Imagine I ask, as a incoherent writer to a moronic reader, imagine if you will the hurt and horror I've seen today ,
It is and now was May the 16th and as I witnessed the intrepid ball of fire haughtily throw itself into the presence of my sky thus impertinently inhibiting my sleep and leaving me some what in a fractious set mood on what was a day I could furtively announce as my insular birthday.
I say could as I won't for the less said about such a infamy ever insatiable day the better.
But more to the point this day, this evil day of petering hopes and impudent reflections enveloped in life's token of fear, must be the worst day of ones indolent life, as if not being the innate renaissance man one always dreamt wasn't bad enough, I now have to continual on in this feeble uncongenial body with the education of a 'special' pre-school 'window licking' [sic] dunce and wealth of a feral peasant.
Ordered around by flatulent egotistic monkeys and looked down upon as nothing more than a cretin one was lucky not to find clinging on to the soles of ones shoes.
And then the Birthday drink with them rehearse witticisms in pubs of ear-splitting noise that makes the chairs next to me bleed.
This should be a day of furtive gluttony instead replaced by emotion suicide detached from inner mood swings and the dreaded "Happy Birthday" with an automated half smile as the little man in the head bangs his clenched fists on the walls shouting "Rot in hell you Bastard!".
"Oh is it your Birthday?" enters another unwanted guest to your circle, "Yes it is his birthday" replies the first on your behalf as if you were unable to answer the monkey yourself and how dare you refer to me with a pronoun in my presence...
Blasphemy!
But anyway, on with the story, the shocking story that will make your blood curdle and make the pulsation of your heart multiply uncontrollably for it was a cut of card, the custom practice of receiving
the truculent gash wound onslaughts on defenceless index fingers and thumbs from hazardous untamed and unwanted meaningless empty Birthday cards consequencing in acute pain and discomfort in the misleading form of paper cuts now clogged with a pound of glitter, "Yea thanks" what effort it must have caused you.
Can people not see that all I want is a normal day, I like my normal days and often ponder on my unhealthy life style as I lay there in my pit using every effort just to continue breathing as I gulp down my Bottle of Rioja's Marques Del Norte Reserva red wine (my favourite) with a burning silk cut cigarette clinging to the outer side of my lips and eating nothing but a balanced diet of chocolate, I like my life, the only day of my life I don't like is the horrid annual birthday that I'm forced to participate in to celebrate my life.
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