No One Wants to Say It (Rochester Writers)

No One Wants to Say It

No one wants to say it for fear of being labeled a cold, heartless sonofabitch. They will call you things like “cynical” and “soulless.” You will be branded an uncaring, unfeeling monster. Mothers will hold their children closer to them as they see you on the street. Your dog will begin to walk himself for fear of being seen with you. You will be let go from your job, given that your continued employment has turned into a PR nightmare for your employer. Your generous severance package will consist solely of a disguise that you can use to extricate yourself from the building, in order to avoid the teeming throngs of villagers with pitchforks and torches and rope of varying lengths outside. You will begin to receive death threats on the telephone. Packages wrapped in plain brown paper with excessive amounts of postage will appear on your doorstep in spades. In order to dispose of them, you will need to call upon all your MacGuyveresque skills to devise a protective suit comprised solely from components found in your basement, because you can neither leave your house nor get the police department to answer your phone calls. You will eventually be rounded up by an angry mob, duct taped to a chair, and shot into space, where you will form a leper colony of one, named Jerkus Facius-7. You will while away the remainder of your days in the cold, lonely vacuum of space. The people back down on earth will see this as fitting punishment for you, the miscreant who dared say:

“HOLY CRAP, I am SICK of hearing about this J-Mac kid!”

There, I said it.

Posted by Ben Frazier on April 3, 2006 9:44 AM | Permalink