Angering people makes me happy. Not in a, “you’re angry so I’m smiling” sort of way. More like in a “I personally have angered you and now I’m experiencing such great joy that I feel like I may very well have discovered the meaning of life” sort of way. It took years for me to figure out what it was that brought me such satisfaction when others were disgruntled, but then I had an epiphany. There are actually two aspects of your outrage that give me the warm, fuzzy feeling inside that one equates normally with, dare I say, love.
First, and most importantly, I am controlling your feelings which only serves to prove that I am, in fact, God. Behold my great power. (Side note: god is make-believe)
Secondly, angry you is hilarious. No matter your method of displaying your anger, it all looks to me like a Leprechaun having a seizure.
I could go on and on and on about how the anger of others fuels me, fulfills me, brightens my life in the darkest of hours. How when I’m being tailgated, and I slow to a crawl then watch the driver of the car behind me turn red and start screaming. Or how when someone is waiting for a machine I’m on at the gym and, instead of asking to work in, they just glare at me and I pretend not to notice until they stomp off like a petulant child. Or how when my girlfriend is yelling at me and I just smile and roll my eyes causing hers to almost pop out of her head in a fit of rage. But no, I won’t mention those things. What I will do, however, is tell you about two wonderful experiences that I had, not just on the same weekend, but on the very same day.
I woke up on Saturday morning after a restful night of sleep, soothed by the sound of pouring rain outside my bedroom window. After a delicious cup of coffee, I donned my workout clothes, ready to hit the gym and start my day off right. As I approached my car, parked on Manhattan Beach Blvd in beautiful Manhattan Beach, CA, I noticed something on the windshield. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a handwritten note, soaked from the prior nights precipitation. Because it was damp, I removed the note gingerly so as not to tear the page. Luckily, it had been folded in half which effectively doubled the structural integrity of the paper. Once I was seated in the car, I carefully unfolded said paper so that I could read what some stranger had thought so important that they must hand write it and leave it upon my vehicle.
On one side it read,
“FUCKING IDIOT COCK BREATH MORON, SHIT MOUTH ASS WIPE”
A smile instantly plastered on my face, I could barely contain my excitement and reading the other side of the note. I turned it over as gently as I could to read,
“ASS MUNCH YOU SUCK COCK!! TAKING TWO SPOTS ON THE STREET. WE WANT TO FUCK PUNCH YOU! YOU MUST BE FROM IRAN, IOWA, OR I DONT CAREIA. THIS IS MANHATTAN BEACH NOT NEW YORK. LEARN TO PARK AND DONT MAKE LIFE HARD FOR OTHERS ASS BREATH!!!”
I was so delighted that I must have read the note five times before fear set in. Not fear of the scribe, mind you, but fear that the note might be somehow damaged either by tearing, or perhaps the ink running. How would I preserve this beautiful and unexpected gift that karma had given me? Should I leave my car taking up the two spaces it was parked in, skip my beloved workout, and take it inside to de-moisturize it with a hair dryer? Or maybe I could microwave it briefly and dry it out as if I were making jerky? Would that even work? I’ve never made jerky as I have a job and I’m not some kind of freak that makes his own jerky because I can fucking buy unlimited amounts of jerky. I panicked for a moment until it hit me that I could both engorge my ample pectoral muscles with blood using weights that are certainly too heavy for the average man, while also preserving my note that was physically delicate yet poetically powerful. I turned the passenger seat heater on my Lexus to the highest level, then gently placed my letter upon the supple leather normally reserved for my girlfriends pristine twenty-five year old ass, and drove off toward my fitness facility. By the time I arrived at my gym, it had gone from being a soggy, saturated mess, to a crisp, clean, lasting piece of correspondence that would later be given a coveted position upon my refrigerator. My day was made.
After karma’s sweet kiss on my most delicate windshield of a soul, I thought my day could get no better. I was flying high on cloud nine and a half when I walked in to Target to acquire some new socks, underwear, and Paul Newman’s Special Blend Coffee in K-Cups which is not only delicious, but also organic or, should I say, orgasmic. Upon collecting the necessary items I began making my way toward the registers when I walked past a young black couple. Lost in thought, I barely noticed them until the man’s voice rang out behind me.
“OH, SO YOU LOOKING AT OTHER GUYS NOW, HUH?” he screamed.
She replied, “What?”
“I SAW YOU EYEBALLIN’ PEE WEE HERMAN OVER THERE!” he shouted angrily.
His volume was what made me turn my head and, as I looked around, realize three things in rapid succession:
1) There was no one else in the vicinity.
2) They were both looking at me.
3) I was “Pee Wee Herman”.
I have stated on hundreds nay, thousands of occasions that I deny the existence of god or any type of higher power but, in that moment, my conviction faltered. For something this amazing to happen after the awesomeness of the note I’d received just hours before, I almost had to allow for someone “upstairs” to be smiling down on me. This was a defining moment of happiness in my life.
It was obvious that the girl had checked me out and turned her head as I walked by, no one could deny that. In all fairness, she couldn’t be blamed for I am extremely, undeniably, excessively attractive on so many levels but let’s not belabor how handsome I am which is so very, very handsome. That was flattering enough. To make matters infinitely better, her boyfriend was so threatened by her gazing upon my visage that he felt the need to publicly and embarrassingly scold her while simultaneously attempting to insult and belittle me with his “Pee Wee Herman” remark. I can only assume that his reference to the beloved character created by the gaily masturbating genius that is Paul Rubens was meant as an attack on my height, because I in no way resemble Mr. Rubens or his Pee Wee character. In fact, I believe Paul to be a very slight gentleman, physically speaking, and I was looking particularly buff on this day. I already possess a high degree of muscularity but I was also still slightly pumped from the aforementioned pec workout this morning. I was virtually busting out of my extra-medium shirt. This could only lead me to conclude that he was insulting my height which he assumed would somehow either upset me or detract from my beauty in his girlfriend’s eyes, or both. I can’t speak for the girlfriend, although I think we can all agree that she was, how do I put this lightly, “all up on my shit with her eyeballs”. As for me, it only serves to bloat my already massive ego when a young lady risks a vicious public berating from her man just to scope me out. I probably should have tried to make him feel less threatened by explaining to him that I would never try to steal his girlfriend because A) I have eyeballs which enables me to see her face; B) Because she was the type of girl that would be with the type of guy that would scream about another dude in the middle of Target; and C) Because I am 42 and already have a smoking hot 25 year old girlfriend that, on her worst day, is better looking than any chick he could get to speak to him. But really, I didn’t feel like it was my duty to alleviate his concerns or relieve his stress, so I simply laughed and kept walking.
The point I’m trying to make here is that I’m thankful. I’m thankful for who I am, and my ability to elicit such strong emotion in strangers with virtually no effort whatsoever. It reminds me that I am all powerful, basically controlling the world and everything in it. More so, I am thankful for the angry people who have a complete inability to control their outrage and resulting actions. But mostly, I am thankful for the knowledge that I am really super hot coupled with the unwavering belief that all parking spaces are mine, no matter what.
I thank me. I thank me from the bottom of my heart.
About the Author (Author Profile)
I’m a writer, blogger, comedian, and all around genius.