I am a complete asshole – and it doesn’t matter. I could do everything right, dot the is and cross the ts, and I would still be an asshole. I could spin solid gold out of my anus and turn it into clouds that hover over a magical land of make believe, where everything you want to come true does. And guess what? I would indeed still be an asshole.
My ability to be an asshole knows no boundaries. Even when I’m not busy contemplating on how to be an even bigger asshole than I already am, subconsciously, I’m throwing out things called asshole-signals that everybody but me can pick up on. I radiate asshole in every direction, and those around me are infected by it. It’s like a dreaded disease that there is no known cure for. If you come near me, touch me, or so much as shake my hand, you too will become – an asshole.
Oh, and I’m sarcastic, too. But it doesn’t matter. Because I’m an asshole.