Get a clue.

I never understood why some people couldn’t take a hint. You know what I mean? Those people that are really just fucking pissing you off and they’re too simpleminded to realize. I can’t stand those obtuse twats, and in some cases, I feel bad but get the fuck away from me. I can only take some people for so long and then I get to a point where I’d rather have my ears bitten off by Mike Tyson then have to listen to them even take another breath. Really, most people I have come to meet in this life, either talk too much or they just flat out rub me the wrong way when they happen to look in my direction. The pathetic smiles of imbeciles. We’re surrounded by them everyday, and it starts to make one wonder whether or not they’re a headcase. At least, I know have I been contemplating the thought for some time.

I often find myself thinking, am I nuts or am I just surrounded by shitheads drowning in their own sanity? Seriously, something’s gotta give. The other night, I’m at this bar, some rundown shithole, nothing too fancy, where I had the pleasure of acquainting some poor bastard. The man’s name was Beauregard. Yeah, Beauregard, like this asshole was from 1820, and no joke, he told me to call him Bowie. Just like David. Also, I actually shouldn’t say that it was a pleasure, it was probably more apathy because Bowie was the one that seemed to be having a pleasant time. Anyway, found my way to this bar after work to be alone and suffocate in my own thoughts.

Couldn’t go home because silence was absent in my house, so I went looking for the darkest, smallest place with an empty parking lot and an open sign flickering in the window. Meanwhile, just trying to have a chance to hear myself think, who else but Beauregard, comes storming up to the booth where I was sitting alone. I immediately knew that god should have killed me in that moment. There was a rum and coke sitting in front of me and as this goofy douchebag makes his way to sit in the booth uninvited and unwanted, he slams a beer down on the table in front of me. Sliding the highball away from my grasp, he screamed, “Hey pal, the name is Beauregard, you can call me Bowie. Have a beer on me, what brings you to this old pub!”

Now what I wanted to inform this man was that, I didn’t want to call him anything whether it be Bowie or jerkoff, especially since he felt he had the right to move my drink away from me so I can drink the cheap warm beer he bought. In a fast reaction to neglect any chance of talking to another human being that night besides the bartender, I pretended to be deaf. I quickly made a gesture implicating an inability to hear but Bowie was persistent to talk to someone or something regardless. During the ten minute encounter with this man I learned he was lonely, which was everything I wanted to be in that moment. In addition, Bowie had driven a long time relationship into the ground due to his love for alcohol and drugs, been evicted from his apartment and is on the brink of losing his job.

Blaming everyone else for the consequences of the evident choices he made but Bowie just kept complaining with a smile on that foolish fucking face. Did I care about anything happening in his life? Not one fucking bit and despite my best efforts to drive this man away, acting deaf and rolling my eyes, this dumb scumbag just kept talking to me like we had been friends for years. Frankly, I wish I really was deaf because the sound of his voice made you want to scratch your own eyes out. This low pitched, dickhead sounding voice.

Oh my god, I couldn’t stand this mother fucker. There was spit flying out of his mouth with every word, and he laughed after he finished every single sentence like he was humorous and sensible. Finally, I stood up, and told him I couldn’t stand to listen to him say another word without shooting myself in the brain nor did I care to listen for another second. While making way for the exit, you know what this stupid prick said? “Whoa man, I thought you were deaf, want to go to the strip club?”, I just stopped, turned around looked at this fat sad four eyed fuck bag, and let him know it was time for him to go kick rocks. Do I want to go to the strip club? You stupid motherfucker, I just convinced you that I couldn’t hear your voice for ten whole minutes. Honestly, does hell need to freeze over for the majority to understand what a social queue is? What will it take for you twats to get a clue?



Author: TQS

Creator and Editor at stumpedwise.

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