Dorothy Parker was a turd

I have a singular wit. Most times, it remains tucked away, content to amuse an audience of one.

I have spared you ultimate shame. You should thank me.

Yes, thank me now.

My brash tongue is made from the devil’s middle finger. It burns with the misanthropic rage of society’s dregs.

Why do I not slay you and those around me? Quite frankly, no one wants to see you bawl yourself into an annoying salty puddle on the floor, one that has to be consoled and medicated.

Oh, I should very much like to see you end your suffering by your own hand after a quip-filled assault, leaving your psyche mortally wounded. But then, the mess, oh the mess. Much better for you to walk away insecure in your petty desires and foolish dreams — and my floor free from your useless guts and bile and untransplantable organs.

I shall whisper quite near you, a hair out of earshot, tarnishing your aura with a smirk, a jab. And you will be none the wiser, though you could hardly be expected to be stupider, you stupid stupid sod.

They will laugh at you. They will laugh because you are a sad joke at humanity’s expense. They will laugh because I will it with pretty words twisted into foul utterances. They will laugh because they see themselves in you and fear too small a separation.

They will laugh because they do not wish to be next.

Out it will creep in seemingly benign asides, banter betwixt buddies. The subtle stabs will be lost among the lowing of the upright cattle.

Your clumsy attempts to enchant us make us smile in the most hollow of gestures. Keep going, keep going, we are dying we are dying. You are the comedian and jester and master all in one. We bow before your considerable comebacks, your deft timing.

I am polite in my homicidal restraint. Why waste the effort on your insignificant spirit? Better to nibble around the edges, allowing you to waste away, a living shell of mediocrity and self-importance.

My sharp tongue includes and excludes with one flick. You are in, yet you are out. You don’t know where you stand. And you laugh. At yourself. Unknowing.

You are boring me. That alone is sufficient grounds for an acidic annihilation. But alive you shall remain, alive with the illusion of life, free will, safety, love.

In my head you are dead, struck down with but a single insult.

Funny how you never saw it coming.