The Pussy

Responsible Citizen

Look at you, they tell me. Look at you getting your shit together. Doesn’t it feel good.

Doesn’t it feel good to pay your bills. Finally open the overstuffed mailbox that has stood so long for your irresponsibility. Take out 11 pounds of flyers for the Mexican meat market. CMYK newsprint pictures of a flayed sheep’s head. 69 cents a pound. Fair price but the place smells like a mass grave; there are flies. Leaf through each page of sheep’s heads and weird spiky fruits and economy pack off brand diapers in case a warrant for your death got trapped in there, a letter from your dying father, your car registration, the bill for the overdue registration from your old car with a threatening letter saying the state will garnish your wages. Thing’s been in a junkyard for 3 years. Doesn’t it feel good to do that. To clip your toenails regularly. Wash your dishes clean the fish tank have a stilted 15 minute call with your mother, your father, your uncle. How’s the job going, they ask. How’s the job, the bills, the money, the job the job the job. Doesn’t it feel good to show up to work, to be of service. To make financial amends with your credit card company. With the hospital that charged 28 grand to lance a boil. To track down your creditors, call them, to sit on hold with the DMV, with traffic court. Call between the hours of 8:30 and 11:30 Monday through Wednesday. If you call at 8:29 please call back during telephone hours. If you call at 8:30:005 I’m sorry there are too many people in the queue please try back at a later time. If you manage to dial the last digit at 8:29:57 and have the phone company route your call in exactly three seconds, not 3.001, not 2.999– it took eight days of trying for that to happen. Just to get in the hold queue. Just to be on hold for 41 minutes and then get told they can’t handle this kind of issue on the phone sir, sir, at this time, sir, I do apologize at this moment I am unable to help with your query, sir, I do apologize the system won’t allow it, you need to mail the proof of ownership to blah blah blah. You don’t have the proof of ownership. You will just have to pay to register this old car forever. Fine. Doesn’t it feel good to have shit handled– no. If I’ve paid a bill I have the shit handled once. Before I didn’t have it handled at all. In both cases I still have to handle it constantly, forever, until I die. Nothing has changed.

Doesn’t it feel good to seek healthy human connections. You used to use people compulsively. Got 23 year old girls on OKCupid, they liked you and you fucked them and you never called them again. Now, now you can meet quality women in real life. Girls on the street look at you like you’re a worm.

Doesn’t it feel good to drop off your dry cleaning and eat your vegetables and jerk off to porn that isn’t underage Russian Stickam videos and watch Louis CK or some shit and pass out on the couch. Wake up at six god damn motherfucking thirty in the morning and get in the car, doesn’t it feel good that you had the brakes done, that you made the blinkers work, you had the tires aligned so it didn’t pull slightly to the left anymore; doesn’t all that feel good.? No. It doesn’t even make you not feel bad. The anxiety you used to feel just gets replaced with other shit. You used to worry about last month’s bills, now you worry about next month’s bills. There is no accomplishment. Just a constant firehose of tiny pains in the ass forever. It will never stop. It will only get worse as your body and mind fall apart and you stay alone.

Doesn’t it feel good to have a paycheck and medical and dental and a 401(k). No. No it does not. Take all this shit and shove it right up your ass. I’m fucking sick of being a good person. A good brother, son, friend, worker, being of service, not drinking, being an instrument of my higher power’s will. I want to blow a rail and pound a World’s Greatest Secretary mug full of cheap brandy and rawdog an underage Mexican god dammit. Fuck God and fuck the Earth and fuck my fellow human beings. I want to give some Tinder slut herpes; I want to kick a retarded baby and dump an old man out of a wheelchair into traffic. Anyway good morning.