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.