Story Ad Infinitum

Today I forced myself to read to the finish a short piece on the Internet written by a vain and seemingly overconfident bitch from the Southwest. To be honest, I didn't like her prose at all. It was full of solipsism and banal observations. I didn't learn a damn thing from her except she had plenty of unwarranted high regard of herself. Her poems were a bit better, but they didn't turn me on, as evidenced by the fact that I didn't find any poem of hers worthy to be translated into English.

Until I started surfing the Net, I thought I was strange and unusual and a bit off center, but now I realize that compared to most of the scumbags and assholes who are busy to make a name for themselves in the cyberspace, I am very balanced and sane, and very well educated and informed. I was totally taken aback by the level of stupidity, ignorance and yet self-adulation practiced by the posters. There were so many times I just shook my head in total amazement at the lack of self-awareness and self-respect of these stupid fuckers. One ugly and way over-the-hill and lonely and yet self- righteous widowed bitch from the Midwest posts about four pieces a day. I no longer read anything posted by the bitch. I just hit the "Delete" everytime I see her name. Quantity, from her, is the antithesis of quality. There's a Vietnamese dude that just astounds me for his rampant ignorance and brazen stubborness and blind ambition. His name makes me want to puke every single time I see it in my inbox.

You would think I am sociopathic from the way I sound, right? No sir, far from it. I am one of the most engaging, friendly, witty conversationists you ever find. You can bet your sweet ass on that. That's why I have women friends galore, without having to spend a dime on any of them. Spending money on broads and bitches so one can have their company is very stupid and a sign of lack of charm and confidence, if you ask me. At last count, I have had 19 women who have gone to bed with me (no, none of them was a board certified whore. I have stayed from whores, as a matter of principle. I don't buy or sell sex. That practice is beneath me. Come on, take a good look at me, don't you? With this face, this body, this "wit", these eyes and lips, you really think I would have to pay for sex? Be real, won't you? Sadly enough, though, I was a lousy lay and didn't really perform well at all, except with one woman. She was very patient and loving to me. She made me feel like a real man. From her, I learned what a female orgasm looked and sounded like. Unfortunately, she didn't take care of herself. She died of a heart-attack during one dinner. In fact, she died in my arms. I was grief-stricken, naturally, and have not quite got over her. After her death, for a while I hit the dating circuit and on a prowl for female company, but none has been her equal. As a matter of fact, the bitches I have met since she passed away were awful in temper and temperament. I have been on a dry spell, and not even bothered to look around anymore. I suppose I am getting difficult in my old age. I have more fun reading and learning foreign languages.

No, I didn't enjoy employing sarcasm as part of my language repertoire because sarcasm, as Oscar Wilde (commonly attributed) remarked, is a form of lowest, cheapest wit. And nobody wants to be regarded as low and cheap. But I am a firm believer in self-defense which involves inflicting pain on those who caused me pain. Perhaps more importantly, I don't suffer fools and loud-mouthed ignoramuses gladly. But enough of this unsavory, distasteful, nauseating, revolting experience over a repulsive-looking and yet (maybe because of being repulsive-looking) vain and loud-mouthed individual. Let me regale you, if I may, with a very abbreviated "story", called "Omar, Bob, and Roberto"

Omar was a young corpulent, unattractive Hispanic high school math teacher. He was also a devout Christian who firmly believed in God and the divinity of Christ. He met Roberto at a poker tournament. A friendship ensued despite Roberto being atheistic. Omar tried to make his new friend into a Christian because he cared about his friend, and wanted him to be saved. Roberto was too dumb and stubborn to fall for Omar's impassioned evangelical pleas and exhortations.

The friendship endured. Over time, Roberto came to admire Omar's compassion and kindness, not just to Roberto, but also to everybody. Omar had only one vice: he was a binge drinker. Roberto, on the other hand, had no more than two beers whenever he went out with Omar, because every time he took a swig of beer, he remembered his father who died of liver cancer.

Roberto recently struck a friendship with Bob, an introverted, gentle, ill Vietnam War vet. Bob was drinking and smoking himself to death. Over two weeks ago, Bob could no longer drive (and Roberto had to do the driving whenever Bob needed to get around) because his feet and legs started swelling. On top of that, he had a bad cold and wheezing problem, but refused to see a doctor, in spite of Roberto's pleas. Three days ago, Roberto, while out on an errand for Bob, took Bob straight to the emergency room of a VA hospital, over Bob's strenuous objections, where Bob was immediately admitted. The emergency room doctor said that Roberto had saved his friend's life because Bob's sodium and magnesium in the blood had fallen to dangerous levels. Bob is recovering despite having alcohol and nicotine abrupt withdrawal symptoms. His hands shake badly. Last night, during a visit, Roberto sat next to his friend's hospital bed and delivered an impassioned speech:

"Bob, you've got to save your own life. You must find a reason to live. You must think of other people who care about you. You're a good man. There are many bad people out there who want to live. You're a good man, then why do you want to die? I care about you. I want you to live. I want you to be around so you can continue playing with your new toy, iPad, which I helped you purchase. When you recover, we'll play chess together as you often wished we would. But you must promise me you shall stop the booze and the cigarettes for good, once you get out of here, otherwise all my efforts to help you amounted to nothing, to a colossal waste of time. You must not break my heart. Meanwhile, pray, Bob, pray to your God, to Jesus, asking them to give you strength. It can be done. It has been done before. Let me tell you about my wonderful Christian, Hispanic friend, Omar, who opened up my heart, who changed me, who was responsible for my deciding to reach out to you in your hour of need...."

I shared the above story, "Omar, Bob, and Roberto" with the bitch. She failed to understand the intents and purposes of my sharing. Her failure dried up any lingering desire of mine to let her have a peek into my mind. She's too fucking dumb to understand, too insensitive to feel, and too stubborn to learn from past experiences.

Most young men, insensible and raw in life's experiences, fancy that war would be an experience to broaden their minds or drive up their adrenaline levels. So they volunteer into the Army. Little do they know what awaits them. They will witness at first hand how sudden and arbitrary and final death can be. And if they are lucky, they will survive but they won't forget how the smell of death hangs in the air. That was what Bob told me after serving two tours in Vietnam. He was stressed out and only booze could numb him enough so he wouldn't go crazy. He couldn't forget the people's faces after getting shot and killed by him. He said he was stupid to walk up to his victims afterwards when the "enemies" retreated in a hurry and left their dead comrades behind. I asked him rhetorically, "Bob, tell me something. You really thought you remembered whom you shot and exactly where they fell, every single time? You killed that many Vietcongs?"

You would no doubt wonder if I really deserve to think myself in lofty terms. The truth is that I look at my "peers" and see nothing but mostly false pride and pathetic ignorance. I cast one look further and I see cowardice, laziness, and defensiveness. So to amuse and strengthen myself, I declare that I possess a sixth sense and I am unbreakable, which isn't really that far from the "truth". I certainly talk too much, however. I must respect and observe silence more. But tell me, why do the fuck that assholes and ignoramuses have to try to prove to me that they are smart and knowledgeable? Could it be that they lack intellectual honesty and true self-respect?

If you have followed my posts on the Net, you probably heard about Bob. I regret to add a sad postscript to his story. He checked out of the hospital in good shape, but is now resuming drinking with a vengeance. I stop seeing him. The life I save must be my own. I can't be a do-gooder all the time. There's nothing I can do to stop a man from killing himself if he is really after self-destruction. I do the best I can to please my conscience. Other than that, live and let live and let die also. People die everyday. People starve everyday. People suffer and need help everyday. I only help those who want to be helped. Humans are strange animals, but you already know that.

(To be continued)