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Loathing - The Decline of Sanity
I
I’ve been trying to figure this out for years, and now I’ve finally brought myself to the brink of utter insanity. Why would we create a concept so grand and so complex that it actually hates each and every one of us from the very start? Original sin, hah! Why would a god create us in his own image, then leave us stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, clueless and alone?
“God is dead”, Nietzsche said. “And no one cares”, added Trent Reznor a century or so later.
Well I care, god damn it, and I want my money back!
If the concept of god is nothing more than a figment of our collective imaginations, then does he/she/it truly exist at all to even be declared dead?
Descartes once said, “I think, therefore I am”. Well, if we think of something, then does it become real just because we think it. Maybe he should have said, “I think, it therefore it is”. I’m more of a believer of one of his other famous sayings, “de omnibus dubitandum”. Doubt everything.
If humanity created the concept of god based on our imaginations alone, then why the hell did we make him such a tyrannical and sadistic omnipotent being bent on bringing about our own destruction via the Apocalypse?
At least I’m not the only one stuck on a downward-spiraling path of self-destruction. It looks like the whole god-fearing world is following right on my trails. Sheep.
My name is Jeff Thompson and I loath you.
Don’t be offended, I loathe everything. I loathe you, I loathe me, I loathe everyone.
Here’s a short list of everything that I loathe:
- cute and cuddly pets
- warm, sunny days
- pretty people
- the beach
- pop music
- the government
- religion
- life
Need I go on?
My name is Jeff Thompson and I am a drug-addled, narcissistic, hypocritical, misogynistic, heathen anarchist. Just call me the antichrist.
The only thing that gets me through every fucking bleak and dreary day is my rainbow-colored assortment of drugs that pull me up, push me down and overall allow me to escape from this hell we call reality.
I take lots of them.
I take them by the handful.
I take them by the pound.
I’ll take anything, anywhere, at anytime just to make me forget, just for one blissful fucking second, that I am nothing but a lonely, miserable person trapped in a miserable, disconnected world.
I think, therefore I am.
I wish I was brain dead.
Now don’t get me wrong here. If you met me on the streets, you wouldn’t believe that I was a masochistic, nihilistic, pathetic wretch of a man. I go to work everyday in a three-piece suit, hang out with people that call me friend, and even have a beautiful wife and two teenage children. A boy and a girl.
I hate them all, but they have no idea.
I also wasn’t always like this. I seem to remember, like one would remember a vivid dream, that I was once happy. When I first got married to my wife, I was happy. When our two children were born, I was happy.
At least I thought I was. Whoever said that a leopard can’t change its spots has obviously never met me.
I was once a happy, easygoing, fun loving guy. Now I loathe that person, along with everything else in this fake, superficial society.
I want to burn it all down then piss on the ashes.
II
Okay, well before I go any further, I just wanted to tell you that it wasn’t always like this. I used to be what other people referred to as “normal”. I used to be a mediocre man with a mediocre life and a mediocre job. I had a mediocre dog, a mediocre car and a mediocre house.
Do you sense a theme here yet?
You know the guy who thinks he is the “society-police” and doesn’t allow you back into a long line when your place was saved?
Well, that’s not me, but he is the reason why this all started. Fucking people.
I was taking a lunch break from my mediocre job and drove to a mediocre fast food joint in my mediocre car. It was noon, and the lunch rush line was out the door. Everyone and their mother were there, and all I wanted was some golden, tasty fries and a cold, frothy beverage. I used to be a lot less complex.
I took my place behind some fat, sweaty lady in ripped, baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt with some cheap beer’s logo on it, stained with what looked like day old spaghetti sauce. The disheveled woman was holding a baby in one of her arms while four other snot-nosed little kids ran around the restaurant screaming and causing chaos. They knocked over napkins and straws onto the ground, bumped into other people waiting in line and picked up trays and started hitting each other with them. They even kept pushing the ketchup dispensers until the whole countertop was covered in a red, sticky, coagulating puddle. The inattentive mother seemed to finally notice what her rugrats were doing and snapped at them.
“Get back here you little shits”, the fat woman screamed at the top of her lungs.
Her voice sounded husky and gravelly as she choked back a wad of phlegm in the back of her throat from a three pack-a-day cigarette habit. She coughed into her hand and looked at the dislodged wad of dark brown phlegm before wiping the mess on the leg of her pants. On her pants hung a slimy, gooey brown trail stretching from her knee to her waist.
The disgusting woman’s dirty and mischievous little kids cam running back at the sound of their mother’s throaty beckon. One of the kids hugged the mother’s ham of a leg and smeared the sticky trail of germ-filled-goo into his hair.
