People are always talking about tradition, but they forget we have a tradition of a few hundred years of nonsense and stupidity, that there is a tradition of idiocy, incompetence and crudity. – Hugo Demartini
Jimmy comes to my corrugated
shack every weekend and shows
me his poems, asking for constructive
criticism. He treks five miles from
town in the sweltering heat, under
a briny sky, and says, This is my latest,
I put it up on Bloggingstar. It reads,
I have found solace in myself
because of an unquenchable
devotion to do what’s right,
to break barriers with indomitable
strength and be a paragon of rectitude
for the generations to come.
The words, cheesy and self-indulgent
come to mind, but I tell Jimmy to
stop focusing on himself and read
poetry by the greats. You’re really a
megalomaniac, he replies, they can’t help
but criticise, and then goes off on a
tangent about Trump and how we
should emulate him because he’s
forthright and down to earth.
This country is going to shit, and
I can’t even tweet about it because
the fascist commies moderate it all,
he says and shows me his old Luger.
This helps saves lives! He screams,
but what do you know? You’re a selfish
narcissist who hates good counsel.
This was a Christian nation, damn it!
Now we have these fucking pansies
wearing skirts and not standing
I look down, scared
that he might shoot me if I say
anything, and Jimmy prattles on
about Jordan Peterson and
Alpha-Lobsters, and Andrew Tate
and his dissing of liberal pussies.
Real men! That’s what we need!
Not snowflake egomaniacs! He
bellows, we need to conserve the
And I wonder whether
the tradition of fitting everyone
into narcissism’s bleak, grey
spectrum is new or ancient,
but keep quiet because Jimmy’s
waving the gun like a fly-whisk.
I realise that Jimmy’s the
guy who has no place to go,
no home, and so, he lives in
people’s heads, setting up a pulpit
and selling his message with
a bloody sword in hand. You’re
a sand-nigger, he says, unlike
those beautiful Indian women
with callipygian curves who
respect people’s opinions,
and turns and leaves,
his arse-crack showing what looks
like a thong wedged in it.
But I’m too scared to comment,
and just pray he never comes back.
Photo by 🐣 Luca Iaconelli 🦊 on Unsplash
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