weak-willed little ninny I have always known him to be and acquiesced. Then, standing in a room with twenty or so people (only three to four of which were S.'s friends, because he has few), A. began to wonder why he was there. A. realized that he was not really S.'s friend and he had been invited by V. only to keep V. company at what would otherwise be an awkward event. A. realized this and decided to leave early.
But there was still the matter of the gift in his car.
V. told A. to leave the gift with him; he would give it to S. later. I believe that as much as I believe anything else these two worthless liars ever say. A., to his credit, did not believe it either so he told V. he would "take care of it" (one wonders if, at this point, V. believed they had agreed to make it vanish altogether). In his mind, doing me a favor (and in my mind doing little more than making the gift "vanish" afterall), A. waited until V. returned to the party, then ran up and put the gift on the front doorstep.
Maybe I should be satisfied with this, but I am not. Front doorsteps are for dead squirrels or flaming bags of dog shit.
So, we have no way of knowing how or when the gift was received. We, in fact, have no way of knowing it was ever received. Maybe V. was the next person to open that door and he spirited it away. Maybe it sat out there all evening until some homeless person or morally bankrupt youth happened by and grabbed it from the doorstep. Maybe, maybe, maybe. For all I know, the gift is now in Morocco being bartered for by a toothless man with nine fingers.
And even if the gift was received I frankly disapprove of how it was received. It makes me look like some gutless coward who was too afraid to make a personal appearance and so surreptitiously stalked up to the house and left the gift on the doorstep. This is not the case. I would have attended that party if I had been invited. I would have walked right up to my ex and handed him the card myself. I would have smiled maliciously as he read it and faked a laugh with the rest of his gathered relatives.
Instead, I wasted considerable time and money on nothing. A moment of perfect Art that was sacrificed because my two chums are gutless.
I am pissed.