I looked at the baby the fat woman was holding in her arms. It was a cute baby. A boy, I think. The baby’s face was dirty, looking as if it hadn’t been washed for a few days, but he had a certain glow about him. The baby’s eyes caught my own and we both smiled. I made a funny face and he laughed. I covered my eyes with my hands and he cooed.
After playing peek-a-boo for a while with the baby, the line moved up slightly. There were still at least ten people in front of me, including the fat woman and her litter of children. As I glanced up again at the baby, I noticed he had a very peculiar look on his face. His eyes bulged, as well as his cheeks. In less than a second, my face was covered in a thick, white, sour-smelling substance. I didn’t even have a chance to flinch before the baby threw up on me.
Most people would have lost their appetite by this point, but I had two kids of my own and skipped breakfast that morning. A little baby spit-up wasn’t going to prevent me from obtaining the food I so desired. Eating lunch at a mediocre restaurant was one of the higher points of my mediocre life. Plus, I was starving.
I tapped the fat, disgusting lady on the shoulder. She turned around and I was assaulted by her horrendous face that looked like the failed experiment by an insane ex-employee of a cosmetic company.
The fat woman’s hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, revealing her thick, black roots underneath of the thin, straight unnaturally whitish-blonde hair. Her bloodshot eyes were hidden by thick shades of black and blue makeup. Her lipstick was a smeared shade of blue and green that made her look as if she had hypothermia.
“Yeah, whaddyawant”, the fat lady asked, slurring the last three words together. A trail of drool ran down her plump, red face and down the ridges of her multiple chins.
“Excuse me, miss”, I asked politely of the fat lady, wiping the spittle out of my eyes still. “Your baby just threw up all over me.”
“Yeah, so”, the woman responded defensively. She clutched her baby tightly to her chest as if I was suddenly going to leap and attack them like a lion.
“I have two kids of my own”, I said in an attempt to put the woman at ease. “I was just wondering if you could please hold my spot while I went to the bathroom and cleaned it off?”
The woman looked at me and blew a puff of air out of her nose. She reminded me of a cow.
“Yeah, whatever”, the woman mumbled, as she turned around realizing I was no threat to her or her gaggle of kids.
“Thanks”, I said to the back of the woman’s head as the baby began to cry. I walked to the bathroom, turned on the faucet and reached for the paper towels. Empty. Thinking I could use toilet paper instead, I walked into the one, lonely stall. Empty. I splashed my face with water and used my blood red tie to dry myself off. I noted the sign telling employees that they must wash their hands before going back to work. I laughed at the situation and went back to the restaurant to take my place in line.
When I got back to the line, the fat woman was already at the counter ordering five kid’s meals for her children, a number one, a number six, two apple pies and one diet cola. As if the diet soda was going to balance out the caloric intake equivalent to what Papa New Guinea consumes in a year.
I went to take my place behind the fat woman, but a tall, surly man behind her blocked my way and gave me a dirty look.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa”, the intimidating man said, pushing me backwards. “What do you think you’re doing, buddy?”
“Excuse me”, I said politely. “But I just had to run to the bathroom because that lady’s baby just spit up on me.” I pointed to the baby cradled in the fat woman’s arms.
“Isn’t that true, miss”, I said, tapping the fat woman on her pillow-like shoulders.
The fat woman snorted and counted the change on the counter.
“Huh, I dunno”, the fat woman said, ignoring me and continuing to count out her food payment in nickels, dimes and quarters. At least it wasn’t in all pennies.
“Look, pal”, the surly man said. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play here, but the back of the line start’s back there.” The man pushed me again and pointed towards the doorway.
“Seriously”, I said to the surly man. “Just ask this woman, I asked her to save my place for me.”
The fat woman finally finished counting her money, slid it across the metal counter to the cashier and grabbed her two trays of food. I looked over to the woman for some help, but she simply turned her nose up at me.
“Look”, the woman said to me. “I don’t want to get involved in this. Just leave me alone.”
I couldn’t believe this fat bitch. First her little shit pukes on me, then she won’t even tell this guy she held my place? People can be so selfish!
“Next”, the pimply-looking teenager said from behind the counter.
I advanced to the counter, but a set of strong hands grabbed me from the back of my shoulder and flung me backwards towards the ground. I landed on my ass and skidded backwards on the dirty and greasy floor. My back thumped hard against the bottom of the condiment station and a waterfall of ketchup rained down upon my head.
