Don't Forget To Take Your Happy Pills

"Hey man, how's the book going?"

I paused, saying nothing, because I hate humanity to its core as I am actually a billion year old demon trapped in the body of a sarcastic prick.

"I sent you some work, did you get it?" This unnamed Einstein inquired.

I sent a picture of a huge pile of dog shit.

"Man, that's gross damn hope you didn't step in it."

I thought about beating my head into the wall. But decided to exist for the simple fact it was Thirsty Thursday which also translated into Picking Up an Emotional Support Hooker Night.

So I digress.

"No, luckily the smell gave it away, much like the notification my phone alerted me to when you sent an email."

The idiot mouth breather paused, then, at last, as he either took his meds or ate the sandwich his senior citizen mother made for him as he worked hard on his poetry career.

He replied, "So, I'm guessing it's a no to the poems?"

I blocked him instantly because Facebook has yet to create the nuclear propulsion death ray which would have instantly turned this idiot to a cinder.

If wishes were quarters I'd use the last pay phone in existence just to call every poet I hate well, I mean, every poet I know and ask, at four in the morning:

“Hey, are you asleep?”

Life’s not a popularity contest but, occasionally, it can be a mass shooting.
Hey, do you have plans for the weekend?

Ahh, I thought you might want to attend my open mic.
Never you mind why the doors won't open and there is that funny gas pouring in from the ceiling.

Now just relax, you only die once, after all.