She looked at him from the corner of her eye. He was ranting, like always.
"Literature is ruined! I've formed my opinion, and I'm sticking to it. The two people who have done the most to destroy the state of literature today are ONE Walt Whitman and his vague attempt at poetry, and TWO James Joyce and the popularity of Ulysses. Everyone tries to emulate it and . . . dare I say that they improve upon the originals by failing?"
He was weird.
"She pulled through the stopsign like it was so much Yield sauce spread on a biscuit and then given to the dog--and I don't even know what that means. Really, lady? A rolling stop? Does the safety of yourself and your children mean nothing?"
He had an opinion about everything.
"No, really? You think we could live on mars within this lifetime? Consider that the sun is weaker there, there are few-to-no natural resources, and your precious terraforming could take centuries. The likelihood that humans could even set foot on mars within our lifetime is so low that it makes it a virtual impossibility that we could ever stay there!"
Some days, she wished that she could be like him. Mostly, though, she was sane.
Mostly.
I thought this was funny.
ReplyDeleteI'm allowed to comment on these, right?
I think you are. This was brilliant, mostly because it sounds so familiar . . . I think I know people like that.
ReplyDeleteIt WAS autobiographical, from a third-person perspective.
ReplyDeleteI think that sometimes, shy people see me being weird and opinionated and loud, and they kinda wish that they had that ability, and then they realize what a massive dick I am, and they change their mind.
And yes, ashlee, you're allowed. It's the internet, for gosh sakes.