Nashing Teeth
Bitch Slap The Mother of God
by Austin Nash
Illustration by David Coscia
Interviewer: “Dickhead, we like you. We see you have potential. However, there are two other candidates with more experience and training that we like. Why should we hire you over these other candidates?”
Dickhead: From our meeting today, we’ve agreed that your GOAL is to find a self-starting cocksucker capable of working with great autonomy and developing a support program to wipe the fat asses of two associates on the Partner track. You are looking for someone with the ABILITY and SKILLS to suck dick for a number of different groups when necessary with equal effectiveness. When you look at what I ACCOMPLISHED at Fucme, you’ll see that that is exactly what I did there.
Moreover, I possess the VALUES you look for in a member of your team – I am organized, have excellent communication skills, outstanding PC skills, and a tight butt turned up high with the sun shining on one side.
Dejection. Shame. Humiliation. On the sacrificial altar to success. That’s where she left me. Don’t leave me baby. I told you never to leave me. I’ll slap you up, bitch. It’s all part of the screw you start getting when you turn 22. I have the hockey game on the radio. I never listen to hockey but somehow I get the feeling that that’s what people in my situation do, after picking up an unemployment check, the pieces, a large beer in a green bottle, and the one-hitter that I know has another hit in it. If there’s one guy who can get a hit off an old dead bowl, it’s Matt Salgren. If there’s two, I’m in there.
My feeling is that she is sorry. I don’t think that she meant for this to happen. I can’t be sure of that because I’ll never talk to her again. I like to think that once she started the ball rolling, the decision was out of her hands. That’s the good movie. The bad film is that the mushroom head New York bitch was more interested in the excitement of being caught up in a chance to scratch one into the tired old tree of woe slumping over into the garden of feminism than in considering the consequences of her actions. Either that, or she just wet her pants and didn’t know what to do. Though I wouldn’t do it, I know she needs to be fucked. Feminism is a flower like the carnation and the marigold, nails of love and nails of death, or nails of blood on fingers of snow, and the game plays on. Come get me.
I lost my job this week. Me! Don’t make me say that again. Me! Raised to tell the truth and face into the wind, even when it’s throwing shards of glass in my eyes. Taught to take my medicine like a man and move on. Commanded to be proud of what I do. A solid block of granite gritty against the rain. Telling the truth is one of the most difficult things in life. It shows you what you are because you committed the crime, then you admit to yourself that you not only know the crime, but you are friends with it. Nobody does a crime they are not ready for. The prisoner is not he who commits the crime, but he who lives the crime over and over. I choose to put it behind me, and wait for it to catch up.
I was sure that I would make it through my life without ever losing a job, I have too much to fear. Two days ago at 3 pm everything was in order, at 3:30 I was standing on the sidewalk with my hands in my pockets feeling like Auden when he said, “My face looks like a wedding-cake left out in the rain.” My eyes felt like it as I rubbed out the glass.
I am not angry with her. I did what I did and I shouldn’t have done it. A few lewd words on a discarded sheaf of paper ended up in her carry bag at a bar over drinks. It was childish, and I feel shame. I never meant for it to be there, none of us did. I didn’t even put it there. But baby I heard you say “fuck” at the table. That meant you were one of the guys but you were really saying, “Watch what you say because I am acid, I am poison, I am the golden snake sunning on a log, I am red and red means blood, I am dangerous because I do not think before matters of diplomacy, I am bait… can’t you smell it? The unfortunate writhe in the grip of the uncaring, the unaware die under the foot of Surprise. I do not think that maybe later, I will be sorry for what I do. Right after you are for both of us.”
I said I am not angry with her. And I am not. But only because I have an uncanny ability to accept responsibility and blame. I wake up saying I’m sorry and I don’t even know why. Just getting a jump on the day I guess. A woman has to protect herself in the workplace. Why waste all of those years of catching up only to expel them like so much fart gas into the face of equality? Even though it was easier for everybody when things were unequal. The Feminist Movement is like the Teamsters union. They manage by being a victim. You would be hard pressed to convince me that such a movement exists as anything greater than could be found in the minds of those who created it. Let’s face it, inequality of the sexes goes back a long way. All the way back to when the first man to stand erect chased down the first shit-hoofed animal to eat, because he was strong enough, and the woman, who wasn’t, wanted some too. The woman was dependent on him for this food and was given the gift of childbirth in return, thus, each had a grip on the other’s balls. Then somewhere in there, woman eliminated her weakness with a sharp rock, and became only gift.
We’re fighting something that’s been ingrained into creationism/evolutionism, whichever your pleasure, for at least 150 million years and it is not going to be defeated in a mere half century. Just relax, honey. Humans are capable of abstract thought and getting smarter all the time, I think, even men, and equality is inevitable. There is no need for this pushing and shoving or the opportunistic digs into the eyes of friends. Women will always be raped and fucked. For this I am truly sorry, but it will never be by me, and I never wanted it for myself either. Thank you Chris…
I repeat: A woman has the right to protect herself in the workplace. People are not always what they seem. Women today are given tools, superpowers so to speak, that proverbial torch of righteousness to push into our faces. The right to carry a sidearm in the workplace. This is a big responsibility. Give it to a 23 year old secretary from a college in New York and what do you expect? With the new laws, women have but to accuse a male co-worker of inappropriate conduct of a sexual or discriminatory nature to have an investigation conducted. If the accusation is completely fabricated, there is only a 50% chance the man will suffer some disciplinary action. The best thing that can happen is that he will suffer a mark dark enough on his record to justify a move to a neighboring state, and this only for being suspect.
No job no money no food. This is only fun if you have nothing to fall back on. Being poor means your girlfriend has to screw a loser. My girlfriend already has a deadbeat ex who calls me and threatens me with death. I tell him to get a job. What the hell am I going to tell him now?
