I am so fucking sick of this delusional bullshit. I can’t seem to smoke a single joint without some millionaire’s twenty-year old baby romanticizing being poor.
We all know these sniveling motherfuckers. I met the most recent one at a party. I was drunk or stoned—very much so—and someone said that I just had to meet Aaron or Todd or some other fucked up Caucasian name.
So I wandered over to the couch where Cody or Aiken was holding court. He had his old guitar, and a bottle of five dollar sugar wine, and old khakis—obviously from a thrift store—and fucking sandals, in fucking March.
He talked to me about the many jobs he’s had and the wandering he’s done across the country. He had read Jack Kerouac’s novels as non-fiction—like a fucking moron–and transformed himself into a green wad of spit in the face of real poor people.
Oh no, my family is wealthy, not me, he whined through his nose, while he sipped his self-righteous cough syrup.
Dude, shut the fuck up! I yelled—really loudly—and knocked the fucking goblet from his hand. He was in shock. No one had ever gotten violent with him before. His eyes were starting to water.
I grabbed him by the throat and shoved him into the back of the couch. I had my knee jammed in his groin.
I saw homeless man die once, I hissed and squeezed his jugular slightly.
I had to go to a fucking soup kitchen, because my girlfriend and I were running out of food. Do you fucking get that, ass-hole? We had no fucking food and no fucking money! And there was no one who could help us! The rich boy was crying by now.
We didn’t have rich parents to rescue us if we got sick or hurt. We were on our own. We were both unemployed and sending out hundreds of fucking resumes and job applications a week with zero responses.
He started blubbering apologies and crying harder. And on the way to the soup kitchen, I saw this homeless man leaning against a wall coughing. He was coughing and sobbing and praying to God, and then he just dropped dead in front of me. Blood spurt out his nose and he shit and pissed himself.
Little Bobby was crying like an infant now and begging me to stop. Several people were trying to pull me off him. I let him go and stood over him. He curled in a ball and sobbed.
Have a good time wandering around in your fantasy land, what-the-fuck-ever, I said calmly, but don’t you ever fucking forget that the rest of us live in fucking reality.
I leaned forward a yelled again. And things fucking suck in reality, asshole! Your just on another rich boy vacation! Fuck you!
I told the hosts to go fuck themselves, and went home.
