The Second Greatest Short Essay in the History of Short Essays
By Anna Marie Logan
I'm still far from the most spectacular essay writer. In fact, I would go as far as saying - or writing with a scowl on my face in this instance - I suck monkey balls. That's not to say I have any interest in sucking anything but beer bottles and cigarettes, but here I am, writing an essay that sucks monkey balls.
My daddy growled at me earlier and demanded I plant my ass in my room and not move until I've written said shitty essay. And do you know what my chosen topic is? It's on the art form of writing essays for pissed as hell daddies. I think there's supposed to be a beginning, a middle and end, just like a story. If I were you, and I'm damn glad I'm not… I mean, look at you. What have you done to your hair? Did you even brush it today or do you sleep tied to the top of a flagpole on Mount Kilimanjaro?
This is already turning into the world's most pointless essay that isn't really an essay. I need to claw my thoughts back. (Claws, daddy? Did you like that? Come on! I thought it was real damn good fun) Anyway, back to the pointless essay and my pointless punishment.
Writing essays for pissed as hell daddies is a very important job. It takes skills of a superhero with two-toned hair and the thinking process of one, too. I have a mouth that could disrobe a nun, but you haven't seen anything until you take a peek into my mind. On second thoughts, I really don't want to see what a nun is hiding under her clothes. I bet it's something like a fucking AK-47 or a rocket launcher. I wonder what God would do to the cop when he arrived at the pearly gates, if he took down a Jesus loving nun running riot with more ammo than the middle east?
It's a very important job because daddies can get mighty angry if you disobey them. Say for instance I dumped this crappy essay in the trash and fucked off to the movie theatre… (They're showing a silent horror movie marathon tonight until 2AM. I'm going by the way, Wolverine) If I did that, the flat of my daddy's hand would make quick work of my southern ass. Scarlet red really isn't a colour that suits me, so here I am writing my punishment essay.
Writing essays for pissed as hell daddies can be seen as an art form. My pen is my paintbrush, the paper is my canvas, the words are my paint and I'm the frustrated artist whose going to cut off her ear if she doesn't get some recognition and a cheque for half a million bucks. That's all I'm going to say for this paragraph because I really have no idea where I'm running with it and that reminds me of a funny story.
Last week I ran like a bat out of hell from the dining room. It was family dinner night and I threw Storm's pride and joy at Scott. Before you form a freaky assed picture of me chucking Evan across the table at Summers, I'm talking about some stupid cream cake. It was huge, really massive and looked better sliding down Scott's face.
Come to think of it, this isn't much of a story and not remotely funny in the end. My daddy can really run for an old as fuck guy weighed down by heavy adamantium. I thought the vein on his forehead was going to burst. It kept dancing around and so was I when the hairbrush was through with my backside. See? Not funny at all and what in hell has happened to my essay?
My paintbrush is almost out of ink and I'm not entirely sure if I've gotten my point across or not. The fact I actually need a point to make is suddenly hitting me like a ton of Johnny Cash records. What was this Goddamn essay about anyway? Shit I really can't be bothered to read back, I'd rather sleep until dinner.
Wait, I think I remember. Yeah, it's all coming back to little old me. In conclusion I, Anna-Marie Logan, truly believe God would kick the cop in the balls. Nobody messes with his possy of nuns. Those nuns are God's homies. You get me?
Thanks to the following lovely people who reviewed 'The Greatest Short Essay in the History of Short Essays' - tenchi13, Rogueslove22, Z, anniepresley, Raven34link, anon, lajoci.
There is no reason for this, other then a thought hitting me right between the eyes: Rogue with a short attention span.