By Paul Dobleman:
Once again, more ass! April's winner is Hollywood Nelson! I chose this story because it was written so well. Congratulations! Hollywood Nelson, you're an asshole! She chose the griffin donkey for her collection...
Asshole of the Month: Hollywood Nelson...
An Asshole’s Beginning
There are a lot of good reasons someone might find their way to calling me an asshole. And I can’t help but smile just a little when I think back on how many times I’ve been standing in a bar while some guy or girl shrieks the word at the top of their lungs with their index finger pointed straight my way while I stand there, half a drink in one hand, and flippin’ the bird with the other. In fact, not too long ago one of these same individuals got me thinking when he asked me “What the hell happened that made you such an asshole?”
When I was five years old I guess I got myself started. I was the kind of kid that when your parents set up clothes for you to wear before school each morning I’d go ahead and pick something different, I just liked my style better than theirs. They didn’t seem to mind all that much so it was never really an issue, and I was happy getting to do what I wanted. Then one day, about a month before Easter, my mother came home from a PTA meeting and somehow she got it in her head that the proper thing for us to do as a family was to make a ‘nice’ card for the holiday “just like the other families.” At first I didn’t think much of this until one morning my parents woke me up nice and early so that we could go get our photos taken down at the mall by the new photographer. They brought me a ribbon wrapped box, which I quickly tore open—much to my confusion—where I found formal wear. I didn’t like this, so as usual I put on something different, and for the first time this became an issue. I was pissed. After a lot of yelling we were at the mall getting ready to pose for our oh-so-necessary Easter card photo.
No matter what the photographer did he just couldn’t get me to smile. After a while my parents upgraded their photo package to one that included ‘cute baby animals’ thinking it would get me out of my mood and make the picture that much better.
The photographer handed me three fuzzy yellow little chicks, and it worked, I was smiling, laughing even. We got back into our poses and in that moment just before the camera went off, I suppose out of a resentment that cute animals just couldn’t get me to completely forget—I dropped my head down into my hands and bit the head of one of the chicks. The flash went off to the sound of my parents and the photographer screaming as I stood laughing in my Sunday best with blood pouring out of my mouth and hands.
On that day, baptized in blood for Easter, an asshole was born. Needless to say those Sunday bests were my last, after that my parents never tried forcing me into dressing proper for them or anyone else again.
So don’t ever tell me what the fuck to do.
Good luck to everyone else!!!
Reply to: Paul Anthony Dobleman
Spider Murphy's Tattoo
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