The poor me complex

The preacher makes an entrance once a week.  I know he chooses Wednesdays because that’s my worst day, and the day I’ll be most irritated – he does it just to annoy me.  As his jovial face comes into view, I can’t help but think his immaculately trimmed beard resembles a vagina.

He talks of humming birds, rainbows and orchids.  I call his rainbow, and raise him Ebola and flesh eating bacteria.  He counters with sunsets and dolphins dancing on the horizon, but I’m ready for him and spit out tsunamis and earthquakes.   Defeated, the preacher skulks away.  I smirk and wallow in my own sense of unwavering moral realism, let out a silly giggle and hurl the book he left on my desk, hitting him on the back of the head.  

The silly cunt who works in the front office scheduled an appointment for me outside of my normal working hours.  The sour bitch did it because she knew I wasn’t well, and wanted to take advantage of the fact.  She nodded her head apologetically, but I knew I could see a smirk underneath her mock concern.  I wondered what the fuck went on in her vacuous skull, and concluded probably nothing.

There’s this fat arsed bitch who runs lingerie parties, and leaves catalogues around the office.  I enjoy running my eyes over the dumb slut models between the pages, but any guilt I have is quickly drowned out in a wave of mighty self-righteousness.  I can perve on these slags, and wank to porn, and still be untouchable because I’m one of the enlightened ones.  I imagine the toad hostess wearing some of the outfits in the catalogue and suppress an urge to vomit on her.

I’m vaguely aware of a woman telling me a story about being continually raped by Salvation Army Officers whilst she was a resident in a girls home.  She said one would insert a bottle inside her, whilst the other masturbated on her face.  I file this story away for my next enounter with the preacher, and can’t help but smirk.

Another woman is complaing about money.  You see apparantly some bitch owes her about $50, and she’s pissed off that she’ll never get it back.  The ‘bitch’ who owes the money bought her stash of methodone, then had the poor manners to die of an overdose.   “Cunt” she screams out, as she pushes her instant coffee off the stool.

Finally in bed, I’m distracted by those motherfucking termites I can hear eating my fence.  The cunts with their single minded hunger chose now to start their chomping, because they know now is exactly the time that will annoy me the most.  I can also hear the bubbling of the septic tank.  Those cocksucking bacteria have conspired with the palm tree root – the one causing the crack in the side of the concrete.  I know this, because it’s the section right outside my bedroom window, and  is the place the stench of the rank fetid fluid can most easily make it to my nostrils.

The rain is getting heavier now, water is running down the inside of my walls, and the animals are stirring.  My arm is sore, and I realise that my baby is lying on it.  I’ve had to hold her to sleep again as she sobbed miserably – a regular occurance.  I listen to her rythmic breathing, and wonder how I’ll make it, and where the fuck the alleged hummingbirds are.

Published in: on June 23, 2009 at 12:50 am  Comments (3)