J to the Eazzay, R to the Kizzay
My life is not easy.
Now, before you size me up for tight fitting black jeans and an acoustic guitar, let me elaborate. My web-log purports that I am a "nice guy", and I am. I pet kittens, smile at the geriatric and supress the urge to slap people who ask if it is "hot enough" for me. But my genial appearance hides a very dark secret.
I am an astounding jerk.
Ho, ho, gentle reader, collect yourselves. Gentleman, retrieve your fallen monocles and tend to the women who have doubtless fainted with shock. Underneath this soothing, romanesque face is a raving lunatic waiting to escape and wreak general havoc.
You may be wondering, "Braden, if you are the stunning {donkey} you claim to be, why do we adore you so?" Well, this is caused by what I like to call a semi-premeable membrane of prickery. In similar fashion to the underwear models in bottled water commercials (though without the heaps of sexual ambiguity) the often divisive and caustic things I intend to say and do are quickly filtered and refined to something more civil and entirely unremarkable.
For instance:
"Augh, you hagrid sack of wrinkles, take these awful photographs of your disgusting mutt and hobble back on home to continue slowly mummifying yourself in ointment and Goldbond!" becomes : " Why yes, ma'am I would be happy to make your photocopies of this becoming bichon frise."
-aside: Who owns a Bichon Frise? It's the canine equivalent of that creepy effeminate guy you went to school with. The one EVERY one knew was gay, but not the gay you see on TV with spunk and sequins and fashion sense. He stays in the corner of the library rereading the illustrated encyclopedia britannica hoping for fuzzy wing-wongs in the anatomy section. I . . . don't know how that quite works as an analogy here, but it does, rest assured.
But the point here is that my inherrent jerk-barrier has upper limits, and I'm starting to think it doesn't replenish itself fast enough to deal with the startling array of stupid the city like to direct my way. And with university coming this fall, I'm all but certain I will reach critical mass and my unrefined acid will spew forth with startling urgency.
Brace yourselves.
I am an astounding jerk.
Ho, ho, gentle reader, collect yourselves. Gentleman, retrieve your fallen monocles and tend to the women who have doubtless fainted with shock. Underneath this soothing, romanesque face is a raving lunatic waiting to escape and wreak general havoc.
You may be wondering, "Braden, if you are the stunning {donkey} you claim to be, why do we adore you so?" Well, this is caused by what I like to call a semi-premeable membrane of prickery. In similar fashion to the underwear models in bottled water commercials (though without the heaps of sexual ambiguity) the often divisive and caustic things I intend to say and do are quickly filtered and refined to something more civil and entirely unremarkable.
For instance:
"Augh, you hagrid sack of wrinkles, take these awful photographs of your disgusting mutt and hobble back on home to continue slowly mummifying yourself in ointment and Goldbond!" becomes : " Why yes, ma'am I would be happy to make your photocopies of this becoming bichon frise."
-aside: Who owns a Bichon Frise? It's the canine equivalent of that creepy effeminate guy you went to school with. The one EVERY one knew was gay, but not the gay you see on TV with spunk and sequins and fashion sense. He stays in the corner of the library rereading the illustrated encyclopedia britannica hoping for fuzzy wing-wongs in the anatomy section. I . . . don't know how that quite works as an analogy here, but it does, rest assured.
But the point here is that my inherrent jerk-barrier has upper limits, and I'm starting to think it doesn't replenish itself fast enough to deal with the startling array of stupid the city like to direct my way. And with university coming this fall, I'm all but certain I will reach critical mass and my unrefined acid will spew forth with startling urgency.
Brace yourselves.
posted by Bray at 3:26 PM
2 Comments:
braden you've inspired me. I'd like to come forward and announce that I too am a jerk. I know that will be a shock to many of you. But it is true, I really am a jerk.
Hmm, a jerk, eh... I used to be a jerk. I no longer consider myself to be one. I actually give the credit of my jerkness to Convergys. I would not have been such a jerk were it not for that.
As for your jerkness spilling over onto the university floors, you'll fit right in, don't you worry. You'll meet your fair share of jerks, snobs, guys with long hair who call themselves "artists" who hang out at the Penny on saturdays, and half japanese guys who think dirty thoughts. But don't worry, most of these people won't bother you that much because they won't care enough about your face to look at it for the 10 seconds it would take them to roll their eyes at you, /ignore you, and go about their day.
Then again, maybe you won't run into the same people I do... oh what fun that will be for you, down in the art department where you don't have to pick apart people's emotions and reactions to emotions and personal problems. Ech.
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