I was asked to do a reading. Well, actually, the invitation was more of a casual demand. The lady who asked insinuated she would obliterate my dick under the force of her foot if any response was returned other than an emphatic "fuck yes".
I said I had to meditate on the idea and get back to her. She responded by calling me pussy. Been cupping my crotch out of fear since.
It's not like I'm a curmudgeon shitting on everything because I hate myself. I've attended numerous readings before arriving to a conclusion: readings are stupid because they are fucking stupid.
A writer with a small soul and giant ego reads a precious work to a gathering of fellow authors in an unmarked book store, or even worse, a bar, to assuage their inadequate self-image. Yeah, man, totally sounds like a night of perpetual smiles.
The worst type of reader are the pricks who bask in the attention, force puke a slew of poorly timed jokes, and prattle about a soft existence. Then they read in a tone like a librarian's climax.
The listeners are worse. Needy writers with boring lives foraging for any spatial freedom to talk about themselves to other dickheads who share the same agenda. Newsflash: validation is not my preferred drug, it's yours.
Another reason I'm against readings is my attention span has the circumference of a jellyfish pussy. Bullshit bores me quick. When I get bored I revert back to inner dialogue, which is mostly comprised of me shitting on popular ideas or my environment. Then I vocalize. Then people get ass sorrow. Then I'm ostracized.
I've spent my entire life making myself laugh to cope with loneliness. I will not stop. Everything is humorous. Get over it.
Did you know there was a time when an author read his shit to a crowd of fans who genuinely wanted the performance. Crazy, huh?
If one person, doesn't have to be a fan, says "hey jereme, I want to hear you read." without a hidden agenda, I'll accept the invitation--I will read.
Now is your chance. Convince me.
Please.
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