Foul-Mouthed Redemption

This will be difficult for some people to understand, but in my family, I was frequently the target of derision because I was considered soft and naïve. I was never a big enough asshole to fit in. Being a jackass was equated with being a Man, and I just couldn’t compete.

I told you this would be hard to swallow.

Hang on. Are you trying to tell me that YOU’RE the NICE one?

The Men in my family held that douchecanoes possessed an innate advantage over nice people and that by not being a twatwaddle, I was giving up that power and dooming myself to rack and ruin. But a recent conversation I had with a dear friend reminded me of the true stakes between staying a decent human being, and allowing yourself to drift into collar-popping bungdom.

Do you even bro?

A single nice person in a roomful of saw-toothed rectums will get pulled apart in no time flat. It’s true and unfortunate, but there it is. However, a roomful of nice people will work together, invest in each other’s success, and ensure the survival of all, while a bunch of barbed penises will eat each other alive, leaving even the sole survivor hurt and lonely with blood running down his legs.

Even when you win, you lose. “For what profit is it to a man-shaped pile of baked poop if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul, assuming of course that he had one.” God said that, so you know it’s right.

Owing to this lively upbringing, I was at one point headed directly into the narcissistic asshat toilet.

I will never find a more perfect marriage of subject matter and imagery.

And as a quick aside, if you’re seeing this, I promise I’m not talking about you. Literally none of the people I’m discussing would ever lower themselves to reading my fishwrap newsletter. For realz.

It’s kind of a shame that the digital age has robbed this sort of joke of its teeth.

But somewhere along the way I found a different way to live. And then I found Lena, which was when the real changes began. And by the time I found writing and the new group of friends it brought, I was finally ready to be accepted into that roomful of good people. I was ready to belong.

I can’t stand here and tell you that I am some paragon of virtue, or even that I am less self-absorbed and self-interested than any other crunchy sock of a human being. But what I can say is that I acknowledge I was brought to this party by other people who cared about me, believed in me, and were willing to invest their time and experience into seeing me succeed. And I am, at long last, in a place where I can start to pay that forward.

She’s just SO BEAUTIFUL…

So if you’re a cocklobstery, nerf-herding douchosaurus who is getting tired of all the brobags trying to poke you in the kidneys with their poison-dickshivs, I’ve got good news for you. Just spend a little time thinking about who you really want to be, find a good partner who challenges you and makes you try to be a better individual, and in just twenty-five to forty years you could be ready to come into the light and live like a real person.

Or not. You do you. I don’t give a fuck. 😉

(I actually do, but I’m trying to be a Man about it.)

I’m calling this a douchosaur, because I couldn’t find a picture of a cocklobster.

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