When I meet people, and start to develop a liking for them, I tell them straight off, “I’m an asshole. Sooner, or later, everyone says so.” They inevitably say, “No you’re not. You’re just to hard on yourself. I’d never call you an asshole.” So far, I’ve been right. Every. Single. Time. And then, they act surprised, and hurt when they call me an asshole.
My inner reaction is, “Motherfucker, I told you!”
They all promise to never call me an asshole, and they all break said promise. No, I don’t hold them to it. But, I am honest about what I am. I have met about 10,000 people in my life. I’ve liked maybe a thousand, and warned about 200.
I know the flaw is with me. Being an asshole, I mean. I am abrasive, frequently condescending, and sarcasm is my first language. I am intolerant of willful stupidity, and will quickly lose my veneer of civility, and start mocking mercilessly when confronted with it. I am also intolerant of religion while being well versed in it, and its history. It is barbaric, and I think it is cruelty to teach it to children. Especially little girls. Why?
Because quite simply, it teaches them they are property, objects of little worth, and are meant to be subservient to males. I don’t like that. I fight against it as much as I can, where I can.
Why do I bring this up? Well, it’s because of a rather contentious conversation I had with someone very important to me who said that I seem so angry any more, like I have a chip on my shoulder. To her, I say, “No, Angel. This has always been me. You just haven’t seen it too often because I try to stay away from stuff like it, and my veneer of civility is quite a bit thicker. When i swim for too long in the muck of willful stupidity, it washes away a bit.”
I try to be nice, but it doesn’t always work, or last. I’m not really a nice guy. I am, however, an asshole. Am I proud of it? Well… that depends on my mood, and who I’m talking to.