Tuesday, June 9, 2009

My Ode to "B"

I need to get something off my chest. I do not like "B." In fact, I despise her. I loathe her being.

And if you must know why, here goes...

She is a vulgar little maggot, a worthless bag of filth. She couldn't pour piss out of a boot with the instructions on the heel. She is a canker, a sore that won't go away.

She is degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just for knowing she exists. I despise everything about her. She is a bloody nard less twit protohominid chromosomally aberrant caricature of a coprophagic cloacal parasitic pond scum, and I wish she would go away.

She is a putrescent mass, a walking vomit. She is a spineless little worm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt. She is a jerk, a cad, a weasel. Her life is a monument to stupidity. She is a stench, a revulsion, a putrefaction, a big suck on a sour lemon with a lime twist.

She is a bleating foal, a curdled staggering mutant dwarf smeared richly with the effluvia and offal accompanying her alleged birth into this world; an insensate, blinking calf, meaningful to nobody, abandoned by the puke-drooling, giggling beasts that spawned her and then killed themselves in regret for what they had done.

I will never get over the utter feelings of debasement from belonging to the same species as “B.” She is a monster, an ogre, a malformation. I barf at the very thought of her. She has all the appeal of a paper cut. Lepers avoid her. She is vile, worthless, less than nothing. She is a weed, a fungus, a ferment, the dregs of this earth. And did I mention that she smells?

If she isn't an idiot, she is making a world-class effort at simulating one.

She is a snail-skulled little twit. Would that a hawk pick her up, drive its beak into her brain, and upon finding it rancid set her loose to fly briefly before spattering the ocean rocks with the frothy pink shame of her ignoble blood. May she choke on the queasy, convulsing nausea of her own trite, foolish beliefs.

She is weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. She is grimy, squalid, nasty and profane. She is foul and disgusting. She is a fool, an ignoramus. Monkeys look down on her. Even sheep won't have sex with her. Her hand even refuses autoerotism. She is unreservedly pathetic, starved for attention, and lost in a land that reality forgot.

And yet she expects her delusional self-important statements of unknowing, inexperienced opinion to have meaning with us. She blindly fantasizes that her tiny-fisted tantrums have more weight than that of a leprous desert rat, spinning rabidly in a circle, waiting for the bite of the snake.

She is a waste of flesh. She has no rhythm. She is ridiculous and obnoxious. She is the moral equivalent of a leech. She is a living emptiness, a meaningless void. She is sour and senile. She is a disease; a puerile one-handed slack-jawed drooling meat slapper.

On a good day she’s a half-wit. She reminds me of drool. She is deficient in all that lends character. She has the personality of wallpaper. She is dank and filthy. She is asinine and benighted. She is the source of all unpleasantness. She spreads misery and sorrow wherever she goes.

I cannot believe how incredibly stupid she is. I mean rock-hard stupid. Dehydrated-rock-hard stupid. Stupid. So stupid that it goes way beyond the stupid we know into a whole different dimension of stupid. She is trans-stupid stupid. Meta-stupid. Stupid collapsed on itself so far that even the neutrons have collapsed. Stupid so dense that no intellect can escape. Singularly stupid. Blazing hot mid-day sun on the warm side of Mercury stupid. She emits more stupid in one second than our entire galaxy emits in a year. Quasar stupid. Her life must be blatant trolling, for nothing in our universe can really be that stupid. Perhaps she is some primordial fragment from the original Big Bang of Stupid; some pure essence of stupid so uncontaminated by anything else as to be beyond the laws of physics that we know. I'm sorry. I can't go on. This is an epiphany of stupid for me.

If I traded “B” for shit, I would probably have to throw in a six-pack of warm Pabst Blue Ribbon just to make it an even deal.

Other than that, I have no problem with the girl.

No comments:

Post a Comment