Monday, December 13, 2010

My New Street Taunts

In my creative writing class, I had an assignment to write a "monologue" or "rant."  We had several different options of where we could go with it.  One of the options was writing what we believe in (as a creative monologue, not like a personal manifesto, so more like "I believe in softly falling snow" or something poetic like that), which is the option I ended up going with.  Another option was writing a creative "revenge" against an enemy and entitling it, "My New Street Taunts: What I Will Do To You If You Cross Me."  While I was playing around with the different options, I tried this one and thought it was super fun to write.  So even though I didn't end up turning it in, I thought I would share it with you, and maybe write a little more of it for fun :-)  (Just to clarify, it's not meant to be malicious against someone specific, it's just meant to be funny.)

I will enroll you in a large seminar that lasts several days on a topic that interests you. In front of you will be placed a large glass of your favorite soft drink that will be refilled each time you take a sip. There will be no pauses or breaks during the seminar, so you will have to repeatedly slip out the back door to the restroom, which will be nothing but a dirty port-a-potty in the construction area outside the building. Each time you leave, I will move your chair three inches forward. By the end of the seminar, all you will be able to think about is whether you will be able to overcome your physical discomfort in order to avoid the rudeness of standing to leave right under the speaker’s nose.

After the seminar, I will take you to rock concert of a band you have never heard of and "accidently" lose you in the crowd.  You will be surrounded by rabid fans of this rock group who will scream constantly and will threaten you with murder when you do not act pleased with the band's performance.  They will elbow you repeatedly (they will have very pointy, sharp elbows) until you express joy to their satisfaction, and soon you too will be screaming nonstop.  After five minutes, you will clutch at your throat and beg for water, but the rabid fans will ignore your pleas, and will be packed too tightly to allow you to pass through the crowd at any faster than four steps per minute.  When you finally reach the only stand that sells concessions, they will be out of everything except products you are allergic to.  Finally, out of your extreme dehydration, you will be forced to purchase a drink that is toxic to you, and you will experience a terrible reaction.  You will writhe on the floor in the middle of the crowd and accidently kick several of them so hard that they will later sue you for more money than you make in ten years.  Everyone will be too busy waving their cell phones during the performing band's string of ballads to call an ambulance until you have been passed out for several hours.
I will visit you in the hospital and privately tell the nurses that you suffer from suicidal tendencies.  They will insist on keeping you in the hospital for several days, and after further examination they will come to believe that you cannot be left alone a spare minute for your own safety.  They will ask me to be in charge of you, and I will sit in your hospital room all day, chanting the lyrics to Miley Cyrus' "Party in the USA."  Each day, I will order dozens of flowers in your least favorite color and pile them on your bed until you can no longer see me, and I will chant softer and softer until you will be unable to hear me, and you will wonder if perhaps I finally left you in peace.  You will begin to drop off to much-needed sleep, but just before you have made it to dreamland, I will shout "IT'S A PARTY IN THE USA!!" and I will continue to chant loudly, until I gradually decrease the volume again, beginning the process all over again.

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