Reconciling With Unpleasant People

"Wise Men Say Forgiveness Is Divine, But Never Pay Full Price For Late Pizza"

(If you remember this, your childhood wasn't awesome and you're at least in your 20s)

I'm looking out to a massive crowd of thousands of people. One out of every 3 of them will never be able to forgive some dickhead in their life. Or will they?...this is the internet--the stats I just threw out there are as fake as middle school puppy love (Statistics are silly anyway). Anyway, without throwing some stupid numbers at everyone, from my experience many turds cannot be reconciled with. It isn't just because they are horrible people, but....well reconciliation is difficult for the person stepping forward. Think of it as being the only non-white person stepping into a KKK meeting--it's awkward, you probably hate each other, and finding any reasonable thing to say is damn near impossible.  

With that being said, there are a few questions you need to ask yourself. "Am I the bag of shit? Are they the bag of shit? Are we both piles of shit in the bag together?" Basically, who's the stubborn person in the situation? After one of these glorious questions have been answered it's time to ask yet another question--"Is it forgivable?" How does somebody even receive forgiveness without groveling like an ant begging for its' life as a demented child burns him alive with a magnifying glass? Oh you didn't know that ants grovel? They do.

Short Story Bakery: Dancing With Devils

The Intruder

     "Hey Troy, remember that time you sold that oregano bullshit to those college kids?" I said, picking dirt out of my underdeveloped goatee.

     "Yeah what about it?" Troy asked leaning on his shovel handle, his tall scrawny body held up with ease. 

     "When they called you out on how legit it was, you asked them 'who the fuck do you think I am?' They laughed and actually bought it--you crazy asshole."

     "Fuck em,' I made buku dollars off those college idiots. The stupid pothead is the best customer. Now let's finish digging this fucking trench."

Insecurity--The Silent Killer or Drunken Atom Bomb

Walk Like A Zombie

(Walk on zombie.)

"I'm fat, I'm ugly, I'm incapable of receiving love, and I'm strange!" A human and their insecurities, many of us have them--wait what? "MANY?" Don't we "ALL" have them? Perfect people and nihilistic sociopaths typically don't have any insecurities, nope. What about those of us who do? Feel like a hollow zombie? That smiling laughing facade equivalent to a zombie's grunts and growls? The expression is there, but it's hungry for something. Depending on what the insecurities are, we're looking for something to accommodate it, to fulfill our hunger--we will grunt and growl aimlessly until we are able to sate our insecurities. The human brains and flesh we smell, taking the form of reference points in our lives that will "point us in the right direction." Friends, media, family, and people you've never even met might give you some advice on how to keep the hungry beast of insecurity satisfied, but who wants to live with insecurity? How do we kill it?

Short Story Bakery: Savages

A Curious Dance

Some fucking mall in Southern California, mid-day

     A man holding two shopping bags, wearing a pair of loosely fitted brown khakis, and a black T-shirt stopped near the entrance of a sunglasses store. Lilly, the store associate continuously glanced at this man with curiosity as he stood there for 84 seconds. On the 85th second he began wiggling his hips around, ending this strange dance routine by kicking out his right leg and shaking it. After his display of odd behavior, he exited the small stage he created into the crowds of fashionable shoppers. 

Brian Hates You All

Let The Shit Storm Commence

(Yeah it's kinda like that.)

So here's my new sunny disposition on life. Everyone is an asshole. It's just in our nature to be, we just can't help ourselves. We will eat each other to get ahead of the lunch line, then eat that horrible tasting mac and cheese too--because honestly, who gives a fuck? 

We live in a time where everything we do is quantified and monitored through the scrutiny of our friends and strangers on social media. Our fuck ups last a lifetime boys and girls. Hash tag "fucked." Things typically restricted to a circle of friends in a hangout spot are not restricted anymore at all. Word spreads like a wildfire. With any luck I'll never have a picture posted of of my ass looking like Miley Cyrus--that giraffe tongued pancake assed twerk machine. With that said, I've done a few things I'm not too proud of--and oh yeah it has been spread like peanut butter.

What am I ranting about? I am very flawed, very flawed indeed. There are people that will remind me of this, do they honestly think that I don't know? Idiots. Like many other people, I am definitely my own worst enemy--I destroy most things in my life that have meaning. Things that have no meaning? Oh I can master every meaningless thing you throw at me. Drinking? Oh yes. Video games? I will own dat ass. Calculus? Derivatives solved, bitch. Want an angry post? Here it is because, I, am definitely having a bad day folks. Oh and I do solemnly swear I am up to no good.

Short Story Bakery: A Night To Remember

Wolf In Sheep's Clothing

8:17PM A Cool Huntington Beach California Evening     

     "Leave her the fuck alone Megan!"

     "Priscilla stop fucking defending Quasimodo, she's going to see just what happens when she fucks with other peoples' boyfriends!"

     "She didn't do anything Megan! HE started talking to HER!"

     Megan pushed Veronica down in the middle of the quad, dozens of curious eyes bearing witness to the event. Shouts of "Quasimodo go back to your bell tower!" Could be heard among the trickles of laughter. 

     "Oh look, are those spots of dirt on your face? Oh no? That's natural isn't it Quasimodo?" Megan said as she looked down at Veronica.

     "I...I didn't do anything, I'm sorry Megan," Veronica said mortified with tears in her eyes. 

     "Have some milk, you ugly bitch," Megan grabbed a carton of milk and poured it all over Veronica, "Don't ever fucking talk to MY boyfriend again," Megan said as she walked away triumphantly.

     The school staff intervened, herding the gathered students like cattle to their classes. Priscilla returned after everyone dispersed to see Veronica sitting outside the school office in her change of P.E. clothes with dried milk in parts of her short wavy black hair--the milk remnants giving off a sour pungent scent. Veronica was staring down at the cracks in the concrete floor.

     "Vee...don't worry, you only have two more years at this school," Priscilla said quietly.

     Veronica looked up at Priscilla, speechless, with tears in her dull green eyes.

     "Vee, are you okay honey?"  

With Friends Like These I'd Love Some More Enemies

You're my best friend, but I'd love to see you fail so fucking hard.

(This bitch.)

The "frenemy": people in life who remain close, portray themselves as a "friend" when, in fact, they'd just love to take a shit on your day.

 "OH WOW BRIAN I HAVE SO MANY PEOPLE IN MY LIFE LIKE THIS!" Oh don't we all? At one point or another I've had to cut them out like the intake of rotten foods from my diet, because these people are indeed rotten. I COULD just rant about these shit disturbers, but I have a theory as to why these people love to act like Judas. I mean understanding the "why," that's how we get to the root of any problem right boys and girls?