The Misanthrope - Chapter 1

by Micah Baldwin

And not just in the "I gotta work; oh I wish I was rich," kind of way. No in the "death is often a better solution, but I am too stupid to realize it" kind of way.

You might ask how I came to this conclusion. There must have been some cataclysmic event in my past. A girl friend broke my heart. Or perhaps, my father beat me. Or even worse, my mother sexually abused me and then abandoned me.

Well, if that's what you believe, I guess the only thing I can say is that you are full of shit. Like most people, you probably excel at that one fact.

See, life sucks and people are full of shit. It is these two principles that have shaped my life and all my actions. I remember at the age of three, I watched a small caterpillar eat the leaves of the mulberry tree outside my window. Every day, for hours that little caterpillar chewed his leaf twenty-five times before swallowing. I know; I counted. And then, one day, he spun this beautiful chrysalis, and it hung quietly from the tree. After about a week, I climbed up the tree-carefully, and removed the cocoon, carefully.

Once I got to the ground, I opened my hands, turned the chrysalis around, watching the sun bounce off its brownish hue. I could almost see the Monarch butterfly inside growing. Then, even more carefully, I placed the entire contraption on the ground, and with a quick motion crushed the living shit out of the stupid thing. Life sucks, and people are full of shit.

At this point, if you think that this story will be uplifting or carry a message, you are probably just smarter than that little caterpillar. There is no redeeming value to this story. None. In fact, I can almost guarantee that you will not finish the book. So, if you are reading this in Borders, ducking the overly-friendly book consultants, or whatever the fuck they are called, whiling sipping on an insipid cup of piss, known as Starbucks coffee, put the book back. Pick up something from the romance section, perhaps a lovely Ann Rice book. Impress your neighbors, or that cute chick in accounting you have been trying to fuck, get Light in August by William Faulkner. But, under no circumstances continue to read this story with the expectation of a good cry at the end. Go watch Oprah.

Still here? Good, that means more money for me. Now, where was I? Right, the life sucks speech. Did I tell you that I turned 30 yesterday? If I didn't believe that life sucked before yesterday, I certainly do now.

After all, I am a 30 year old, bald, fat man, who last had "intimate relations" with a woman over ten years ago. Which, would make me a reformed virgin. After all, don't they say that every cell in your body dies and is reborn every seven years? If so, that would make this my third year of virginity.

That would also assume that my first experience was so grand. She was drunk (she even had a few after I got naked), and I was like ten seconds. I remember thinking to myself, that's it? Shit, my hand and I have work to do.