The Assman Grieveth, Part III of III: Fuck the World

We're almost done here.

Hello, Iran. It's nice to see you. Is that a new sweater? It really compliments your desert terrain. Brings out the dunes. Can we talk for a bit?

Of all the times to hulk up and grab your balls politically, is right now really a good idea? You know George Bush is in office and that he doesn't have any damned sense. It's like seeing the retarded kid in the back of your classroom pull out a pistol, hearing him blabber on about how everybody is mean to him because of his duck t-shirt, then deciding to use that moment to remind him that yesterday afternoon you fingered the girl he's been in love with since the 2nd grade. Please, for the sake of everyone on earth that isn't fireproof or blessed with the power cosmic, try not to make any more stupid moves until we get someone more diplomatic in office. Thanks.

Mexico, I know your people want to come across the border, do some cheap work and take advantage of our inflated financial system. If I lived there, I'd be doing the same thing. Being broke sucks. But you know American people get nervous when they a happy brown person that they think might be getting paid at their expense. If you want to see all this immigration complaining come to an end, pretend to be miserable and downtrodden any time somebody walks past you. It would make them feel better about themselves and get them off your balls about the extra $9 they might have to pay in taxes so your kids can go to the hospital when they get hit by buses. Human nature is a bitch. Send out a memo and start taking advantage.

I've got a problem with you, China. It's not just the food recalls, which make me wonder if, every time I'm about to bite into a delicious chunk of General Tso's chicken, the meat I'm eating isn't actually chicken, but is instead the flesh of a poor guy named Tso who used to have a prominent post in the army, but now lives outside the factory and is easily frightened. It's not just the lead in the toys, which makes me wonder if we took all of our lead paint that we decided was too shitty and poisonous for our own kids in the 70's, then sold it to China because "hey, there's too many of them anyway," without ever thinking that they'd turn around and use it on us like a guy who buys his wife a strap-on to use when they have threesomes with their local sex freak and didn't expect an anal invasion after bending over to reposition the camera on the tripod. It's not even the Aquadot toys with the date rape drug in them, which really annoyed me because...

a.) of all the poisonous Chinese crap I have in my house at any given time, the only one that I'd actually get any use out of is the one I never actually bought (what the fuck is an Aquadot anyway? The Submariner's bindi?) and,
b.) I've got to sign a ledger like I'm picking my kid up from daycare everytime I buy Triaminic at CVS because they're deathly afraid I'll use the ingredients to cook up crystal meth on my George Foreman grill, but, apparently, if I want to get my hands on some roofies, all anyone has to do is get a job in a Chinese factory making 3 yuan per hour and dip a cup in a vat when everyone else is crowded around the boss's computer watching Flight of the Conchords videos on Youtube.

My beef with China is the complete lack of control that government has over its people when it comes to the stuff that matters. It's a communist country! They don't allow their people to read about libertarianism on Yahoo! Answers, but they look the other way when a CEO dips his chlamydia-infected ball sack into the sweet and sour sauce? This is fascist socialism? I expected better. Stalin would have had every responsible factory worker beheaded like Leon Trotsky in Mexico. And, yes, I realize that last sentence was a little too Dennis Miller for comfort. I'll stop now.

The bastards at Mattel are no improvement. After I sent them my daughter's toys (pulled from her while she was in tears!) to comply with their recall, I got a package in the mail weeks later. It was all the toys back, with a form letter saying they were safe and that I should now magically trust this company because of their recent history of effective quality control. I also got a letter a day later saying "sorry," and a $3 voucher to spend on more crap from Mattel.

So, I sent them a "go fuck yourselves" letter and returned the voucher. Three dollars won't buy me a half-hour of labor at Burger King - you think it's going to convince people to go back to the store and buy more of your poison? You think any amount of cash is worth your kid's life?

