Some people are assholes and wreak havoc in our lives.
When someone wreaks havoc in my life I banish them, in my mind, to the Island of Black Souls.
The Island of Black Souls is an island in the middle of a vast murky ocean where people who’ve done me wrong go, never to be in my life again. Their eternity there is not summer breezes and Pina Coladas. It’s where they are taunted daily by their bad behavior.
Who currently lives there?
The bald man from Vegas with a disco wig who criticizes everyone, including me. He proudly proclaims he’d never be friends with anyone who wasn’t “good looking.” This vain bald idiot doesn’t think anyone knows he wears a cheap disco styled hairpiece. On the Island of Black Souls he’s not allowed to wear his disco wig, and everywhere he goes he’s surrounded by mirrors. Mirror, mirror on the wall…
The egotistical movie production manager who is terrible at his job and blames everyone around him for his incompetence. “Lying” and “Backstabber” is his first and last name. On the Island of Black Souls he’s a film production assistant constantly berated, bullied, and abused by a crew that looks just like him. Hey you, idiot… you suck… you’re worthless… you’re stupid… clean the bathrooms… get us coffee… now!
The so-called “friend” who insisted on breaking something in my apartment every time he visited whether it was a towel rack or wine glass or a plate or chipping the freshly painted wall. Craaazy! On the Island of Black Souls everything he touches breaks, crumbles in his hand, and disintegrates. He’s now afraid to masturbate…
The judgmental self-righteous vegetarian who bullies and lectures everyone about eating the “right” way (aka her way), and who doesn’t have a nice thing to say about anyone who eats otherwise. She told me I eat too “ethnic.” On the Island of Black Souls she’s forced to eat meat, is in a constant state of intestinal constipation, and every vegetable she finds in the island’s bush is rotted and inedible. Eat… Mangia!… it’s good for you…
The castaways on the Island of Black Souls hate each other. Every night they’re forced to eat dinner together and every night the menu is the same: Roasted crow with potatoes deep fried in rancid lard, and slices of humble pie for dessert.
When it is time to settle down to sleep their dreams are of me happy dancing and me happy singing and me happy laughing and me happily enjoying my happy life… without them.
And every morning they wake up screaming and begging for forgiveness.
Oh, revenge is sweet… even if it’s only in my mind.
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