Homesick Abortion

This is an excerpt from one of my favorite stories of all time...

hope you enjoy it as much as I do hahahah ..

I think I'm probaby going hell, aren't I?

Once, I was asked if I believed in karma. It was by some chick I had just been telling that her parents had gotten a divorce because of her stupidity. She was crying when she asked it, and told me I was going to get reborn as a grub and then struck by lightning. She then ran away before letting me answer.

Of course I believe in karma. In fact, I'm a very intricate part of the system: I like to deal out some karma myself. Or at least neo-karma – people now-a-days have no patience for old-fashioned karma where you had to get reborn and shit like that. Neo-karma is all about speed. No one doesn't deserve what I do or say to them. You were a fucking bitch in high school and cheated on your boyfriend. Thirty years later, your son gets in a car accident and dies. You visit his roadside grave every week to appease your own guilt while at the same time planning to adopt some kid from Pakistan. One day you visit the grave and there's this picture of a burning stranger and stomped on flowers. Expensive flowers. And say you're a horrible little brat that always gets what you want, when you want it, and you start doing meth. When your parents find out, you refuse to go to counseling because you're 18 and they can't make you. A year later, your parents get a divorce, and they tell you it wasn't your fault. Well I'm here to tell you it was you fucking fault. You tip a waitress well, and she uses that money to buy heroine from the fucker that gives your wife AIDS – so you divorce the cheating slut and marry a single mom nurse and make a real fucking home for once. But then you later forget to send your dying wife a birthday card and write her out of your will, so your step son starts to get kicks from being a sick fuck and hides your invitation to her funeral. You don't pay that Salvation Army guy in front of the store so you slam your fingers in the car door. You make fun of vulnerable people and you get diabetes. Fucking karma at its fucking greatest.

And I'm proud to say I'm part of the neo-karma system everyone's so excited about. The school gets rid of tag because a kid might be inadequate or they discourage auditions because it could make a kid feel inferior, or they make encouraging posters and post them in the hallways and tell the ugly fat kids that everyone's beautiful and it's the inside the counts. If a kid can't play tag because he wheezes from the asthma he got from his parents smoking, he deserves to fucking know he's an unhealthy fucktard freak and should give up any plans he had about being a professional sports player. And if you can't fucking act, you deserve to know not to quit your fucking day job. My part in the neo-karma system is to tell people second place really is for losers, that we've all made second place, and that it's too late to advance because the race is already over. That there is no such thing as "an individual" and that no matter how hard you try to get to the top of that mountain, you're going to have to make your fucking way down again, and get a knee injury on the fucking way.

That it really is the outside that counts, and that's why they made job interviews. That calling a skinny anorexic 'fat' is worse than calling a fat anorexic 'fat', but telling an ugly person they're ugly is worse than telling a hot person they're ugly – but still as satisfying. That there is not such thing as being 'big boned,' you're just fat. That if you think its your fault, it probably is – and if you don't think its your fault, you're a conceited slut. And that I don't fucking care that the commercial says cholesterol runs in your family, there's no excuse for you to eat that cheesecake, you obnoxiously fat slut – but there's also no excuse for me not to eat it in front of you, bitch.

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