Venting Again

I think you should yell at me.

I think you should point out what I do wrong, and then yell at me for not doing it right.

Lord knows I do everything in my power to do things wrong, so it's important that you teach me that making mistakes is wrong. It's important that you address my incorrectness, my failings.

Please do not try to talk with me about how to do things correctly in the future. Please don't try to explain how you would like things done. Please don't try to understand where I'm coming from so that you can better understand what my next move might be. As a person in authority over me it would only make you weaker if you were able to understand where I'm coming from. As a person, it only makes you weaker to understand where I'm coming from.

I'm a bad boy, and I deserve to be yelled at. I deserve to be told that my wording is confusing. I deserve to be corrected by you, because you have it all worked out. Which is why you're so successful. You have achieved something, and so you're a success. And I am not a success, which is why you yell at me.

I don't copy papers right, so you yell at me, telling me I did it wrong. I don't fill out forms right, so you yell at me, telling me I did it wrong. I don't process cases correctly, so you yell at me, telling me I did it wrong.

I'm really glad you didn't tell me how to do it right. If you did, there might be some respect for you in me. There might be some gratitude that you helped me achieve success. But I'm glad I don't have respect for you. I'm glad I don't have gratitude for you. I'm glad that you have shown me that you are not here for me. You are not here to help. You are not here to encourage.

You are here to yell, because it's all wrong.

I'm all wrong.

So you yell.

I hope you get divorced, and your wife cuts your dick off and feeds it to you, and your children drown in a submarine accident and you have to watch them choke on their final breath as their eyes go lifeless and you see their souls leave their bodies and whatever hopes you had for them and for your future with them dies as they silently fall to the bottom of the sea, and your ex-wife takes all your money and you have to eat your toes to survive, and nobody gives you any free handouts or charity because your horrible, bleeding stumps of feet smell and prevent you from entering any place where people are because you're hideous soul has blackened your hideous face and then somebody sets you on fire with an errant cigarette and you feel your skin crackling and melting off your body and you don't die, but rather, you lie on the street in agony, begging for somebody to end your suffering, but they don't, because you're ugly and you smell like bile and hate.