My Top Facts That Sound True But Actually Aren’t.

To tell the truth, I am completely full of shit. Do not make the mistake in thinking that I am a bad person because of this, it is really on the contrary. I am one of the few people out there who is honest about how full of shit I actually am.

I understand and accept this about myself so that instead of using my inclination for deception to sell you a steal-of-a-deal 2008 Kia Sorento that, “my manager is gonna be so pissed I’m giving it away for this low”, I channel my deceitful ways into my writing. A writer is essentially just a bullshit artist on paper, after all. I have met enough writers who write bullshit and see themselves as artists, anyway.

But enough of me passing off my flaws as strengths as if I’m in a job interview at Sherwin-Williams Paints that I showed up a half hour late and visibly hungover for. I want to talk about you. You are a nice person, but honestly, you’re a little boring. You know this and all of your friends now this. Your suspicions are all correct, your friends and family definitely do talk about you behind your back and none of it is good. I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you, but we talk and they all agree with me. Your uncle has started gambling again too, by the way. Now, before you accept this and go back to watching Grey’s Anatomy and scrolling through NowThis articles like the dull, sad, creatively-bankrupt sack of shit that you are, just know that there is hope.

In the unlikely event that you get invited to a party, it’s integral to create the illusion that you are well-informed, clever, and funny. To do this, all you need to do is to tell fellow party-goers these essential facts to be rewarded with a slew of admiration and respect. Keep in mind that none of these facts are real, but the fact is it doesn’t matter. All you have to do is spit them out with conviction and you will be on your way to being the seemingly interesting person that every struggling Instagram influencer aspires to be.

Without further ado, here they are:

  • A mile is how fast a steamboat can travel in an hour.

 

  • Heineken was invented as a cheap cure to allow Dutch people to forget that they are Dutch.

 

  • The bass guitar was developed by the Christian Mentors Network as a means to allow their members to pursue music and retain sexual abstinence.

 

  • Curling is the only sport left that’s whites-only (I’m actually not sure if this one is fake or not, research it before you use it).

 

  • There is a law in Val Marie, SK that states a man can have sex with his cousin. But he can only do it once, and only if she’s, like, crazy hot.

 

  • Scientists have yet to answer whether men with mustaches develop foot fetishes or if men with foot fetishes prefer to grow mustaches.

 

  • Women evolved from birds.

 

  • Pornography started out as the first indie wrestling films during the 1920s and the genre just kind of got out of hand.

 

  • Morrisey has a part-time job as a collection agent working out of Rawlins, WY. He doesn’t need the money or anything, he just enjoys being a dick to poor people.

 

  • The Premier of Saskatchewan, Scott Moe, is a woman and she actually makes a decent broccoli casserole. Her husband, Darrin, is a pretty chill guy, too.

 

And there you have it. I doubt that you will handle these with dignity or grace, but if you can manage to sputter one of these out to another human being and not spittle Cheeto-dust and rancid breath on them, you might do OK. Until next time, always remember that it’s better to be full of shit than feel like shit.

-BD Charles.

 

 

 

Time To Write

Time to write,
after a shower and a bite.

But then again,
I should first clean my den.

Ok, that’s done.
I have to sit down, write a ton.

But wait,
I got time to masturbate.

Sorry for the TMI,
I really shouldn’t – I gotta write my “Life of Pi”.

Is that movie on Youtube?
I better be sure, I best not assume.

Enough dicking around.
Time to sit down.

I have my tea, I have the motivation.
I have to check my 6 New Notifications.

Is there no one who can see my plight?
When will I ever find time to write?

Wake Up

Wake up.
Do not miss the sunshine to escape harsh winds.
Weather the storm whether you like it or not.
You are stronger than ever,
think not of sleep again.  

Shape up,
or ship out,
as they say,
but ensure that the vessel is not leading astray.
You are the captain, the crew is afraid.
They will tell you the lifeboat is suicide,
a foolish man’s ride. 

Look alive,
feel dead.
Believe the jive,
drink the bread.

Question it,
get a hint. 

Fall asleep,

Wake Up.

If That Was Your Best

If that was your best,
your best won’t do.

I’ve drank the dirtiest waters,
seen the lowest trenches.
Been cast out by the sisters and daughters,
and cast out by the wenches.
But I found me a girl,
a woman,
a friend.
Found the other part of me,
my beginning and end.

If that was your best,
your best won’t do.

I’ve been hooked on the tar, the smoke, the booze, and the toke.
I’ve done things to get them that I’m ashamed to admit,
I’ve chosen my people, outside the offsale and an inside a familial joke.
I’ve spent life as a quitter, but just could not quit.
But from the ashtray I rose,
When no one cared or supposed,
I now see life from the other side,
I see myself in the red eyes of bar-flies.
As the Bud Light Gallery grabs their 7th can,
and gossips about what a loser I am.

If that was your best,
your best won’t do.

Depression is not an Instagram post
of Lana Del Ray smoking a Marlboro Red,
depression is dirty clothes, a bedroom beyond repair, and a stained bed.
It is when everyone gives up on you. You are lost.
Your best nearly best nearly bested me,
My life was tedious as an old joke,
My life took an arrow to the knee.
But I am still here,
and am here to stay.
I will survive, I will thrive,
I will do what they say is impossible,
Like Goldblum’s female dinosaurs, I will find a way.
Nothing can hold me back,
especially not the word, “can’t”.

If that was your best,
your best won’t do.

 

Seule

Yellow-stained walls,

empty halls.

 

Once filled with joy, and too bright for the eye

now is dull droning, lifeless and gray.

 

Could it have been me that pushed them all away?

No.

They are ravenous and vacuous,
thieves and peeves,
morons and pee-ons,
are riddled with addiction,
and full of disease.

They are reprobates
who masturbate
to whatever filth that they please.

They are no better than wild animals,
contorted and caged.
They have no higher purpose
than to drift and to age.

Please.

Just leave me alone,
for can you not see?
That everyone in this world is devoid of standards,
with the exception of me.

Drifts

Whispers of winter

Drift over pearl dunes and dry cheeks.

Under sun dogs and over black bears.

 

Sleeping giants.

 

Rushing into the windows of a smoking traveler.

 

Pitch black.

 

Screams and whistles and moans.

Subzero scowls and hot coffee night owls.

 

Protest- then drift away

To the cheeks of farmers, cursing the winds of this January day.