Which leaves me with a little problem with the entire world because... yeah, it is. Nobody gives a shit. They'll take the $3 and let Mattel roll the dice to keep their margins low. Who cares? They paid us enough cash to almost buy the cheapest thing they sell. They think as little about us as we do about ourselves.

So, fuck the world. Fuck it! Fuck the entire world. In fact... I want to fuck the world, personally. I want to be the guy that gets up, makes a few romantic moves and totally fucks the world.

I want to meet the world one morning at a supermarket. It'll be wandering down the produce aisle, looking for the vidalia onions. When I see it, I'm going to slide up beside it and say something like, "Excuse me... aren't you the world?" It'll be a little shy because, despite being the living embodiment of pretty much everything, people rarely find it approachable. I might help it find the vidalia onions. I might suggest using a Spanish onion instead, since it would cook better in the recipe it's planning. It doesn't matter. All I know for sure is that I'm going to look the world in the eyes and tell it that, instead of cooking, it should let me take it out for dinner tonight. Cut loose a little. Give that oven a rest. Ha ha. What do you think, world? The weather is nice. Let's take advantage.

The world will give me its phone number, which, not surprisingly, has many more digits than one person would find reasonable, and later that afternoon, I'm going to dial it. It's gonna take a me a little while because of all the numbers, and I can't promise that I won't need to take a break here and there, but, by god, I'm going to eventually get to the end. The world will say "Hello?" I'll say "Hi." Then I'll rest my fingers on an icepack while we plan our evening together.

I'm going to take the world out for dinner at a fancy restaurant in a quiet part of town. Maybe take it for a nice evening drive with the windows open down a scenic mountain road while we let our grilled jalisco shrimp and ceviche digest. We'll find a nice empty playground in a park somewhere, and talk about the future, politics and our thoughts about modern society while we play on the swings. Once it gets a little darker, maybe we'll head downtown and grab a drink at a small restaurant with an outdoor patio where there are only two other patrons. We'll make little jokes to each other about those patrons, and pretend they're having an argument or maybe meeting each other to exchange government secrets about a cold war against Austria. "You're so funny, world," I'll say. The world will chuckle and touch me ever so gently on the hand.

We'll saunter down the street together, looking at the young people as they pack into bars and art galleries and clubs and just marvel at what a fantastic thing it is to be alive. It's been such a nice night and the drinks are just making the warm evening feel that much better. I'll walk the world home and listen to it talk about the difficulties it had growing up because other planets had no life on them and how that made it feel different and somewhat outcast. I'll tell the world that the fact that it has life on it is what makes it unique, and that those other planets are merely jealous of its ability to sustain carbon-based ecosystems. And, deep down, that unique quality is what makes the world special to me. In fact, if I didn't appreciate the world's ability to host entire groves of vidalia onions and encase long forgotten DNA patterns in tombs of lost amber, I never would have asked it to spend this evening with me. The world will take my hand and give me a comforted look, as it finally feels as though it has been understood for the first time in its life.

It'll tell me that, even though its 3 AM, it feels wide awake and will ask me if I want to go upstairs with it and watch an old episode of Hunter that it has saved on its TiVo, since we were talking about it earlier during dinner. I'll head up and watch it. We'll joke about how tough Fred Dryer looked back then, even though a guy like him could never carry a TV show now. It would be like Matt Hasselbeck getting a role as the next James Bond after he retires. Not very likely. While I attempt to figure out whatever happened to the guy that played the bad guy in this episode, the world will turn and slowly kiss me. A long, passionate kiss. It doesn't take Al Gore to tell that things are heating up in here.

Then it will happen. I am going to fuck the world. I am going to fuck the world for hours and hours. Because, yeah... fuck the world.

