The Faux Pas Press #58

The Faux Pas Press #58

14 October 2010

By Jason Fresh

Hours spent watching television.

The ON switch flipped within the major appliances - the factory of my life producing, right now and at every point in spacetime, the right to exist and express freely, the right to wage war. So, I spit on the cement in your hometown because you’re not connected enough to stop me. I run faster than I’ve ever ran before. But what does that mean? That I get to arrive nowhere quicker? I jerk the chain of accomplishment only to discover that chain is connected to a toilet. I wear short running shorts because I know it makes you uncomfortable. How crazy must you be to hand your emotional comfort to a guy like me?

How insignificant to continue struggling toward a meaningless aim. You jerk off to one of those TEXT commercials with the busty females who moonlight at the gentleman’s club. That’s not my fault that. Nope, it is not my fault that you stare at my crotch. No, not my damn fault at all. If I put a part in my hair and own a gift card exchange business when I’m 60, shoot me, shoot me with a revolver stolen form my grandmother’s purse. If I survive, send me to work at a furniture store while living at the VA Hospital. If you suffer from inflammatory bowel disease after taking the medication ACUTANE – go fuck yourself. I don’t even know what inflammatory bowel disease is. If I was affected how would I know? I did take ACUTANE. I will still probably go fuck myself – even if I don’t have inflammatory bowel disease.