Everyone in the restaurant broke out in a roar of laughter. Some people pointed to me while they laughed out loud, while others held their bellies and cupped their mouths in an attempt to keep the laughter contained. There isn’t even a word for how humiliated I felt.
I ran out of the restaurant, not even caring how I looked to the people walking in, and sped home. I vowed to myself that I would never again help out a single sole as long as I lived.
You know the guy passing you on the shoulder going ninety and flipping you off?
Yeah, that’s now me.
III
You know the guy who comes home after a long, bad day and takes it out on his wife and kids?
Well, that’s not me, but it sure is my next door neighbor Charlie.
I came home early from work that day, dried ketchup stained into my three hundred dollar suit. I doubted that I would be able to wear that suit ever again. I speed into my driveway and come to a screeching halt inches in front of my garage door. I saw that Charlie was out watering his dead, yellow lawn as usual. I don’t know why he even bothered. Charlie used to work for the Bureau of Prisons as a halfway house counselor until they found out he was dumping kids on the street and collecting their checks illegally.
I waved to Charlie and headed up the front walkway, mumbling under my breath that I wished he got cancer. That bastard deserved a lot more than a cushy severance from the state, he deserved cancer. And AIDS. And syphilis. I read that he even once had something to do with the “Seattle Stalker” that they just executed on television. It wouldn’t surprise me if the killer was one of the kids abandoned by Charlie to the harsh, cruel streets.
“Howdy, neighbor”, I say to Charlie. “Beautiful day out today.” I am smiling my usual shit-eating smile. It takes all my energy just to pretend to be happy.
Charlie let go of the hose’s handle and the water ceased to come out. His wife emerged from his house’s doorway and she popped her head out. I noticed she had a recent shiner on her right eye. Looks like good ol’ Charlie was at it again. I wonder what he punched her for this time?
“Sure is”, Charlie responded. “Hey, can I borrow some AAA batteries? My remote is on the fritz and I hate getting up to change the channels. I was stuck watching infomercials all night last night.”
I just bought some new batteries the previous day. Fuck him, let him get his own batteries.
“No, sorry, Charlie”, I lied. “Fresh out. Wish I could help you.”
I walked inside and slammed the door shut behind me.
Luckily for me, my wife was still at work and my kids were still at school. My wife worked as a teacher for high school. She taught English. I think she was cheating on me with the principal of her school. Anytime I went to pick her up, they were always chatting and laughing. When Jane, my wife, laughed, she put her hands on his shoulders and doubled over like whatever he said was the most hysterical thing in the world. I wanted to shove his cock into one of those oversize pencil sharpeners and grind his manhood down to a small point. I hated them both.
My two kids, a boy and a girl, were sixteen and seventeen respectively. They spent very little time in the house even when they weren’t in school. Both kids were dating and I hated both of their choices in partners. My son, Michael, was dating a trashy, mean and demeaning troll of a girl. The girlfriend was short and plump, with a shelf ass that could balance a set of encyclopedias. I don’t know what my son saw in her. She was controlling, bitchy and ugly. I hated him for even liking her.
On the other hand, my daughter, Emily, was dating a guy who could have passed for a James Dean look-alike. The boyfriend wore a white undershirt covered in a black leather jacket. His hair was slicked back with some kind of greasy hair product that smelled of chemicals. He smoked like a chimney and would often peel out of the driveway when he came to pick up my daughter. I hated the son of a bitch and wanted to ram his head directly into the shiny steel grill of his sixty-six GTO muscle car. He must have been compensating for something else of his that was tiny. Emily wasn’t too much of a looker, and to get attention she dressed her rail-thin frame in the skimpiest outfits that she could find at the mall’s deluge of overpriced shops. For all intents and purposes, she was a sheep and a total slut. I hated her.
I stripped out of my soiled clothing and walked naked across the kitchen. I dumped my pile of laundry in with the rest and went upstairs. I sprawled my naked self out across the clean, fresh-smelling linen on the bed and flipped on the television. One of the channels was playing reruns of “To Catch a Predator” with Chris Hansen.
“Why don’t you take a seat”, the tiny little Chris Hansen said from inside of the glowing rectangle.
I look at who he’s talking to and realize that I know the goddamn pedophile they are chastising.
You know the guy diddling your twelve year old daughter?
Well, that’s not be, but it turns out it is my other next door neighbor Chester. Chester the Molester.
I wondered how easy it would be to just pack up all my shit and vanish in the middle of the night without anyone noticing.
MORE CHAPTERS COMING SOON!!!
(C) 2009 James Marcoff
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