But when it's fuck time, there won't be any more kissing. The romance ended as soon as I landed the first donkey punch. I'm going to shove its face in the pillow, then pull off the rubber while I whisper in its ear about the day I found out that I had chlamydia. It's going to see a look in my eye and wonder if the savage above it is the same man it was just out talking to about society. Was the romance true, or was this just another angry young man, hell-bent on fucking the world, like so many others before him? There would be claw marks, bruised skin from ass slapping, tsunamis on the Pacific coast - everything you might hear about in the first seven minutes of an episode of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit from a disgusted Mariska Hargitay. And after I finished - alone - it would lift its head from the sweat soaked pillow and see a dark figure saunter off into its kitchen to get himself a glass of water. I'd toss a hand towel onto its sweaty, cum-coated belly (my apologies to the people of Belize - those stains will come right out) and not say a word as I moved to the couch and left it there alone in the room in the dark crying. Was it what you wanted, world? Because it's what you got.

Because... fuck you, world. Fuck the jackasses in Darfur. Fuck the situations that, after I watched Lord of War, The Interpreter and Blood Diamond, guaranteed that I'd never set foot in Africa without first being bitten by a radioactive spider. Fuck the parts of the world that don't offer sweet tea in restaurants. Fuck magazines that accuse Britney Spears and Jennifer Love Hewitt of being fat. Fuck stores that don't sell beer late at night, despite that being the time of day that beer is most tasty. Fuck PetSmart for offering refunds for fish that die within 14 days of the date of sale, provided I return 51% of the fish. ( 51%, PetSmart!!? You actually came out of a meeting with 51% of a dead fish as a deliverable item? How do you measure the fish corpse percentage anyway?) Fuck short people. Fuck the stupid. Fuck 'em all. Fuck the whole damned world.

I've wasted enough of your day exorcising my demons and writing planetary erotic literature. Enjoy Festivus.

Comments

[SL22]

That was epic.

[Art Vandelay]

I can't wait until I actually have time to read these things.

[Craig]

It's times like this that I wonder "why do the rest of us even bother?"

[Assman]

I can't wait until I actually have time to read these things.

Same here. What the hell is he talking about? Jalisco shrimp?

[Flash]

It's times like this that I wonder "why do the rest of us even bother?"

C'mon Craig. If you're determined to continue fellating him, at least remember to mind the balls. They get cold and lonely.

[Craig]

C'mon Craig. If you're determined to continue fellating him, at least remember to mind the balls. They get cold and lonely.

Hey, mock me all you want (and I know you will), but the man just wrote three higly entertaining lengthy grievances topped off with a story in which he seduced and then humiliated the world itself. He deserves some praise. You're just jealous because the praise went to him rather than you.

I'm sure the fellating would be much more your department. Assuming, of course, that anyone can afford the diamonds you require as payment. Let me ask you, when a guy is with a glorified high-priced whore like you, does he have to remind you not to neglect his jewels either?

[Jennifer]

Hell yeah with the world fucking! It always makes me smile to see the world getting back a little bit of what it shelled out.

[SL22]

Dude, the world's like, the biggest fucking slut in the solar system. Congratulations.

[Jack Klompus]

"You're just jealous because the praise went to him rather than you."

Craig, did you go to Chris Rix' summer camp?

[steffanwolf]

Some excellent grievances this year, but this one stands out.

[Craig]

Craig, did you go to Chris Rix' summer camp?

I'll be honest here Klompus. As I was typing, I thought that entering into a war of words with Flash was a stupid idea, since I would have no chance at winning. But I'm nothing if not an idiot, so I hit post anyway.

[Cozmo]

Don't chicken out now, Craig.

That's like throwing a sucker punch to start a fight, and then taking a dive and cover to end it.

You can do better than that.

[Schmoopie]

...May I call you Schmoopie, Assman? Your planetary erotica is most alluring.

[Flash]

I'm just jealous? Is that how you're going to start a fight with me, Craig? The lowest fucking denominator of debate tactics? We're not 5th grade girls, dickless.

