The Best Fuck You - Part 1

Hello there and welcome! Good morning to you, your kin, your ancestors and all that you touch! And best wishes throughout your afternoon, evening, night, week, month, year and lifetime you brilliant light bound by flesh!

The world is yours!

I love you!

Hold on! Hold up!

No, don’t go just yet. I beg you. Not now.

I know it’s a lot. I know it’s a mouthful. I know a greeting may come off as insincere to a complete stranger if it’s too intense; mind you that I am painfully aware of what it’s like to experience that feeling of twisted betrayal when one encounters insincerity (technically I am a salesman). It may sound like too much, but to brothers it is simply the truth and we are brothers (I will prove that in time, just you watch), but first I must finish this memorized spiel they force us to ornament with some moderate personal flare.

Welcome to The Best Fuck You and please forgive the intensity of our enthusiasm. You see, we believe that our customers, despite what time of the day it is, will have a good day—all day, for all days—after experiencing our superior products, superior content and a superior hands on approach to service. That is providing, cultivating and assisting in the creative process that leads to that most sacred of gestures: the Fuck You. We are The Best Fuck You, that means whether it’s blacklisting a pesky commenter that debunks all your beliefs, a blogger you find disagreeable, a plumber that owes you money and needs to be put in his place or it’s that you want to know why you’re missing that sweet cherry on the cake affect that a concise Fuck-You-note stapled to a charmingly quaint little crucifix where that senile bitch down the street will find her cat that morning after precious little Bellsworth doesn’t fetch his whole milk and diabetes medication. Yet again she is intensely reminded that nothing is ever going to come back to her. Nothing is ever going to come back. She’s been put properly in her place, just a lonely old cancer-sac that should have learned sooner not to call the towing company on a neighbor’s guest’s truck. You see, Fuck You’s like these have the power to reshape the order of our world, they express one’s power to—

Hoo! Oh my, there I go again losing myself to the swift ride of a warm, golden-light memory of an experience that left a customer satisfied. We’re all about experience at The Best Fuck You; the straight huff of methanol-like-high-experience for our customer, the vengeful, or, as we view it, the deliberately just, and a tailor-fitted-castration-of-the-heart-and-mind-like-experience for the subject. It’s a universal desire simply look around this place and you’ll see teachers, janitors, elected officials, junkies, artists, hipsters, conservatives, protestants, scavengers, schemers and children. Everyone here has money but more importantly they all share the need or the want to Fuck You at something in their life so it is everyone that creates the demand. Universal demand. It is as if all the human race has one voice and that voice points directly inward when it simply states “Fuck you.”

Brother, walk this lobby with me and take a listen.

“He’s a mother fucker! How many times do I have to explain it? No, it’s my grandma in the pic. Yes, those are his balls. No, I don’t need to verify. Balls are the soul of man and I want to cut his out. No, I understand that’s not included in the ex-wife package.”

“My pussy is more than just a punching bag for his balls and he needs to get that in his head fast. It’s responsive, it’s fragrant, it’s self-cleaning, it’s a flower, it’s a feedbag, it’s the beginning and end of a catabolic reaction, it’s the door to an incubator, it’s plumbing, it’s where I pee and it’s an ocean that contains the island that wraps around my desperate soul. I paid good money so if he doesn’t understand that by the end of the cruise then I’m coming back here. Well I’ve written down your name and I’ll be getting my money back even if it costs you your job.”

“Listen to these texts: Hello! Hey-oh! Smiley. Smiley. Hello. Hello? Are you ignoring me? Hello. Winkie-face. Hello! What’s up? Winkie-face. I can’t believe you’re so self-centered that you can’t even talk to me. You’re not that hot, bitch. Sorry, my friends stole my phone. They’re such assholes. Smiley. I’ve been telling them about you. Winkie-face. Hello? Hello? Hello! You Bitch! You fuckin’ slut! Fucking tease! Bitch! I hope you get raped, bitch! Fuck you! Fuck your pixie bitch hair slut! Fuck You!

Did you hear it?

No, not that! Beyond that, or I guess in it rather. The unified voice, the shared perspective that is perceived as exclusive? The great arrow roaring forth all together? Do you hear America singing?

Do you hear that weeping senile bitch down the road? Do you understand why you are the same as her, her cat and our client, her step-son? Did I mention that we aren’t technically allowed to harm pets or assist our clients in harming pets or people? We had to camp out for weeks waiting for that fucking cat to consume enough ascorbic acid so that it’s tumor nearly strangled the scrawny thing just so we could staple it to some scrap wood and hammer a little crown into its head (We have an ideal wardrobe department).

Yes, there’s nothing quite like working hands-on in the field.

They say that one shovel full of dirt scooped from the ground changes the whole shape of the world.

The same goes for the collective conscious of people.

We just use a different shovel.

Ah, I see you’re thumbing through one of our older pamphlets, before the updates, you’ll find that the “subject” in the old days was referred to as the “target.” Such barbarous single lights in a dark cavern are the old days.

You can thank the Patriot Act for that little change. Little changes save big lives. Isn’t that what the President said? They aren’t calling it President anymore? Yes I can see how that change would be little. What's a name, but a way of throwing a face into another's head through language so that we can see it and feel human? So much of the brain is dedicated to sight. So much of what we see we create on our own.

Speaking of little changes, let’s have ourselves a change of scenery. I tell you brother, you obviously know where you are and you seem to know what you want, but I know you haven't seen what you want. So you just need to see it, all of it. Not to mention, those tall lobby windows send me back to my gay boyhood days and particularly that summer I survived being locked in a terrarium by harvesting the speedily regenerative tails of iguanas. Yes,

the

workplace

gets

to

us

all.

For some it’s the hours in captivity,

the cold lifeless hum of incandescent lights

or maybe just dealing with people,

but for me it’s the fear of the cage,

a real cage,

too long in the lobby and those smells that grow on captive reptiles start to fill their way into the room and then I start to see the wriggle of tails in my peripheral or the skittering of claws, then comes hissing and scratching soon enough I find myself standing on the front counter surviving the only way I could, by intimidating the alpha lizards of the room with a display of my cloaca-less genitals.

I invite you to follow me this way here.

It’s a damned shame natural selection denied humans the cloaca. Think of all the time we’d save.

I should shut up before I’m written up again.

Watch your head there. Make sure your ear-rings don’t catch those sharp hooks that dangle from the skylight.

I know, I know

they look like golden rings so much so that everyone wants to reach for them,

but

they are hooks for meat.

Onward

my

brother!

To the inner-sanctum….