You Want Character
by Beckett Bowes
You want character, fuckhead? I’ll tell you. Character is what you decide. Show me a judge’s gavel and I’ll break your goddamn nose with character. Judgment, cuntface, that’s all. You, you slo-dry retardant, are nothing but a jumble of stupid-ass lessons. Everything’s a lesson, and you learn it all like a fire-hydrant-humping, bucktoothed sponge. You learn it all and miseducate right back, ingesting everyone else’s crap and pulling your own piss-soaked trousers down to your ankles as you sit bare-assed on a subway seat shitting, foaming up the crack between your skin and that hard orange plastic.
You want character, bitchmunch? Get yourself some taste and pottytrain your damned self. Stop whining about the crap you’ve been eating, and put down that handful of shit you’re about to shove into your gaping maw. Stop smearing shit all over your face and kissing your mother. Clinch that rectum and stand erect. Wash yourself off. A shower, not a bath – a bath is just you stewing in your own cesspool. Scrub with brillo, snotcunt, because you stink bad. Now dry yourself off and throw out the towel. Throw out the tub. It’s all infected. Wash again you sad sick sack.
Now, before you get dressed: your clothes are a lesson. What did you learn and what are you teaching with those Earnest Sewn jeans with a hole in the ass? What’s the lesson with your kiddie-sewn Gap shirt (as advertised by actors almost as dumb, but so much cuter than your boob-shaped face)? What the fatherfuck do you think you’re wearing, you titty-nosed methbrain? Take it off and try again. Fuck. Here. Just try breathing. Air is good. No? How’s that air? Smoky? Okay, okay, I’ll put out the cigarette, pussylungs. Now. How’s that? Deep breaths. Some water? Keep that ass clenched until you get to the toilet. Here, have some water. Filtered. Just so. Good. Straighten up. Keep breathing.
You want character, do you? You want fucking character, you fagotty-assed, cock-sucking, slit-slurping homophobe? Stand tall, breathe deep and exercise some goddamned discretion.
Becket Bowes is a culture-industrial worker based in NYC.