There's something you need to understand - Assman is one of my closest friends and I love just about everything he writes. But unlike you, I don't follow him around the internet tonguing his balls. Praising his work is completely acceptable. His writing commands that type of respect. But the problem here is that it doesn't matter what Assman writes. He could say, "I wish the world was made of swiss cheese so I could fuck it," and you'd be right there, throat deep in cock, typing remarks about how you aren't worthy to exist in the same realm of cyberspace or that this is the single funniest and most brilliant piece you've ever read. I didn't know grown men could be such pandering clowns when pussy wasn't involved but I guess I shouldn't be so surprised. I know what you look like, Craig. I've seen the fat, red cock sucking lips that are pasted to your bloated face. And the only thing I'm really wondering is when you're going to change your name to Sugar. Only a righteous pair of CSL's like yours could give it out so sweet.

Sure, fellating really ought to be more my department, as you so clumsily suggested, but clearly I'm out of my league with you. My bad for trying to help you out. I figured a suggestion to mind the balls would only help your cause... give you a little more polish for the knob. I mean, if you do it right, Assman might email you and maybe - just maybe - if you work him the right way for long enough, he might even engage in actual conversation with you... Trading witticisms with the man himself. It's a little overwhelming to think about, I know. Hell, even I'm getting flush.

But I guess what this really comes down to is that you're a witless, unoriginal flunky that seeks to be clever by association and when I called you on it, you had the audacity to get indignant and call me a glorified high priced whore. Why? Because I made a farcical chart detailing how women should REACT upon receiving certain types of jewelry from their husband or boyfriend. What, did that offend you? Going on your definition, Craig, your wife would be a high priced whore too - if your broke ass could afford it. I gotta tell you, I kinda feel sorry for her. Not only is she still rocking the electroplated wedding band that you bought her for $50 at JC Penney but she has to deal with you sitting on the internet all day trying to clever up new ways to pander to Assman's ego. It'd be sad if it wasn't so fucking hilarious.

By the way, what's that smell?

I'll be honest here Klompus. As I was typing, I thought that entering into a war of words with Flash was a stupid idea, since I would have no chance at winning. But I'm nothing if not an idiot, so I hit post anyway.

Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was the reek seeping out of your sopping vagina. If you're going to attack me with the bitterness of a jilted lover, you'd better come correct and you'd better be a man about it. Don't blast me without provocation and then run away with your dick between your legs, you fucking bitch. If you attack me again, I'll light your ass up.

[Art Vandelay]

Yeah, that wasn't gonna end well. (stomach hurts)

[Jack Klompus]

"I didn't realize it was the reek seeping out of your sopping vagina. If you're going to attack me with the bitterness of a jilted lover, you'd better come correct and you'd better be a man about it"

Craig, I hope for the love of all fat creepy white guys you have some sort of non-Summer's eve retort. Whaddya got?

[Craig]

Craig, I hope for the love of all fat creepy white guys you have some sort of non-Summer's eve retort. Whaddya got?

Umm...a lot of pain. And a very strong reminder to never piss off Flash.

[Craig]

That's like throwing a sucker punch to start a fight, and then taking a dive and cover to end it.

My intent was just to point out that I was aware that I was punching outside of my class, but running might have been a better idea.

[Craig]

If you attack me again, I'll light your ass up.

I believe you just did.

You covered so much ground there and blasted me so badly, I honestly have no clue how to even start to respond. So instead of offering a weak attempt, I will simply concede that I just got destroyed.

[Assman]

* searches for 10 foot pole *

[Ocho Ocho]

Now, That's how you debate!

It reminded me of when Sugar Ray Leonard would show you the right hand and then hit you with it.

[jackie]

Looks like Craig's got that Buffalo Bill shit down.

[Art Vandelay]

How would the world get an episode of Hunter on TiVo?

[Assman]

How would the world get an episode of Hunter on TiVo?

How does a salmon know when it's time to swim upstream and spawn? I don't know, Vandelay. That's just how the world works.

[SL22]

It's that damn Coriolis force. The world gets you with that every. fucking. time.