The Wake

I am not a particularly imposing or commanding individual. I stand (if I stretch) 5 feet 8 inches tall, and the only striking features I possess are facial piercings that make my grandmother weep long into the night. I have stubby little legs approximately three-fourths the length of my torso. My voice isn’t particularly enjoyable to listen to, and it is both airy and occasionally nasal. Even disregarding its displeasing tone (vocal teachers know me by reputation), I often mumble and have a slightly sibilant “s” that annoys the crap out of anyone with sensitive ears or a respect of refined speech. These problems aren’t all terrible — in fact, they’re very surmountable. A lot of people are a lot freakier-looking and annoying sounding than I am (or at least that’s what I choose to believe). I do have one thing going for me, however, and it makes me unreasonably personable.

I’m a big jackass.

I know it’s pretty counterintuitive, but there is a tactic, which I have dubbed the “Be a Big Bastard and People Will Like You” technique. It’s remarkably simple. I mock almost anyone I meet, most of the time directly after an introduction. I can call them porky, stupid or obnoxious, in one rare case “a poor decision maker as made evident by your handlebar mustache.” By the time my lip rings have cooled from the hell fire spouting from my face, we’re the closest of friends.

It really doesn’t make sense unless you consider a series of seemingly irrelevant facts. They are as follows:

We live in the Midwest. We all suffer from the regional version of Minnesota nice. We actively and maniacally avoid any sort of confrontation. If we do make fun of each other, it’s normally a sign of close friendship. So when I tell you that “your nose is like a two dollar hooker — really truly ugly,” you would almost assume that I have to be kidding. And since I’m kidding around with you, we must be pals. It doesn’t matter that I think you’re more sloven and more stupid than a college student should be allowed to be; in your mind, we’re BFF. You’re making identical friendship bracelets for us by the time I’ve moved on and essentially forgotten about you.

In case you can’t tell, I act as though I’m better than everyone else. This is not true. I’m probably a lot worse than most of you. For instance, I hate children and animals and am that obnoxious guy who tells you that it’s pronounced “vee-emently” not “veh-heemently” and shit like that. But that doesn’t really matter. I act like I’m better so you have no reason to believe I’m not when I first meet you. Call me cynical, but when a person meets someone they think is better than they are, they immediately become a sycophant, eager for second-hand unearned superiority. Occasionally you get people that see through your little ruse and right into your cold, unfeeling black hole that replaced your heart years ago. Even though these types are rare, watch out for them — people might pity you instead of enjoying your company, like Ducky from Sixteen Candles. The poor bastard.

Finally, insults are funny. Look around. Nice isn’t really selling. Jesus may have made it work for him, but you aren’t Jesus. Even if you were Jesus, the fact that you’re back would mean you came to destroy the Earth. Let’s be honest. That’s pretty dickish.

Now that you’ve been confronted with the evidence, let me levy a warning or two at your nubile, soft skulls. There are some requirements if you’re going to be a queen (or baron, respectively).

REQUIRED TRAIT ONE: You have to be funny. Witty, even. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no Oscar Wilde (look it up, moron), but I joke around consistently enough that even though I may have plenty of misses, there are enough hits to be noticed. Essentially, it’s like a batting average, except instead of trying to hit a rapidly approaching baseball you’re trying to smash the crap out of all the little insignificant people around you that you’re desperately trying to get to love you.

REQUIRED TRAIT NUMBER TWO: If you constantly dish out insults, you have to be well-versed in the art of the compliment. Often times, you’ll have to recover from a fumble or show that you’re not the soulless devil imp from the deepest darkest pits of the whirling æther. Not fake compliments, either. You have to be able to be spur of the moment genuinely nice. People don’t take to fake compliments well. In today’s fast-paced sadomasochistic society, you can’t easily fool people with praise; they’re insecure enough to readily accept that they suck but not that they’re neat.

REQUIRED TRAIT NUMBER THREE: You can not embarrass easily. Often times, people try to match you on your own field and taunt you back even though they aren’t anywhere near your level (those who are most confident in their abilities are often the lamest people ever I find). Because they have no tact, you’ll find that instead of funny insults, they will actually just say mean things to you with a smug look on their face like they upped one on you somehow. So when you jokingly say (or truthfully say in a joking tone), “well, it’s not like your swimming in talent, you’re more uncomfortably moist—like those heavy sweats you break into so often,” they might reply with “you got a C in pre college algebra.” Do not be goaded. Remember, people are morons and won’t understand the difference between your word crafting and their clumsy guttural moaning and think that you just can’t take what you dish out.

So go forth, my newfound army of bastards. Use your powers of hilarious cruelty to build yourself up while tearing others down in a fashion that leaves them not thinking that you’ve torn them down but actually that you’re their new BFF. Don’t think of it as tricking the multitudes of simpletons into wanting — yearning even — your attention. Think of it as … I can’t finish this sentence. That’s essentially what you’re doing. At least, if you do it right.

Let’s face it. You probably can’t.