Do not continue before you listen to the heartfelt song above. The post isn’t going anyway. Go ahead. Push play. I’ll wait.

Now that the song is stuck in your head for all eternity and you’re damning me to hell, we can continue. This post is about nothing and it’s about everything. It’s an episode of Seinfeld, y’all!

Cue song.

(Okay, not really.)

Ever get the feeling you’re living a Jenny Owen song? No? Neither do I. It’s just something I say every once in a while. Ever feel like you’re living a [insert name here] song? Last week, the end of March, marked the second [redacted] poetry reading hosted at [redacted], and already I managed to [expletive deleted] things up already.

Now, I cuss like a sailor. When kiddos are present, I always have to clear my throat and state that my story contains images of sex, drug use, cussing, dissing god, junkies, alcohol, and the possibility somebody’s gonna get killed but everyone’s gonna see it as just another day in Boroughs, Texas.  Why should I sugarcoat the world around them because a couple of swear words bring tears to their eyes? Maybe it’s [expletive deleted] – oh fuck no! Expletive deleted my nutsack! Expletive so not fucking deleted – time they grew a pair and accept the world around them, rather than just bitch about it.

So what’s the deal with [redacted] censoring the poetry reading by posting a sign outside the door? Am I the only one that’s disturbed that was even an issue? Have you read what’s going on in YA novels of late? Girls blowing boys. Guys losing their virginity to suicidal girls. Taking down an entire religion. So my story containing a little phrase like toaster fuck is enough to ruffle the feathers of some blimey bloke who’s offended by what I said? I can’t speak for the real librarians who work at the library, but the fake ones shouldn’t really be allowed to run the show. And yet, they do. They’re mocking the very fabric of libraries because they’re too shitty to act like adults.

Don’t get me wrong, though. If these were five-year-olds, I’d be appalled by my words. But these are teenagers. These kids already know what “slut threesome dp hardcore” before they make it to high school (meanwhile, when I was in middle school, I couldn’t figure out how to get a girl to like me, let alone fuck me).

I have a suspicion whose cage I rattled. I won’t say any names because I’m a gentleman, despite my love for profanity. These poetry readings are supposed to give a voice to the voiceless, to be cliché. And now because of some pansy little bitch, that voice will never inspire a younger generation. Congratufuckinglations, pansy little bitch.

Next time, on this blog:

Annnnnnnnd closing credits: