I had received dozens of rejection letters most I can imagine the reactions these ******* yuppie ******* reading were thinking while saying to themselves .
Jesus ******* Christ I'm glad this guy doesn't live near by.

They hated writers yet they made there living off them .
Much like teachers except with a far better income and much better high dollar vices .

I worked my *** off they sat on there's and decided what was in .
I still read them trying to maintain my buzz and not slip into a coma
from the ******* they deemed worthy.

I was on my second drink when the I read the words yet still like seeing a car accident in front of your very own eyes I could not believe what the **** I was reading .

It wasn't so much the article it was who was in it.
I had been writing long enough to learn one thing try your best to avoid
other so called writers .

And there he was  quoted with a fake ******* age was a ******* who was neither a writer or in my thoughts anything more than a pile of dog **** by the highway .

I don't need to mention his name hell being mentioned in any forum was more ego stroking than the ******* deserved.
But it was then I truly knew the New Yorker had went from high class rag to street level ***** selling her *** to anyone with the change .

Old ******* was there about twelve years younger and in his full out of his gourd glory.
I can imagine the interview one soulless **** stain talking to another .
Speaking on something he could not even do himself .
******* write!

I was a drunk a ******* who ran his mouth and dared anyone to try to shut it.
I was a lot of things but no matter how others viewed me I was always
a writer .

I lived it, Breathed it  paid my dues fifteen times over .
Yeah it bit my *** to see a overrated wind bag featured in a rag truly great writers had struggled  to be published in.

It showed you the great decline the social media madness great writing was no longer a requirement skill wasn't needed either .
It was all superficial ******* smoke and mirrors and a nice *** .

I took another drink picked up the revolver stuck it to my head
pulled the trigger .
Nothing this time!
Looks like id live another day.

I'd love to sit at table over a few drinks play a relaxing game of Russian roulette with the ******* I'm writing about.
I wonder would he speak so boldly in front of another man
or simply **** his pants and cry like a modern  overrated
so called artist.

Yeah I was passionate with my hate .
I was anything but a modern writer and anyone sitting across
from me better dam sure know I didn't play games .

Well least not any that were safe .

I stopped reading the article when a friend called .
Hey you read that article on you know who?
Yeah I replied just finished it.

What did you think?
Well least when you run out of toilet paper you got something to wide your *** with .

My friend laughed .
You know your not right they said still laughing.
Yeah I said looking at the gun still on the table.

You truly don't have a clue.