Italics Thoughts vs. "Real Life"

So, let me guess, are you going to do the voice again? said under her breath, as she listened intently, because it's always good to line up one's enemies in a row, and know just what it is which makes them Wrong, so that you yourself don't ever slip into that comfortable feeling of them who want to sit on their laurels, make no change, piss in the stalls with their legs up while the house burns down around them, no one noticing, yet Again.  Yep, there he goes....he's mimicking the same television show from the 60's again, not only mimicking the same exact subject, but in the same tone of voice, the same lack of personality, the same inane snap of his fingers, which every time she heard this previous she wanted the old testament God to reach down his massive, hairy hand and snap this drone in half.  It was as if some dwarf with a 50 IQ was sitting up behind his goopy, soft face and driving him forward, along the same patterns of speech, the same stories, the same bullshit brisk walk as if he was heading somewhere Really important.  Probably to speak to his elderly mother again, like a good nebbish Jewish boy without a spine, raise his voice when she couldnt' hear him, make himself feel so important about his "busy schedule" - day in and day out.  She secretly hoped that one day, long after all of this nonsense would pass, that he would be in his somewhat hellish afterlife trying to include himself with his butt-inski ways, singing a jingle while the demons who looked just like his good ol' mom fucked him and prodded and de-rooted him from him Self, the one he never actually had it in him to look for. 

She stood there, already hating each and every one of them, and for plenty of good reason.  They were a corn field of woe and ignorance that simply loved it when the big, bad rains flattened it out.  Laying down was easier, and maybe, just maybe they could have an extra day doing it!  Here comes the fat one, still fat in every mental way eating and obsessing and compulse-pulse-pulsing his way through another random non alcoholic beverage, opening his big guilty mouth wide in the best way he knew how.  And there go the twins again - the yin and yang of midgets who found so much damn pleasure in the bullshit conversation about the weekend, and cleaning out this or that portion of their homes, or the new product of snack food that they loved to cling onto in order that the day might pass even more to their cowering likings.  Not a brain between them, and truthfully in her most creative heart every time she saw them walking her way as they did, practically arm in arm, every single morning, she wanted to say 1) when did the circus get to town or 2) (and more frequently an urge) if you're looking for the King of the Lollipop people, he went that-a-way. 

She then thought to herself, was this pleasure to her? To beat them down, whip them into submission, not allow them any humanity?  Well, she thought, I guess I'm just not that advanced yet.  They didn't even use more than 4% at best of their brains, their god given right to be people, actual fucking People, to not lay down and let the storms keep them flat as a board, on which to tack up their uninspired lives.  As the jingle man's song continued and she thought to herself, as she often did, god that's the most obviously small cock syndrome I've ever seen in action....followed by a shudder, the others filled in the space soon as she had it back to herself.  Another shot.....another....please, give me more, I need for your faces to bend and weep and bleed, so I will have some element of sameness with you.  Contort for me, fat man, tear your saggy, dull skins off for my amusement, midget twins, don't let this end like it will.....with a trail of your groany, complacent voices growing fainter while the stink of you fills my head on the way out.  I don't want to be rushing home in the dark, leaning back with the necessary drunken rush and see or hear you in my mind's eye.

THIS, precisely, is why I hate them.  Whatever reason fate has dropped me here amongst them, Again, is not good enough.  I die more and more every single day, every comment or remark that means absolutely nothing, every year that sods itself into the earth away from me forever, where I don't share with any of you, where I watch your quicksand lives pass like devils before me, trying to tear pieces of me off as you go, and each and every time you go.

She lifted her glass, overfilled and under-satisfied and yelped her most authentic (and therefore completely sardonic) Cheers to you all!  All the best for the future..........they trailed away again.....pencil neck geeks and false primadonnas....seeing the blank cardboard stare she offered, because they did not deserve even a Drop more life than they had and did not see.  I can only hope that your afterlives mirror this wonderful set of circumstances that you all are so lucky to have this one....tits up!  OK, fine.  That last bit she said in her head again.  There was no getting out, for some words, desires, ideas......but her jailhouse was one of freedom, vitality and feasting.  Saddest part is, nothing was keeping them from the same.  She glugged as enthusiastically as she could, and asked politely for another in her best secretary's voice.

M. Lucia