As y’all are aware, BMan and I have been on the video hotline quite a bit recently trying to make some things happen with the column. Basically doing what we usually do, only now I can see when I have him cracking up. I’m cool with being the barrel of monkeys, and we commiserate on the hotline much as we do over on the panel.
That’s the great thing about BMan. He gets me. When my mood is off, he picks up the slack. When he is having a nervous breakdown from too many weeks on the road, I try to keep him from threatening to devise graphs indicating exactly how much of an asshole someone really is, and then posting links to the graphs in a very organized manner across the platforms we chill on. Believe me, you’ll have the death of a literal thousand papercuts toying with BMan when he is tired of the road.
If there was something off about BMans attitude or demeanor, I could tell you in a matter of seconds. I don’t have to fucking play Inspector Gadget, trying to root cause the fucking matter to death. It’s not a game I’m good at because I don’t like games. It’s not something I will take part in, because we’re grown-ass people and I’m not going to play guessing games like it’s a sad ass round of Go Fish around this joint. You can either tell me there’s an issue to address or apparently there isn’t a fucking issue, because I’m not doing that type of shit.
Listen, I hated teenaged girls when I was a teenaged girl. I am damned sure not going to tiptoe around an issue with a grown-ass man that wants me to play 20 questions to ascertain what he’s got a stick up his ass about. I don’t enjoy the little dumb shit, pissy ass remarks, and little snide commentary be damned. If you have something on your mind, either say it with your chest or get the fuck out of my way because your whole little charade is getting directly in the path of my not giving a fuck that was planned for today.
Same with me, on that note. If I am barely walking because of the giant stick up my ass, I would expect BMan to ask me if I needed to borrow a chainsaw so we can stop the dumb shit immediately. I’m not going to ask him to guess, estimate, diagram, hypothesize, or theorize on the matter. Instead, I’m going to be a fucking adult and say to BMan, “BMan, I feel like x, y, and z is on my last nerve today, so I need you to remove all three of them from my line of vision”. Problem solved. No guessing games, no under the breath bullshit muttered, no passive-aggressive dumb shit being done to further make me want to choke someone to the damned floor.
This is why we work well together. We know that the only way to resolve issues we have with one another is to say “bruh, I have an issue with you. Here is what it is. This is what I feel could be the solution. Agree or nah?” It’s that easy, yet, even as I sit and type this, I have a giant elephant that has taken up residence in my kitchen. Zoo rescue? Nope. Just the unresolved matter between myself and someone who thinks its a great idea to play little games with my already lit and paper-thin fuse.
The idea? Not good. Not near good in any way, shape, or form. I’m not curious as to what it’s about, I’m not sitting around racking my brain, wringing my hands, distraught dialing my homies looking for a clue. What I am doing is getting more and more disgusted with the childish actions of a man, and the pissy little commentary of a bitch.
There isn’t a human being on this planet that doesn’t understand how a shift in energy feels. It’s a very palpable thing. A tangible shift in the behavior between two people. I know how the behavior has become downright nasty and snide toward me. The only thing is, where that behavior emanated from is exactly where you can turn right the fuck around and cram it.
You can either get your vocabulary out of your diaper bag and figure out how to direct some of it toward me, or you can cease all communication. Those are the options. Due to the fact that I don’t offer a la carte options in this bitch, choose a solid approach and roll with it homie. At this junction, I don’t have a preference for your choice. You really bared what you consist of, and I’m not a fan of the contents. I won’t be sending a self-addressed stamped envelope, I won’t be requesting an 8x10 glossy, and I certainly won’t be jotting down my email address to join your fucking fan club.
I don’t even need a damned farewell nod, just kill it. Stop flogging the deceased steed, all bitchlike and pouting. There’s always putting your meat on the seat or your feet on the street. Just pick one.
Hmmm. Writing to a nonAaBF I am guessing.